Oh, Crumz!

Folks have been asking, "How did you get Crumz?" (and not just crazy cat people).  So, here's the tale. Almost two weeks ago, Bean was invited to her first Jordanian playdate. The first issue arose when determining the time. The little girl's mother suggested "four or five o'clock." Considering our kids eat dinner at 5:30, I opted for 4:00. (Kids in the Middle East have a muuuuuch more lenient and later life than most Western kids I know.) As is typical, I got horribly lost getting there. Receiving directions in Amman is akin to, "Go down the street and turn left at the circle, then right, and there's the building." Leaving out all the messy details, like which circle, which left, and which building. But after a quick apologetic phone call I was able to get back on track and heading in the right direction.

A few blocks away from our destination, I spotted a teeny tiny kitten running down the middle of the road. This is not unusual; Jordan is overrun by stray cats. Typically when I see them in the road I slow down and honk a lot, trying to scare them back onto the sidewalk or somewhere that isn't road. But this little one didn't respond. She kept running. So I stopped the car and got out, ready to shoo her to the side so other cars wouldn't hurt her. She kept running. In fact, she ran right into my hands. It was then I saw she was completely blind with all the gunk crusted over her eyes. So without a thought (obviously) I climbed back in the car and settled her in my lap.

The next issue arose when I arrived at the playdate. What do I do with her? So, I put her in a recyclable shopping back (yay, Whole Foods!) and carried her in. I first apologized for being late. Then I apologized for bringing nothing but a dirty crusty kitten. The mom was very kind and let me wash the kitten's eyes off in the bathroom while the girls raced off to play.

I then spent the whole 90 minutes chatting with this very nice mom while holding a purring filthy kitten in my hands. And to think that a few hours prior, I was worrying about what to wear. This is not a thought that bothers me for most American play dates; the "casual mom look" is typically fine. But I've seen these moms at nursery school and most are made up to the nines. I'm more in the two to three range. So I gave it a little extra thought before this play date. In hindsight, it was irrelevant. I could have shown up in a muddy potato sack, and it would have immediately been negated by the social faux pas of the crusty kitten accessory.

When it was time to leave, I asked the mom if she happened to have any empty boxes around. It would be far easier driving home in Amman traffic (at night) if I had the kitten securely contained. She didn't. But then she said, "I do have the bakery box from Crumz." So we taped this tiny kitten into the bakery box and I carried her out to the car like she was a strawberry tart.

After insane traffic (never drive at night on a Thursday in Amman, noted), we made it home without incident and with kitten contained. Now what to do with her? We had the vet come to the house the next morning; definitely a great benefit here. She estimated she was about three or four weeks old, but other than the crusty eyes due to an upper respiratory infection, she was perfectly healthy.

Over these last two weeks, she has proven to be the world's best kitten. She plays wildly, she sleeps deeply, she cuddles, she purrs, she uses the litter box perfectly, and she lets the children get far too close. The babies delight in playing "Where's the kitten?", Rocket routinely sings to her, and they both call her "Ball" (just like Koko the gorilla, not sure of the significance there). Bean calls her "the baby kitten" and always wants to pet her (with one finger). Chuckles does his best to ignore her, except when she pounces his tail and he admonishes her with a loud hiss. She perches on my shoulder when I'm at the computer and loves to play on Daddy's laptop when she can. And the final acceptance occurred the other night when she and Louie actually played (a little).

Despite all this feline perfection, when people ask, "Are you going to keep her?" we are noncommittal. Saying out loud, "We have three toddlers and three cats," makes us sound like a new reality show and I'm just not ready for my close-up.

But she is, and she's absolutely perfect.  Oh, Crumz!

Hot Springs Are Calling!

