Learning

In the two months that we've been back in America, I've learned a lot.

I've learned a lot about homesickness for a place that isn't really home. I've learned a lot about how the deaths of people close to your family affects you. I've learned a lot about feeling helpless.

Because while I'm here, safe in America with my dad home and my family together, all around me everything feels like it's starting to fall to pieces.

Not here, of course, but over there in the country that I used to call home. In a region filled with danger and violence and scary things that aren't always fair. In the past week, my family has been affected by more deaths and violence than I ever had in my whole life.

We might not know all these people in Libya and Egypt and Afghanistan and Iraq directly, but in the world of the foreign service, everyone is a little part of your family. We've all been through similar circumstances. We've all been through similar moves. We all know what it's like to get up and leave our whole lives behind so that we can serve our country in a small way.

Maybe that's why I feel so helpless. While I'm here, enjoying my unquestionable safety, I have friends that are over there across an ocean living next to an embassy that could possibly be attacked today- or tomorrow. I feel like no matter what anyone does, these people that I've come to love are in a dangerous position, and I want them out.

Those people that died in the embassy attacks in Libya could've been my dad. He could've gotten the same post they did and been protecting an embassy just like he's supposed to, and he could've died. But this is his job. He loves it and he chose it, and we follow him through it because we love him.

The thing is, all these people that have died recently were doing their job. And it's the same job that all of my friend's parents do, and that are currently doing. It's the same job that my dad does everyday. Except now, we are fortunate enough to be in America. Where the job isn't so scary. Where the consequences of doing your job aren't so great.

I feel like since I've left, the Middle East has started to fall apart, and although it's not my real home, it's close to my heart. I've lived there and called it home for three years. I can't just forget about everything that's happening around it like others here can. I have to hold onto it and pray that Jordan can keep itself held together enough to protect all of the people close to me.

Life in the foreign service has been responsible for teaching me all these things. It's taught me about a culture and a life that I didn't know existed. It's taught about how hard it can be to say good-bye to a family member and never know when you'll see him again. It's taught me that even though some things can be so terrible, they can always be worse.

It's also taught me a lot about friendship, and about how important these memories I've made are. Because while people here have the past summer playing through their head, I have a handful of good-byes and a fist full of 'see you laters'. I have knowledge and experience that some people can only dream of having.

I'm so grateful.

I'm grateful for my dad, who serves his country without question and has taught me so much about hard work and determination. I'm grateful for Jordan, for giving my some of the best three years anyone can ask for. I'm grateful for all of those other foreign service members that are protecting our country away from our country.

Right now, although I'm in America, Jordan feels closer than it ever has before. I can't let go of it or get it out of my head. Everything that's happening over there is still affecting my mood and my day and my life.

I don't know how we became lucky enough to do all of this and experience all of this, but I'm so thankful for it.

I thought that once I got to America I would forget what it was all like. But I haven't. I still remember. I'm still learning. I'm learning more about myself here than I would have anywhere else.

So although this isn't the best post for after being away for a month, I feel that it's needed.

Jordan has given me so much. So Jordan, stay safe.

He's Coming Home

Today, July 21, 2012 is the one-year anniversary of my dad leaving for Iraq.

This time last year I had said bye and wished him the best and realized that he wasn't going to be home anymore. Not for a while.

This time last year I was in Jordan, asleep, in my house.

Now, 365 days later, I'm living in a hotel. I'm living in America.

And in a couple of hours, my dad will be too.

Finally, after one year of not seeing him for more than a week at a time, he's coming home for good. He's staying.

We're ecstatic.

You can tell by the way that my mom's been counting off the days for us, and the way that my brother's been constantly talking about what we're going to do when he gets here.

I never realized how fast a segment of time could go by, or how slowly. Sometimes looking back at last summer seems like a century ago. Other times it seems like he left yesterday. But right now, I think my mom was right when she said that it would go by fast. Over all, it did.

You can't even begin to imagine how much relief I'm filled with right now. Although Iraq is better than it was a while ago, it's scary knowing that someone you love is over there. Becasue I watch the news and I'm on the internet, I hear things all the time. And it scares me. We can't call him whenever we want and see if he's alright, we can't send him on a plane to come visit whenever something bad happens. We just have to trust that he knows what he's doing and that he's safe.

When I heard that he'd landed in Amman, one of his stops on the way here, it was like a weight that I didn't know I'd been holding was lifted off my shoulders.

In a couple hours he'll be here in Colorado. He'll be here in his favorite place in the world and he'll be able to bike all he wants. And that'll be a lot. He'll be able to take me and Colin to sports games and help me with math homework- without using Skype. We'll all fall into a routine that involves him in it again.

Him coming home means that Colorado can really become home for us. It means that I'll finally accept that we've left Jordan and aren't going back. It means that Iraq can leave my head for a while.

He's coming home soon.

And we're getting excited.

Just a Few More Days...

It’s been over a month since I’ve updated, and I’m really sorry for that. But now in the final stages of moving, you realize all of the things you have to do, and all of the people you want to spend time with. It’s not the best of times, but sometimes the best memories are made. Because these final moments are what you remember people by.

For me, looking back at all I’ve done in Jordan is a big mix. There’s a lot of good memories, a lot of proud ones, but then there’s a lot of sad ones throw in there too. I guess everyone has this. But when you move you get to see it in a new light. Instead of judging everything by how old I was, I remember it by where I was living at the time, and who I was with.