Looking for a weekend getaway, but want to try something different than the Dead Sea? While there are lots of options (desert camping, eco-lodges, etc.), there’s also the relaxing destination of the Ma’in Hot Springs. They are located just about 30 minutes south of the Dead Sea hotel strip; the GPS coordinates for the hotel are 31°36'30.3804", 035°36'27.6876", and trust me, you may need them. In theory, it’s an easy drive; just head towards the Dead Sea, pass all the hotels and resorts, follow the signs to the Panorama, drive up and around and around and around and then turn right at the Ma’in Hot Springs/Spa sign, after the Panorama Complex pull-off, then follow the windy road and at an obscure fork (GPS 31°36'43.9020", 035°36'55.3356"), stay to the right and go through the gates hidden behind the trees. Our issue was a few missing signs and a confused GPS that lead to an extra hour of exploration. But all was good in the end.

As of October 2015, the hotel was in the throes of a name and ownership change (hence some missing signage). Formerly they were the Evason Ma’in Hot Springs, under which you can still find them online and even book them, too. But their new name will be Ma’in Hot Springs (or so we were told). So when driving, keep an eye out for either sign, but basically follow anything that references Ma’in.

After you pass through the gates, keep driving towards the hotel. There are also public hot springs here, so if you’re heading to the hotel, just pass the parking and entrances to the public springs, and keep going towards the hotel; the road will dead-end so you’ll know you’ve arrived.

The hotel itself is nice. The rooms were spacious and comfortable; the service and food was good. Just note that the hotel is not geared towards entertaining children; pictures online depicting a spacious fun-looking toddler playroom and playground are inaccurate, they do not exist (must have been under previous management). But if your kids are interested in the warm pool (many kids were), or hiking trails (some long, some short), bike riding, or even the “library” with big chairs, checker boards and an odd assortment of books, they’ll be fine.

But what you’ve come for is the hot springs, right? There are a few options here. The hotel has two pools, a hot one and a cold one. The cold one shuts down for the winter, so we didn’t get to try it, but the hot one was wonderful! The hotel doesn’t offer direct access to the natural hot spring waterfall, but their hot pool is fed directly from it. Plus, you have a lovely view of the waterfall as you laze about in the pool and from the dining area. And if you’re curious, check out the “cave” under the pool’s man-made waterfall for a natural sauna experience.

There’s also a spa just down the road from the main hotel, and there (for a nominal fee) you can have direct access to a hot spring, as well as many other higher priced spa offerings.

And lastly, there are the public hot springs. We were told by the hotel staff that the public ones were only open from 9am-9pm for the public, but as a hotel guest, we could use them anytime. So early the next morning, we grabbed towels from the pool and took a 10-minute walk back up the road. Access is free to everyone, and when we arrived, we were not surprised to find that we were not alone and the “hotel-only” hours were merely a suggestion.

It took a little coaxing, but we were able to ease our way into the different pools created by the waterfall. All were hot to some degree, but as you got used to it, it was quite lovely. The one suggestion I’d make is, if you’re interested in the public springs, bring water shoes. The ground is a bit rocky and slimy and water shoes would have made it slightly more pleasant. In general, just be careful because of the natural algae growing on the rocks, it can be slippery everywhere.

There are actually two different areas for the public springs. If you’re driving in, the family springs (for everyone) are to the right; the women-only springs are to the left. And on the weekends, they become very popular with families and groups picnicking and splashing about all over.   This is obviously a much cheaper option if you didn’t want to stay overnight at the hotel. However, in addition to the water shoes suggestion, I will just add that the public bathrooms available here are akin to a cavernous American gas station bathroom that you’d only use in dire situations. So, use at your own risk.

But public or private, the Ma’in Hot Springs were a relaxing getaway and one that we are eager to revisit (especially now that we know where to turn). Enjoy!

Seeking Santa in Amman (Last Year)

Living overseas, especially in the Middle East, might lead you to think that picture-taking-Santas skip this region. But luckily, you would be wrong… sort of. As our oldest daughter was two-and-a-half last Christmas, we figured it might be the first year she’d start to “get” the idea of Santa and Christmas, and ironically enough with the help of her Jordanian nursery school, we were right! Suddenly she was recognizing Santa’s image everywhere! Grocery stores, malls, billboards, books; for weeks everything was, “Santa!” yelled with great glee and accompanied by lots of pointing. I’m not certain exactly what they told her about him in school, but they made darn sure she’d know him by sight.

The previous two years we did the obligatory pictures-with-Santa thing. Her first Santa was a gorgeous stand-in at Harrod’s in London. We’ll just skip over the whole spewing vomit all over the Disney princess wing of the store the day before, leading us to sneak in the back entrance the following day and keep our heads down as we paid our entrance fee to Santa’s fantasyland. But a picture was captured, bemused at best, sans vomit, so all was good.

By year two, we were in Jordan, and we gladly took part in the pictures-with-Santa opportunity provided by my husband’s employer. This photo captured the tears and screams of a confused 21-month-old. No fault to Santa himself, he tried.

So, next comes year three. And in addition to a Santa-seeking toddler, we have the twins’ first Christmas, so I was feeling some pressure to capture the moment. As we did the previous year, we signed up again to have pictures with Santa at my husband’s job. But when photo day arrived, we had a toddler and one twin dragging with fevers of 102, so we nixed it.

This suddenly left me with the need to find Santa in Amman. I reached out to friends on Facebook and was given a few leads. Santa had been spotted at the mall, at Hamleys toy store, and even at Marriott. Great! So many options.

I started with the mall. I wandered the whole mall, all levels, looking for the “Santa scene.” You know, the big chair, the backdrop, the festive accoutrements. I found what I thought might be it, but it turned out to be a car display. Then I found a large sign stating “Santa’s Village” but there was nothing there but an oversized present and a huge Christmas tree. So I went to the Information desk, figuring they’d know the big guy’s arrival dates. I asked this young Jordanian, “Where is Santa?” He looked at me with such cavernous blankness I could almost hear the ocean. “For pictures? … Pictures with Santa?” Still nothing. He may have blinked. I thanked him for his “help” and wandered off.

Next attempt was to hit Hamleys. I had heard that Santa would be appearing at “all” Hamleys. So I visited one of the smaller branches. There were two very nice employees who said that Santa wasn’t there; the store was about the size of my kitchen, so that fact was fairly obvious. But then they took the initiative and called the main store. After a lengthy conversation, I was told he was going to be at the Abdoun branch tonight from 5:00-6:00pm. In addition to posing for photos, the kids could also do a craft and would I like to reserve some spots? I said no to the crafts, but yay for Santa. So I called my husband at work and asked him to get home by five o’clock so he could help us with our little motley crew.

We got everyone all dressed up. The toddler was in her red velvet dress, shiny black shoes, white tights, two little puff pigtails and excitement oozing out of her. The twins were equally festive, in a red Christmas dress, and a blue sweater with tan pants, though being six-months-old their enthusiasm was notably less. Hubby was home on time, so we loaded everyone up and headed out!

Luckily we had the presence of mind to have my husband pop out of the car at Hamleys to confirm Santa was there and was receiving eager/unenthused children for crazy parental photo needs, before we unloaded everyone. I waited for an extended period of time, wondering what he could be doing in there, before he came out carrying a brochure. “We just missed him. He was here from 4:00-5:00.”

“No, he wasn’t. He was supposed to be here from five to six!” Yes, my refute was ridiculous, but you get three-under-three all dressed up with nowhere to go and see how you feel.

“But I got you a brochure which lists all his upcoming times and locations.” Well, that was something. So we headed home with the toddler spouting a phrase we’d be hearing for days to come, “Maa fii Santa.” (Arabic for “There is no Santa.”)

The next day I sat down and studied the brochure from Hamleys; which included a local book store, a grocery store, a home goods store and Hamleys (gosh, the guy certainly gets around). According to this, Santa was at the book store at the mall in two days at 5 o’clock, and then later at Hamleys (with Barbie, for some reason).