Right now, I only remember the small segments of conversation that I found hilarious, and the little tiny things my friends do that drive me insane. But I’ve realized that you don’t always remember the amazing trips to the Dead Sea and Petra, you remember the people that were with you and what you did with them. That’s why I think it’s going to be so hard to leave.

Jordan’s a great overseas post to be in. There are so many amazing things to do and see. But what I’m going to remember from my time here is the people. In small international schools like the one I go to, there aren’t a million people to choose from to be your friends. There’s usually four or five groups of people for you to hang out with. If I had been in America, I probably would never have talked to some of my best friends today because we are polar opposites. We all like different things, have different hobbies, listen to different music. But I’m closer to some of my friends here then I have ever been to my friends in America. That’s because we’re different, and we argue a ton, but our differences pull us together. As cliché as it sounds, these differences are what make us such amazing friends. And I think I’m going to miss that the most of all.

In under a week I will be living in Colorado. I will have a house and a car, I’ll get to see my dog Ike again (This will all be explained in another post, I’m going to backtrack through this last month) and I’ll start making friends and finding my way around. It’s not fun. It’s not easy. Just yesterday I had to say good-bye one of my closest friends that I’ve made in my whole life, and it was torture. But it all has to be done.

In under a week I’ll no longer live in Jordan. But I’ll never forget this place. It seems impossible. From the water shortages to the camels in the streets, this place has become my home just as much as all the places before it. And I’ll always treasure that.

A Field Trip to Remember

When you live overseas, you get to go to some pretty cool places for field trips. And I mean places like Petra. Unfortunately, that's a different grade's trip. But being in seventh grade, we get to go on a two night field trip to Wadi Dana and Feynan.

Which we did a couple weeks ago.

After the four hour drive through the middle of the desert we arrived at Wadi Dana, the adorable campsite surrounded by huge mountains and giant rock formations.

Wadi Dana is a lot different than Wadi Rum. 'Wadi' is the Arabic word for valley, and unlike Wadi Rum, Dana did a really good job of being a valley. Our buses drove us to the top of one mountain, and we had to hike down into the valley and to our campsite from there. All around us were these massive mountains, and instead of being red and sandy, there were actually a fair amount of trees and a whole lot of grass and flowers.

The rest of that day we got to do several science lessons while sitting on the edge of these cliffs and there were hikes to amuse us and keep us active.

But at night, even though it was sweltering during the day, it got cold. And I mean COLD. That's the thing with these deserts, during the day you just keep wishing for it to cool down, but once it does it doesn't stop.

We slept in these little tepee tents and then had to wake up pretty early in the morning. The fun was just beginning.

The biggest part of our seventh grade trip, and the part that the previous seventh graders had made us fear, was a six hour hike through the valley. Six hours. That's almost a full school day.

Our job that day was to hike from Wadi Dana to Feynan through a giant valley, and it was hot.

Luckily, I was in a group with some of my best friends. And that was a pretty good thing, because somewhere along the hike our group got split up, and half of us were way ahead, and half of us were behind. I would like to say we were lost, because everything along the path pretty much looks the same, and it felt like we were going in circles. But it's pretty hard to get lost when there are giant mountains on both sides of you and you can only go two different ways.

About five hours in, we all ran out of water, too. We each had two-liter water bottles, and we ran out.

At the beginning of the hike it had been very steep and very slow going, but by that time it had evened out and we were just looking for the last mountain. Every time one mountain would look like it was ending though, another one would be seen behind it. And so on.

At some point when we were wishing for water and a nap we started singing camping songs, and making up our survival plans, and trying to decide who to eat first.

We never got to carry out those plans though, because the hotel, clean and amazing, was right in front of us.

Sweaty, exhausted, parched, and feeling like jello, we entered the cool hotel and greeted the rest of our group who had arrived twenty minutes before us.

We miraculously managed to arrive 30 minutes early.

The rest of the groups trickled in after us within the next several hours, and then we got our room assignments and were allowed to relax around the hotel.

In all, we had hiked about 14 kilometers. It was hot. It was in the middle of a desert. And it was some of the most fun I'd ever had on a field trip.

The next day we boarded the buses and came back home. And I think I slept for a couple days.

But it's over, and we did it, and I have now hiked for five and a half hours in a row.

And I also know a bunch more camping songs.

Wadi Rum, Aqaba, and Spring Break

At last, the long awaited Spring Break has arrived. Or, did arrive. School started back up again today and everyone is now tan and eager for the end of the year.

Spring Break brought many surprises.

Has anyone heard of the Foreign Service Youth Foundation, or the FSYF? They have a newsletter that they send out and Foreign Service kids submit articles for it.

Well, back in May I sent in an article, and it was published in the newsletter! So, if you ever get the chance, take a look at it. I really enjoyed reading what other kids had submitted, too. The newsletter for this month was on things that us kids love, so it was really interesting hearing about how different everyone was.

We also had a recent visit from Dad, which is always great. Only two more months and he’s home for good. I can’t wait.

You can’t have a Spring Break and not visit anywhere here in Jordan. There are too many amazing places here that I’ll miss way too much when we leave. Our family, along with several other embassy families, drove down to Wadi Rum for a night, and then went to Aqaba for a couple days.

Wadi Rum is one of those places that is so amazing and grand and beautiful that I could write a whole entire post on it. Honestly, it’s one of my favorite places here. It’s basically a desert, but it’s a desert with gigantic rock formations and red, red sand. There are sand dunes and camels and Bedouin tents scattered about, and it is absolutely amazing. The first time we took a trip to Wadi Rum, we stayed in the more traditional tents surrounded by these giant rocks. We took a two hour long camel ride (fun, but not when your camel decides it wants to start running), and drove through the desert touring all the best sites there. There were also several cars that got stuck in the deep sand and had to get pushed out.

This time we stayed at a lodge and were taken on a tour in these big pickup trucks that sped over the sand until all of our foreheads were red from the sand implanted in them. It’s one of the best things ever.

All us kids climbed the rocks, climbed the sand dunes, and being the crazy Americans that we are, brought sleds and sled down these sand dunes. And let me tell you, climbing up them is one of the most painful things I have ever done. You can’t even walk up them because they’re so steep you’re basically crawling. And for every two feet you go up, you go one foot down, because the sand just keeps falling back. But you get to the top and it is so worth it, even if you’re breathing so hard that you can’t tell at first.

I’m going to miss Wadi Rum.

Then we drove down to Aqaba, the beach city on the Red Sea where all our goodies that are shipped over from America come in. We went out on this big boat with a ton of other people and spent the day snorkeling and visiting a castle over in Egypt. Yeah. The boat took us across the border and to a small island off the coast of Egypt where we got to explore an old, crumbling castlle. 

I can’t say Aqaba is the best beach in the world, but the snorkeling down there (on days when the water is clear), is amazing.

I’m going to miss Aqaba, too.

I’m also going to miss Spring Break, which took way to long to get here and left way to soon.

And now, for those of you who have never been fortunate to experience Wadi Rum, here are some pictures.

Happy Spring Break, everyone!

All of the kids up on top of the giant rock. I'm there in the purple shirt and the sunglasses.

When I said pickup trucks I wasn't kidding. They were literally hauling us around in these 1950s trucks. At least they didn't get stuck in the sand like ours did.

This is me and Dad after climbing to the top of a rock on top of another rock. You can't see from the picture, but it was actually pretty high up and terrifying.

On top of one of the sand dunes we attempted to catch our breath. Then we rolled to the bottom and climbed up again. And again.

Hot Water and Electricity

When we first moved to Jordan, one of the first big differences we had to get used to was the electricity and water outages. Some nights the electricity would just shut off. Not Amman. Not our street. Just our building. That's just what happens. Other people have it too, and when the electricity goes out you can count on being left in the dark for awhile.

We light candles and get out our flashlights and settle down with books or Legos. I surround myself with pillows and settle in next to the fireplace which we fill with candles. We wait. Then in an hour, or maybe even three hours, the electricity comes back on.

Other times we run out of water. It's only for a day or two, but life on limited water isn't fun. No showers. Little cooking. And milk to drink. Then with a call to the embassy, we get a new tank of water brought over.

And then there's those rare times when the gas runs out. No hot water. No cooking with a stove. Have you ever taken a shower with freezing water? I have. It lasted about two minutes and left me shivering for quite a while. Cold showers are not fun. They're not fun at all. I feel bad for people that have only ever known cold showers.

Some people that live just a few miles away from me have no showers at all. They live on a bucket of water a day. They don't have heating for their houses. They don't have houses. Some are nomads that live with their herds of animals, bringing them straight through the city, traveling through Jordan. Some people can't have a house. Some people here live on one JD (which is equivalent to $1.40)  a day.

And then here I am with a house, with water and heat and electricity. Sure, it goes out sometimes. A lot more than desired it goes out without warning. But I have no right to complan about it, because I've seen people that have it so much worse. People that would love to live in this house, with all it's differnet and unusual quirks from what I'm used to.

Life in Jordan has taught me so much that I can't learn from living in America. Besides teaching me how to do a radio check and read Arabic, it's taught me about how the things that I take for granted, complain about even, are everything compared to what others have.

I still complain. I still wish that things in Jordan were just like they were in America, but I'm learning to let go of that. I'm learning that the almost invisible things in my life that I take for granted are so valuble and so important.

I'm learning to treasure the things that I have, not wish for the things I don't.

My Fear of Wasps

I’ve been stung by a wasp exactly three times. It’s not much, and a teeny tiny wasp sting isn’t enough to scar me for life, but I am absolutely terrified of them.

I have no idea why. I fall down and hurt myself daily. You could call me a klutz for the number of times that I’ve walked into walls or managed to bump into someone in a huge hallway. Surely a small sting on the arm should be nothing, right? But to me it’s like having ice water dumped on my head and then being set on fire. I hate stings. Either wasp or bee, I hate them.

It’s not just because they’re bugs either. I’ll see a spider crawling by on the sidewalk, or ants marching through my kitchen and I’ll think nothing of it. It’s just these little wasps.

A couple months ago, my family was eating dinner at our friends’ house when outside the window we saw a man putting a ladder up to a tree. We all ventured out to the living room to see what he was doing. There was a giant wasps’ nest on one of the trees outside, and the family we were visiting was relieved that they seemed to be doing something about it.