However, feeling mild annoyance at the incorrect information we’d received before I was not overly enthused to return to Hamleys, so I decided to try out other options. According to various Facebook postings, Santa had been seen at the Marriott downtown and at another mall.

I ventured out to a different mall and saw lots of Santa/Christmas paraphernalia; again the oversized chair, ottoman, and fireplace, but then the added oddities of a bunch of “normal” sized reindeer and elves strewn about. Regardless of the odd visuals, again we had “Maa fii Santa.”

Still wary of Hamleys, I opted for the Marriott as my next venture. I called first, spoke to a lovely gentleman who told me Santa would be available for photographs tonight as well as caroling. Yay! So, re-dress everyone, load them up, head on out on a dark rainy night. Locate the Marriott, stroller out, car seats in, carry the Bean, enter through security, smile with delight at the gingerbread village and trains, admire the large sparkling tree, get obligatory pictures and then start to wonder, "Where was Mr. Claus?".

"My First Marriott Christmas"

We wander a bit through the lobby, looking for signs or lines of happy holiday-clad children. Nothing. Maa fii, indeed. So I wander up to the happy clerk at the reception desk and smile with all my might and ask, “Where is Santa?” “Oh, he’s not here tonight.” Silence. Smile fades. Apparently Mr. Claus wasn’t feeling well, got lost, forgot his schedule, who knows. Bottom line, fifth attempt to see him; fifth "Maa fii Santa".

Okay, so I was running out of options here. Hamleys it is. Re-study large colorful brochure. Figure out he’ll be at the Hamleys on Mecca Street, so I call just to confirm; “Yes, Santa will be here Tuesday night at six o’clock.” Great, see you then!

December 23, not like we’re cutting it close or anything. Re-dress three children, re-load into car, re-corral husband from work, head out yet again on a dark drizzly night. We arrive just after six, expecting to see lines of excited children, gleeful parents, and a jolly old St. Nick himself. We saw nada. There were certainly children, and there were plenty of parents, but everyone was milling about and yet again, Maa fii Santa. So we inquired, “He’ll be here soon,” we were told.

An hour later, we were still waiting but now had two tired and hungry babies, so we prepped the bottles and started feeding. The Hamleys staff, for all their Santa ignorance, were very kind and got chairs for us and entertained Bean with bubble guns (that were coincidentally for sale right there). Waiting continued.

Finally we knew he was coming! How?!? Because the sound of bagpipes filled the air. And I mean, filled it; loudly. A parade of tall Jordanian-looking festive elves came marching through with bagpipes, drums, and great revelry followed by the great man himself, Mr. Claus. It was so “festive” (i.e., loud), that Bean and Sprout both burst into tears. I practically did too, but out of relief not anxiety.

Once the music finally ceased, the line formed and we dragged our crew to the end of it. By the time it was our turn for a picture, Bean and Sprout were calmer but certainly not in any frame of mind to be passed off to Santa or happy elves. So we passed off Rocket (who was just bemused by the whole thing) to the drummer elf, Daddy held Sprout and I held Bean and I handed my camera to yet another elf and we all got in the (damn) picture!

In the end, the picture was one we’ll probably never show to anyone (yeah, it’s that bad). But at least we got it, right? So for the next year I’m setting limits right now. Unless your fever reaches 104 and you’re spewing Harrod’s-worthy vomit, we’re seeing Santa at our first chance! Merry Christmas, everyone!

It’s a Date!

Ten years ago, a date with my husband-to-be involved excited anticipation, googley eyes, hand-holding that made my heart pitter pat, vanilla chapstick, a spritz of Chanel No. 5, and some wonderful first kisses under the oak tree. No, I didn’t wear a poodle skirt; yes, I was a bit of a dork. Fast-forward ten years, add in faraway lands, piles of blowing dust, a toddler, twin babies, and chronic exhaustion and a date is far less likely to happen, let alone rival a “Leave it to Beaver” episode. But it’s not out of the question!