At first there didn’t seem to be a reason to watch him. Sure, he was putting a giant ladder against a thin and very tall tree trunk, but everyone had their own ways of dong things. Our boredom was short-lived though. Because instead of, I don’t know, spraying the wasps’ nest with Wasp Killer, he had a white canvas bag in his hands; he was trying to bag the nest.

Someone down below the tree was poking the branch with a long pole, as if trying to push the nest closer to the man. He had a saw in his hands too, and while trying to get the bag around the nest, he was also trying to saw the nest off of the branch. We must’ve watched him for thirty minutes; the whole scene was so hilarious.

He had to of been stung a hundred times while getting that nest down, there were wasps everywhere. In a big haze around him, buzzing in circles around the nest, flying away from the tree, they were everywhere. But yet he continued pulling down the nest and

trying to saw it off.

We felt kind of bad for him, out there and getting stung. It couldn’t of been very fun. But why couldn’t he just spray the nest and then collect it later? I’d never seen anything like it, and neither had anyone else that was elbowing their way into a better spot of the window.

A long time later, I don’t even remember how long, he finally got that nest out of the tree and into a bag. We all gave him a standing ovation. I mean, come on, although it probably wasn’t the smartest way to get rid of the wasps, he had guts.

It took a while for the wasps to clear out of their yard though. When we left, I remember running down the pavement and jumping into the car. No way was I getting stung too. He’d probably taken enough stings to take care of all of us for a good couple of years. At least that’s what I hoped.

I’m not sure if watching that nest go down weakened by fear or strengthened it. Those wasps were pretty determined to get him out of the tree. And next time I see a wasp nest, I’ll be sure to steer clear of it.

One thing that I did learn, crazy enough, is that a human can always overpower a giant wasp nest. So really there should be no reason to be scared of them. Stings heal.

No matter how many times I think that though, I’m still terrified when I see one near me.

As stupid as it may sound, I’m pretty sure I have a fear of wasps.

Great. There are probably tons of them in Colorado.

Walk To School Day: Florida Edition

In Florida, it could be raining one minute and then have skies so clear you could literally see a rock fall through them the next. You can’t change this. You can’t wish for anything different. You can either take it or leave it. That is Florida, the land of the sunshine and beaches... And rain and water and waves and fun, fun, fun, in the sun, sun, sun.  Unfortunately, I experienced Florida all too well one day.

            But I digress.

            Walk to School Day. And walking to school wasn’t something unusual or strange either. I did it all the time. It’s a lot smarter than trashing the world with fumes and gases that a car gives off.  Plus, it was four blocks away. Our Walk to School Day just happened to be on a day with one of Florida’s rainy spells, where the clouds decided to pull the drain and let all their water from the past week spill out over the land of sun. Sun. Not rain. Sun.                        

I, with my pigtails and backpack, my mom with the fading blue Baby Jogger my brother sat in, sucking his thumb and hanging onto an old, tearing, stuffed animal were determined though. It was rain, not acid. It wasn’t going to kill us. We were going to continue walking to school.

            You see, it wasn’t raining when we first set off. It was more of a fine drizzle. Like the pipes up there in the skies were leaking, or the plug in the cloud’s almighty bathtub wasn’t actually plugged in all the way. We managed to get halfway to school before they let it loose.

            Yes. Those clouds pulled that already failing plug and decided that everyone down below them was toast. Wet, soggy, toast. Or at least those of us walking to school that day. We were the only ones that seemed to be doing that though, since we couldn’t see anyone out on the sidewalks. But still, we trudged on through the rain. My shoes were soaked through. My hair was plastered to my neck and face. My tiny fingers were shivering and trying to cling to the straps of my backpack that were so wet it was like they were put in a washing machine and set to high. Meanwhile, my brother was sobbing his eyes out because he was soaking wet and my mom was trying to keep us on our feet.

            Where were all the kids?

            Even though it's storming and gray, you would expect to see a couple of people toughing it out. Maybe joining us in our victory walk against Mother Nature, our final stand against unpredictable weather and unfair circumstances.

            Where were all the parents?

            Were we really the only ones that could tough out the rain? Surely not, these people could survive anything. Hurricanes were like baby storms to them; this was nothing.

            We were drowning.

            I couldn’t see more than two feet in front of me, and I was so unbelievably cold and wet that you could’ve thrown me in the ocean and I would’ve looked the same. This was impossible. The wind was blowing me over, I actually fell over twice, into shallow, laughing puddles, which shook with each drop of water and seemed to be enjoying this damp, dark, day. My eyes were in slits because the wind was so harsh it sliced across them. We couldn’t get to school in this weather. We couldn’t. We couldn’t.

“Hannah, let’s go take cover in that garage.”

            My mom’s voice managed to reach me through the thunder that was booming outside, and her finger was like my lighthouse, pointing to the shore, or in our case, someone’s garage.

I nodded my sodden head and we stepped into safety.

            It didn’t last two minutes.

            Looking around the garage, a garage that certainly didn’t belong to us, I felt a twinge of guilt. Who were we to hide in some random person’s garage? What if they came out with a machete or something?

            The door connecting the garage to mystery machete owner’s house started to open with a squeak. My heart was pounding; we were about to get yelled at for sure, or maybe they would call the police and put my mom in jail and me and my brother in a foster home, or maybe they would kidnap us and cook us in their stove...