Recently, my husband had the day off, Bean was back in nursery school, the babies were heading off for their morning nap, and the nanny was completely in charge. So we did the unthinkable! We went on a morning date.

We bathed, dressed up (meaning no mystery stains), I dug out some earrings, and we jumped in the car. Our goal was to have brunch at Hashem Restaurant in downtown Amman, and see the staircase with the umbrellas.

We followed the GPS, which got us close enough that we felt we could walk, not knowing the parking opportunities closer in. So we found a pay-lot near First Circle off Zahran Street and started our trek down the hill. We passed down the pet store street with the sad barking dogs and tweeting birds behind locked gates. This lead into gun alley, with the gun shops, also closed. It was almost 10:30am and yet the city was barely stirring.

I found myself wanting to look around and see the old buildings or peek into the doorways and alleyways we were passing, but the hill was too steep and the sidewalk too uneven and broken for me to take my eyes off of it for fear of a broken ankle. I was taking it slowly and at one point my husband looked back and said, “Are you sure those were the best shoes for a hike?” I looked down at my Sanrah croc sandals with the vamp straps and silver-tone circle cutout and answered, “I thought this was a date, not a hike!” It is true; romance never dies.

Twice, I nudged my husband to ask a passer-by if we were headed in the right direction. Twice, we were told some mush-mouth directions that involved “straight” and then “left”. We kept on trekking.

We finally made it to the bottom of the street where it intersected another street, chose the left fork and within minutes I said, “There are the umbrellas!” And there they were!

For some reason, some creative inspired person or persons took it upon themselves to adorn a steep set of stairs with an assortment of colorful umbrellas, hanging on wires. I have no idea who or why they did this, nor whether it’s done every year. But I loved it!

There’s something about colorful umbrellas that brings out child-like glee. Well, it did for me. My husband may have been gleeful inside, but he hid it well and when I asked if we should cross the street to take pictures, he said, “Let’s eat first.”

Luckily our destination of Hashem Restaurant was just around the corner. It’s alleged to be the oldest restaurant in Amman, and has been run by the same Turkish family for generations. Regardless of all that, it is a classic dive restaurant with great food. The plastic tables and chairs are set up in an alley, essentially. We wandered in and were offered a table, but I asked if we could sit in the shade. So the man lead us back to another table with a couple already sitting at it and indicated we should join them. So we did. He made a cursory wipe of the crumbs, then looked at my husband who said, “Two for breakfast.” No menus here.

We made chit-chat with the other couple, who happened to be visiting from Saudi Arabia, while we waited for our food and they finished up theirs. By the time they were done and leaving, our plates were coming out. First we both received a blank piece of paper. I quickly realized this was to be our plate. Then bowls of hummus, falafel, fuul (mashed broad beans), French fries, and a plate of raw onion and tomato landed on the table with great efficiency, and the empty basket was quickly filled with fresh warm pita. My husband opted for the tea with mint (there’s no coffee served), but it was too hot for tea, so I chose a soda. Meal received. Dig in!

As I see it, there are two reasons Hashem has been around for decades: They serve delicious food quickly. And as an added bonus, it was about $10 for everything. Can’t beat that!

After eating and paying, we opted to wander a little bit since we hadn’t ever explored this area of town on foot. It’s not far from the Roman Amphitheater (according to the signage), but we’d only just driven these streets. Walking opens them up for true exploration.

So we explored a little, stopped in a nut store and grabbed some American walnuts - because the guy told us, “They’re the best!”

We then headed over to the umbrella staircase. I feel it needs a better name, but I’m not coming up with anything lyrical currently. From the time I had first heard of it, a month had passed so some of the umbrellas had been off-set or blown away by the wind, but there were enough there to make it so very very worth it.  We climbed up, took lots of pictures, tried to get out of the way of other people taking pictures, and thoroughly enjoyed the explosion of color. In addition to the umbrellas above, the walls were lined with painted flower pots all holding geraniums. The whole thing was lovely.