“Hannah?” Shock.

“William?” Utter disbelief. “William, this is your house?” My voice caught in my throat and I started to laugh. “Mom, this is William. He’s in my class.”

William’s grandmother entered the garage after him and peered at us through her glasses.

“Why are you so wet? Are you actually walking to school?”

“Well, it’s Walk to School Day,” my mother replied, leaning down to wipe my brother’s eyes.

“Oh, it is? Well, then we better get going, or we’ll be late,” she said, throwing her purse over her shoulder. She clapped her hands, pushed us out, and pressed in the code that closed the garage.

            And then we started to walk to school again, my mom, my brother, me, and the addition of William and his grandmother. We had one more block to go. We were going to make it. We were going to make it.            

            Dripping wet and exhausted, we made it to school.

            We were the only ones that had walked to school.

            My mom and William’s grandmother dropped us off at our classroom, like a soggy present to our teacher.

“Why…?” she questioned, gesturing to our sodden clothes and soaking hair.

“It’s Walk to School Day, miss,” we replied.

“No it’s not,” she said. She paused, and looked at the calendar on the wall. “Tomorrow is.”

People

In the two weeks that I haven't posted, a lot can happen.

A certain Language Arts essay about an event in my life and the emotions that came with it can be submitted.

A certain Dad can come for a visit and leave again.

And a certain family over here in Jordan, then reunited can open all their Christmas presents, for what is Christmas if not celebrated with the ones you love?

I think that Languae Arts paper has wiped all of the words right out of my head, so I'm sorry for the neglected blog post.

And I think my Dad visiting hasn't left me much time for actually thinking through a post, and finding the time to write it.

But besides that there's really not much to write about right now anyways.

We have seven more months left here in Jordan, which means that I think of Colorado more often... The life we're going to have there, the people we're going to meet, my school, our house, and even the people we're leaving behind. Everyday at school I talk to my friends, sometimes about their next posts, sometimes about mine, and sometimes just about nothing at all. But it gets harder and harder to find something to talk about, becasue so many things lead to leaving. And leaving leads to never seeing each other again.

I mean isn't that the main reason everyone's so scared of moving? And leaving? And starting over? It's never the place, it's never the fear of what's going to be there when you arrive. It's who. Are they going to be nice? Are they going to the best friends I've ever had? Or am I going to be that new girl that comes from the Middle East and no one wants to bother with getting to know because it's to much of a hassle.

Well it's a hassle getting to know them too. Getting to see how they live, and what they like, and what they've done their whole entire lives. And sometimes the whole entire first year of living somewhere is exhausting because you're trying so hard to make sure that you have friends. It's easy over here with an embassy and an international school. Everyone has done this their whole lives. They understand what it's like to feel alone. They understand what it feels like to know that no one in the world knows what you're going through. Because the truth is we can explain it to them, and write it out for them, and tell them as many times as we want. But they will never understand. We've all seen different things, and met different people that have changed us in so many different ways. We all know what it's like to be different.

Moving around in America... Well it's scarier. I'm not going to speak for everyone, but in my experience the people that I've met have lived in one place their whole lives. They all listen to the same type of music. They all wear the same brands of clothes. They all have literally been best friends for life. And I'm the new girl. That person that shows up and changes everything. That was in elementary school. Now I'm older. Now we're all older, and it's even harder.

But then what about those people that you leave? Well half of the people here that I know are leaving too. They're going off to their branches of the world. And the people that are staying will be gone in a few years too. I'll never see any of them again.

Heck, I'll never see any of this again. Because places change right along with the seasons, and if I ever come back to visit Jordan, everything will be different.

I'm scared.

I'm scared for the people in Colorado, and I go over a million scenarios in my head every day of what they could be like. They're a mystery to me, and they will be for the next seven months.

And I'm scared that I'll lose touch with the amazing people I've met here.

I wish I could just pick up the embassy and drop it in Colorado, that way I could adjust right along with everyone else. And I won't be alone.

People are the cause for everything. They can make you laugh and cry. They can make pick you up and bring you down. They can make a place worth being, and a day worth living.

They can determine whether or not moving is worth it.

Luckily for me, it usually is.

But that doesn't make it any easier.

Gingerbread and 60 Degree Weather

It's December third now, correct? That means we're just 22 days away from Christmas, and 28 days away from 2012. At our house we have the Christmas tree up, and a few presents from family under it. Our stockings are actually over the fireplace, which has candles in it for when the electricity goes off. Christmas parties and ginerbread houses are being planned, skiing stuff is coming in boxes for our trip, and advent calendars are being opened everyday.

And yet it doesn't feel like Christmas.

I know, I know. I say this about every holiday. But it's true. Maybe it's the 60 degree weather or our missing family member, but it really doesn't feel like the jolly holiday that everyone loves.

Oh, and also, our teachers seem to be giving us more homeowrk, so it's not like when I get home from school I have time to daydream about gumdrops and "Santa".

In Florida, we'd be hauling in our Christmas tree and going down to the beach in just sweatshirts and jeans.

In New Jersey, we'd be shoveling snow and preparing for the Nutcracker ballet I was in every year.

In Virginia, I'd be outside until way past it got dark, having snowball fights and sliding around on the thin layer of ice over the sidewalks with my friends. Each day finding new sledding hills and drinking hot chocolate together.

Here, we're getting out our fake Christmas tree from the storage shed and trying not to dress to warmly. Anything more than a sweatshirt, and you're toast.

And in Colorado? Who knows. At least my dad will be back and there will be snow again.

Christmas feels like it's way more than 22 days away. It feels like it's months away. But maybe that will change with the weather.

And maybe the weather will change, and the temperature will drop.

Maybe.

Israel

At our house you never know when a fire alarm is going to go off. Or maybe I can just never tell. Which is ironic since is happens so often. Like today for instance. Colin and I are staying home from school and we had pizza rolls in the oven when the fire alarm started blaring. Our dog, who is terrified of it started shivering and whining so our housekeeper took him out while I turned off the oven, opened all the windows, and waved a towel around. Then all was normal. These episodes are kind of alarming since when there's actually a fire we'll probably not know because we're so used to the alarms.

Oh wait. Why'd we stay home? Well we were in Israel with a bunch of other families, seeing all the religious sites and touring around. My mom likes to joke about how a big weekend trip for her was going to an amusement park. I guess overseas that just doesn't cut it. We toured around our neighbor country with other embassy families. I think we walked at least ten miles in all. At first the trip was great, we saw so many things and had so much fun, then the second day Colin got a fever, and by the third day he was throwing up every hour. We don't know if it was a virus, or a fever, or just motion sickness from riding around in our big tour bus for three days, but he was miserable, my mom was miserable, and I was pretty much the only one from the whole family touring.

In fact we have some pictures of just me in front of some amazing places. While all the other families stood together and got people to take their picture, I was all alone in ours. I'm sure in a couple years when we go back and look at the pictures it'll be pretty funny.

"Oh hey! There's Hannah on a boat in the Sea of Galilee!"

But at the moment it was pretty darn sad. My dad's gone, and my mom's taking care of my sick brother on the vacation that she was so so so so excited to go on.

So that's why my brother's staying home. I'm staying home becasue the border crossing from Jordan to Israel is such a lengthy, tiring process that we didn't get back in Jordan until eleven o'clock. And we didn't go to bed until twelve. Plus, who knows if I caught the horrible possible virus my brother got. No signs of it yet, but I'm still crossing my fingers and hoping that it passed us.

We went form this,

 to this in three days.

It Rained

I must be some kind of fortune teller.

Or maybe I jinxed it.

Or maybe I'm just amazing at writing posts and mentioning something that then happens the day after.

While I explore into this talent I have just discovered, I will tell you how exactly it developed. In my last post I said, and I quote: "How many times has it rained here?

Zero. We need rain."

Well guess what, it rained last night and this morning. Of course I'm on break and slept in so I didn't get to see it. But I saw the wet streets and water droplets on the windows.

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, it didn't flood the streets like last years, but the rainy season just started, we've got four more months to go. And then it will be hot and dry again.

I gotta give it to Jordan, although the country needs way more water, the weather is amazing, and in the summer you'll never have to rebook an outdoor party because of rain. You might have to because of dust and sand storms, but it's not like those happen all the time.

I love winter over here, it gets just cold enough that you need a heavy sweatshirt, hat, and scarf. So you feel all cozy and warm. And then the air is so crisp. Well, it's actually normal, the dust's just gone so it feels more clear.

I've made up my mind. I think I just jinxed it.

I have jinxed the weather. Now be amazed since this will probably never happen again.

Oh well, it still rained.

Baking Therapy

Okay, okay. I know I wrote a new post yesterday. But something's happened between now and from when I hit submit.

My mom went a little crazy.

See? She put on an apron!

But who can blame her? Her husband left for Iraq and her daughter got blue hair extensions and went to a school dance all in 24 hours. 

So, for therapy she decided to bake food. Most moms would go to a salon and get their nails done and call it nail therapy, but not her. She baked food.

Which is a miracle in itself since we don't bake food. If I want cookies or brownies, I make them myself. We don't even bake food for holidays, we throw parties and let people bring us deserts.

But yesterday, some strange bell in my mom's head went off and she got out recipe books and googled food conversions and went to grocery stores.

It started with pumpkin pie.

And then two pumpkin pies.

And then cookies.

And then frosted cookies.

And then bread,

brownies,

pretzels,

and pumpkin cheesecake.

 And meanwhile poor Ike scavenged around waiting for something to fall on the floor.

 We had to bring in another table to hold everything.

But frankly? My mom can do the baking therapy as many times as she wants. It benefits me anyways. She cooks, I eat. Everyone is happy.

And now we have deserts ready for Thanksgiving. I hope it's okay to put pumpkin pie in the freezer for a month.

Field Trip Trouble

Some of you may have hard about the unrest over here right now. Just might have glimpsed it on the news. Well there's stuff like that here too, in Jordan, it's not as bad as Egypt and Syria, but it's not a once in a lifetime thing. So now that that's settled, let me tell you a story.