Feeling I’d had my fill, we started the trek back up the hill towards our car. A few blocks in we made one final stop – at the paint store. I wanted a small pot of white paint. Purchase made, resume date.

The hills in Amman rival San Francisco. And while going down them requires some concentration, hiking up them requires a lot of huffing and puffing. And with our tummies full, carrying a bag of walnuts and a pot of white paint, and with the heat of Jordan’s summer blasting on us, we opted for a quick cab ride to the top of the hill. It took us a while to get someone willing to stop, but one finally did, drove us about five minutes straight up, we got out, paid and thanked him and walked the rest of the way to our car.

Since those early June-Cleaver-esque dates we’ve definitely gone beyond dinner and a movie. And as much as I love the movies, it just can’t top a date that involves a little getting lost, a chance meeting with some interesting strangers, some delicious food (even served on a piece of paper), great photo opportunities, and if we can cross an errand or two off my list, all the better. Here’s to more spontaneous morning, afternoon, or even midnight dates, Sweetie!

Drat, the Clever Toddler

Lately, I’m finding my toddler’s constant chatterings to be completely distracting. I used to be able to just tune her out, keeping one ear perked for anything of significance or imminent danger. But either I’ve lost that skill, much as I’ve lost the ability to complete a sentence when speaking to an adult, or something else has changed. I was determined to figure it out so I devised a “toddler talk” experiment. During a recent lunch with my three-and-a-half-year-old, I took notes of our “conversation,” interspersed with eating, chewing and drinking. Six minutes in, I had my answer. See transcript below:

Mom, is Rocket [baby brother] going to walk with me again? I was holding his hand. Mom, what is this color? Green or yellow? (It’s blue.) Chipmunks! (Chipmunks?) Yeah! Chip and Dale! Mom, can I have some more orange? (Later.) Mom, can I have a vitamin? (You already had one at breakfast.) I want another one. (Later.) Is this for the babies? (No, they’re yours.) Mom, why do you have my bow in your hair? No babies are here right now. (I remove bow.) I want to go to Lana’s house. Are we going to Lana’s house right now, Mom? (No.) What are we going to do? (We need to mail some cards.) Who are they for? (Aunt Allison and Aunt Robin.) Aunt Allison and Aunt Robin? Aunt Allison and Aunt Robin, I said, Mom? (Yes.) Okay. Mom, what else, Mom? Me want to go to the playground. (We can’t, it’s wet.) Why is it wet, Mom? (It’s raining.) Can I have some figs? I like figs. Can I eat all the figs, Mom? (No, you can have one.) Then I eat all of them. What is this? (It’s part of the fig.) We eat this, Mom? (Yes.) I will eat this, then this. Pull my sleeves up. Like this. Mommy, look at this! [Eats fig] I want some soy milk, Mom. Can I have some more figs? (No.) I need some on my sandwich. Mom, my sandwich is falling apart [takes it apart]. I like this. I’m going to do this [continues dismantling sandwich]. Look at this, Mommy! [Takes a bite.] I’m full now! It’s a little bit sour. The cheese is getting a little outside, like the airplane. You see, Mom? Like an airplane. (Speechless) Mom, can I pet Saif-o’s kitties? He has two kitties. Can I pet them, Mom? (Did he bring them to school?) Yes. No. Can I pet them? Mommy, look down here! A dinosaur! (A dinosaur?) No, up here! Water please. [Fills cup] I have a lot, Mom. See, Mom? Now I have to go pee pee. I drink all the water. My tummy’s full. I need to go wash my hands. I have to pee pee, too, Mom.

Apparently, with careful observation, she figured out that to break through the tune-out-toddler shield all she needed was a deluge of “Mom” drops. Drat, the clever toddler wins again!  Must devise new shield (with option for triple strength).