There once was a girl named Hannah in seventh grade who had a field trip to one of the old crusader castles in Jordan. All of the middle school was going on field trips that day in fact, and they were all so excited. The sixth grade was going over to our friend the Dead Sea, and the eigth grade was going on a trip to another crusader castle, farther north than the seventh grader's castle. So the day before the field trip came and as Hannah was eating dinner, her mom got a text. It said something along the lines of this:

Due to the protests, road blockings, riots, and unrest in the ______ Castle area, the seventh grade field trip will be postponed to a later date. We are sorry for the inconvienence but the student's safety is our top priority, have a good day.

Okay, I'm done being narrator now, I don't know what the text said, something along the lines of that I bet but anyways, yeah. Our field trip was canceled becasue of protests and road blocks and danger.

Now there's a lot of crazy reasons for why field trips get canceled, maybe the weather was bad, there was a freak tornado, the whole class got sick, the place shut down for revamping, I don't know.

But for the most memorable field trip canceling, I bet I win the prize.

Old Dogs and Their Stories

Patton.

I've mentioned him before. Like here for instance.

He's dead.

Just like that.

I learned today at dinner. I cried. That was four hours ago. I think I might start crying again from writing this. But I have to. It's important.

We got him when I was one and we lived in Englnad, we got to choose him from the whole litter of English Bull Terriers. We chose him because I liked him the best and he was the calmest one there. We figured he'd stay that way. We were wrong.

He was rambunctions. He was wild. He was crazy. He was the best dog in the whole wide world, and he's in half of our photos, and all of our videos. Whether he's barking or knocking something off the table. He was family, he was ours forever.

Then we moved to Florida, Patton played in our backyard, caught tennis balls, chased after frisebees. He loved the frisbee. He went to the beach with us, and parks and lakes and playgrounds. Then we left and went to New Jersey.

He learned what snow was. He chased us down sledding hills, kicked snow on us, jumped up on sleds with us and then hopped off when we were going the fastest, tumbling in the snow and sneezing. He ran Colin and I over multiple times when we were trying to walk in the snow drifts, he caught more tennis balls, ran after more frisbees.

He finally learned to 'sit' and 'stay'.

I taught him 'lie down'.

That was as far as his trianing got.

He came with us to Virginia, where he got arthritis in his two front paws and an enlarged heart, we learned we were moving to Jordan. He couldn't come with us. He would've died on the plane, they said.

We took him to New Jersey, where he stayed with a lady that took him in for us. We e-mailed, but not nearly often enough, just enough to know that he was doing pretty okay, just enough for us to hope that he'd last until next summer, when we could see him.

Well, he didn't.

He's gone, just like all those houses that I still remember how to walk through with my eyes closed, except he wasn't a house.

He was our dog. He was our family.

When we move, we'll go to New Jersey, but not to pick him up, to pick up his toys, which I will keep forever.

Or maybe longer.

He's baried there, in her backyard, and I'll put a flower on it, maybe put his favorite dog treat on it, or paint a stone with a poem or something and rest it on his grave.

I'll do it all, even if I am a lousy poet, just for him. Because he deserves it.

I don't know exactly why I wrote this post. I guess I wanted to put it all down somewhere where people can see it, so they can know a little bit about him too, not enough to make them love him, or want to see him, just enough to let them know that he was here. That he was with us through it all. All of it up until now.

But he's still here, in a way, from his dog hair that's buried in our old blankets, stuffed in the back of closets, to his pictures and videos.

I'll see him this summer still, not in the way I imagined, but I'll see his toys and his crate again, and I'll see that chair that he used to always sleep in, once we get it out of storage, unless we've gotten rid of it already, I think we have actually. He ripped that thing to shreds from jumping on it so many times. But he liked it.

Patton. I'll miss him. Everyday. He never got to meet Ike. For some reason, it seems very important that he should've met him. I think I'm going to be saying that a lot.

Good bye Patton. We loved you. The people that got to meet you loved you. Everyone loved your stubborn, crazy self.

Rest In Peace, buddy.

Awards and Homecomings

Today there was an award ceremony at my school, where teachers nominate kids for doing a good job and stuff. When we walked into the MPR I saw my mom, dad, and brother sitting in the back with other parents. I've been to these things before, I knew what this meant.

This meant that I won an award.

This also meant that my dad was home.

I ran over and hugged him, tears coming to my eyes at the surprise, I wasn't aware that people were watching, I was only aware of my dad being there.

In the end my friends were asking me why I was hugging my dad, and I had to reply that I hadn't seen him in two and a half months because he had been in Iraq. Some of them were pretty shocked, others were smiling and gasping, "That's so exciting!"

Yeah, it is.

He's here. He's staying. For a while at least.

He's home.

October?

It's already October. Which means that we move in seven months.

Seven months.

But right now, Colin's sick. He's been sick for a week now, off and on with the stomach bug and the cough and the fever. I was sick for two days, in which I could barely talk, but I'm fine now. I don't know how he does it. I wish I could stay home from school this long. Dances and events and halloween partys and concerts are being planned at school, and visits from Dad, ski trips, and orthodontist appointments are being planend at home.

My third and fimal Halloween in Jordan is coming, and I'm really going to miss it when we leave, we don't go to other people's houses trick-or-treating, but instead we go to the embassy, where the offices are decorated and haunted houses are created.

The leaves aren't changing colors.

But it's getting colder, you can feel it when you go outside in the morning, clouds are appearing, hopefully we get the first rain of the season soon.

October's here. October means pumpkins and bats and ghosts. Here it means rain and cooler weather.

Halloween's coming. Rain is coming. More school-work is coming.

Boo!

October's here.

So, We Got Our Next Post

Denver.

Denver, Colorado.

You know that place that we visit every summer? Where my uncle and baby cousin live? That place in AMERICA?

Yeah. There.

Denver.

Next summer along with all the other moving families, we'll fly out of Jordan for the last time and go to...

Denver.

Where there's fields with real grass, mountains, Walmarts, Targets, lakes, parks, dog parks, lacrosse, and family.

Denver.

Where I'll be able to see my old friends that I actually met over here, where my dog, Ike, will have a yard to run around in. Where I'll be in the U.S.A for two years.

And you know what else? My old dog, Patton, gets to come too. Yup, we're going to go to New Jersey and pick him up.

And I'm happy that we're going to America, that we got a good post, that we're getting Patton back, but at the same time I'm sort of conflicted.

Now that I'll be living in America again, I'm not really going to be a foreign service kid anymore am I? I mean, my dad's job is still the same, we just got the America post, which means we won't be overseas.

So what does this make me? That girl that Moves all the time but only lived overseas twice? Once that she doesn't even remember?

I guess it does. But the thing is, after our two years in Denver are up, we might move overseas again. So what exactly am I? Not a foreign service kid, right? I'm probably just a diplokid. Okay, I'm fine with that.

So now our days will be filled with searching for a house, working out getting Patton back, and just trying to enjoy our last days here.

Dever.

I think I'm still in shock.

Embassy Family

I consider myself to have two families sometimes. There's the blood-related family that I live with, and then my embassy family. You see, the embassy in Jordan is huge, with about 300 families working in it. But it's also a very close community, where everyone knows everyone, and all the kids are friends. It's also kind of like a middle or high school. With the different groups that usually hang out together.  Those kids will all know each other, and the parents will all be friends.

I don't know every single person at the embassy, but I know quite a lot of people. If someone usually goes to the pool or the restaurant, I'll know their name. It's kind of interesting actually, how connections are made over here. You could know someone from another post, from school, from work, from training. In the foreign service, it really is a small world. Even though we're living all over it.

I especially know my parents very close friends and their kids. They're like my second family. And the kids in this "group" have all different age ranges. But somehow all of us clicked together. The parents from work and stuff, but what really amazes me is how us kids did.

We range from 3 to 12 years old. There's Sa, from a differnt blog post, who's three years younger then me, but really mature for her age. We really are like sisters, and then her brother and his friend. His little brother who's one of my brother's best friends, and then even more.

We've been to the Dead Sea and Red Sea together, we've been to practcally every embassy event together. All of us really could pass as siblings, if we didn't look so different. (We probably could pass anyway, Sa and I have convinced people that we were sisters before.) And then there's everyone else at the embassy, who I also know, even if not as close.

So during the year, it's like coming to a big house when I go to the embassy, escept for the summer.

In summer, people leave. They move on to other countries, other adventures, and new people take their place. Now when I walk through the embassy, I don't know half the people, and it's kind of confusing at first, when you realize that you haven't seen someone in a while, until you learn that they're gone.

But by winter break, I'll adjust, I'll know for sure who's gone, and who's here, I'll know everyone again.

We really are like a family. A diverse, odd, smart, and very, very interesting one.

Ramadan Kareem! Or... رمادن كاريم

Okay, so my spelling in Arabic isn't to great. But if you sound it out, it actually reads Ramadan kareem. At least how I think it sounds...

Anyways. It's Ramadan, the Holy Month where Muslims fast from sun-up to sun-down. And it's the middle of summer. And it's hot. And I don't have a clue how they do it and stay so happy at the same time. But they do, and once the Call to Prayer rings through Amman as the sun goes down, they have a feast, eating and drinking to make up to all the food they refused during the day.

So, our Embassy has guards all the way around the perimeter, and they have to work while that Call to Prayer is going off. So, how're they goiong to get their meals?

Well, we bring them to them.

The embassy restaurant makes tons of meals, provides water, eating utensils, juice, pita bread, and yogurt, and then the office my dad used to work in delivers all the meals to the guards. And guess what? They allow others to help them.

So my my mom, me, brother, two friends and their mom, plus another family of kids and their mom piled into the two giant cars to deliver all the food. My friends and I were in the juice, water, and yogurt car. And it took us quite a while to fill up those cups of juice, so we decided to race the other car without them knowing. The second we arrived at one guard posts, we all jumped from the car, gathered up the desired number of supplies and ran to hand them out, shouting 'Ramadan Kareem!', before jumping back into the car, always in a different order. We were also in the fun car, with two of my dad's colleagues driving and joking around, and us screaming out the lyrics to "Smelly Cat" You know that song from Friends? That Phoebe sings? Yup, that one.

But then it ended up as a race against the sun. We were almost finished when the Call to Prayer went off, causing us to go even faster to hand out those long desired meals. In the end, it took us forty five minutes to give every guard on duty a Mini Ramadan Feast.

So, did we win our mini race? No. But in our defence, the other car was made up of my mom, brother, twins, their brother, two Embassy guys, and another mom. So we were outnumbered.

But it was still fun, and now I've got Smelly Cat stuck in my head.

Wish you were here Dad, you would've loved it. Come home safe. <3