14 Weeks Down, 26 More to Go

This weekend marked Week 14 for me and Z Baby. According to my sources, the little one is roughly 4" long crown-to-rump now and weighs in at nearly an ounce. Meanwhile, the mommy has gained a bit more than an ounce - 2 whole pounds actually, right to the waist. I think it's official that I need to retire one pair of my 'skinny jeans' now and my little gut has me steering away from anything too clingy (you know, since I don't actually look prego yet, just like I have indulged in one too many scoops of ice cream!)

We have our next appointment on Wednesday morning (October 22) with our new highly recommended obstetrician, and within the next 6 weeks we should be able to find out if Z Baby is um menino or uma menina! And then the fun shopping can fully commence!

Comfy Hammocks, Big Fish, and Wormy Dogs

We were planning to go camping this weekend. But somehow that never happened and instead we ended up out at a sítio outside of Belo Horizonte on Saturday and in Sete Lagoas at a fazenda on Sunday.

Lots of people in Belo Horizonte have a little country weekend house, or sítio, outside of the city. One of my adult students invited Eric and me, along with some of her classmates and one of the other teachers out to the sítio that she and her husband own. Eric and I got out there around lunchtime on Saturday and were greeted with lots of yummy food: beef, chicken, rice, beans, cheesy potatoes, salad. We stuck around until past 10:00 when we finally convinced everyone to let us leave (everyone else came prepared to stay the night, but we hadn't). Not wanting to show up empty handed, but unsure as to what to take, I made a huge pan of brownies which everyone started off eating very hesitantly, but by the end of the night they invited us to come back anytime, and encouraged me to bring brownies again. That seems to be how it goes anytime I offer some of my "American" baking; everyone looks at it strange, has lots of questions, takes a itty bitty bite and hesitantly tries it, and I can't figure out if they are eating it out of politeness or if they actually like it. And then before I know it, the whole plate/pan/or whatever has disappeared. :)

Eric got word Thursday afternoon that he needed to be in Sete Lagoas (a city a little over an hour away from BH) for a meeting first thing Monday morning. Since yesterday and today are holidays for me and the language school is closed, we decided to go up Sunday morning and stay the night in Sete Lagoas. There is a place outside of the city that is pretty well known, Solar do Engenho, which is a hotel set on 500 acres in the country with horseback riding, fishing, and other outdoor activities. All the structures, furniture, etc. are built from demolition wood and made to look like something from the 1700's, but with modern comfort. It made for a totally relaxing Sunday! (And it sure didn't hurt that the first thing they asked us when we arrived is if we wanted massages . . . um, that would be a yes! It was going to be hard to have a bad time after starting our day off with massages!)

Looking back at the hotel and one of the ponds

Picture taken of the pool and swim-in sauna (what an awesome idea!) from the hotel's gigantic front porch

Our room wasn't too shabby either! It was very rustic but incredibly comfortable! We had the best Sunday afternoon nap ever in our in-room hammock (and I am quite the connoisseur of naps these days!)

I might have gotten spoiled with a nice relaxing bubble bath Sunday night too.

And to go with the "rustic" theme, they had the most awesome sink and gorgeous old wood everywhere.

We went down Sunday afternoon, prior to our nap, to the ponds and thought we'd do a little fishing. Eric was encouraged to see this guy wrangle in this hugamongous fish just as we were walking up.

So I got a little cane pole and Eric went for the real fishing pole and off we went. I got two fish, that weren't exactly record-breakers or anything.
But Eric got skunked and didn't catch anything except for a hard time from his wife about her superior fishing skills.
And what is that he is using for bait you ask? Only the best, my dear friend.
Yes, that would be a hot dog. All the big fish were being caught with hot dogs (and given that your choice of bait was hotdogs or these little pieces of fish food that looked like dog food . . .) And yes, those would be spaghetti noodles in said hotdog. You had to split the sausage to get it on the hook/line and then use little pieces of noodles to hold it all on there. It was quite the different experience from our usual crickets or worms or liver or minnows that we usually use as bait back home!

But meanwhile, I got the best food idea for a kids' Halloween party: "Wormy Dogs", push spaghetti noodles though hotdogs prior to boiling them so that you have these little worms dangling from the hotdog. How awesomely gross would that be? See, I'm going to be great at this whole "mom thing". ;)

Eric got up Monday morning and went to his meeting and I got to crawl back in bed after having breakfast with him, which was quite heavenly given my usual 7:30 am class routine these days.

Football in the South

There is one thing I miss more than any other this time of year: college football.

Growing up in the south and being part of a family where practically everyone holds a degree from the University of Georgia, a love of SEC football, and more specifically the Georgia Bulldogs, was just about as inevitable as a tendency to use y'all, m'am, and sir and cravings for grits, fried okra, and cornbread (not necessarily all together, mind you).

So you can imagine my horror and dismay when the occasional Brasilian tells me that they have watched some American football, that they do actually like it, and then go on to talk about their favorite NFL team or player. Oh, now, goodness gracious! That is not football people! I then start in on my spiel about how college football is so much better, especially Southeastern Conference (SEC) football. My ramblings are usually met with a confused look and audible "Oi?"

And then I have to try and explain the concept of college sports which is so completely foreign that I have a really hard time getting it all across clearly. (Take the passion of the professional soccer fans and subtract things like fireworks in the stands and everyone taking their shirt off and swinging it over their head and instead put the women in cute red and black dresses - remember, this is Georgia we're talking about - but apply it to something sort of like the club teams here, but um, yeah, not exactly really.) And then I have to get into the whole thing where it varies a lot in different parts of the nation too. While college football is plenty big other places, it is taken pretty much as seriously and given about as much devotion as religion in the south. And then I have to explain the whole "Bible belt" concept to get across just how big of a deal that is. And then somehow that leads me to telling them about laws like not being able to buy alcohol on Sunday in Georgia and how some counties are dry and then all that just thoroughly the confuses the heck out of them. And I am left with this human standing in front of me looking at me as though I am completely out of my mind and they leave shaking their head and mumbling something about "Americanos são muito estranhos" or "Americana louca" or something along those lines. Which I guess basically just makes it another normal day for me. But that is beside the point.

The thing is, however hard I ever thought it was to explain to Eric how different football is in Georgia compared to, let's say, Iowa, it is about a bazillion times more complicated to get across the whole concept to people from another country while speaking a foreign language. And for those who sadly don't know what is different about college football in the south versus elsewhere, let me give you an illustration:

It was my first fall living in Iowa (September 2006, to be exact). Eric was all excited because he was going to take me to the Iowa/Iowa State game in Iowa City. For weeks he is talking it up, telling me all the fun we're going to have. For weeks I am contemplating what I should wear. The week of the game I laid out a couple of way-cute dress and adorable shoes options I was considering and asked Eric for his opinion. His face became all distorted and he asked me if I understood that we were going to a football game. Upon assuring him I was aware of our destination, he then asked me, "Um, okay then, where are your jeans and t-shirt?" I think it was right about then that I fainted. Go tailgating and to a game in jeans AND A T-SHIRT!?! What about the skirts, what about the dresses, what about the perfectly coordinated shoes and accessories? We finally compromised with a jean skirt, nice shirt, and cute flipflops - and I was still rather over dressed for that crowd! And we won't even go into the conversation we had earlier that week as I sat surrounded by all my best cookbooks asking Eric what all he thought I should prepare for the tailgate. There is an entire discussion in one of my good southern cookbooks about planning, preparation, and menu ideas for tailgating. While I had a good enough time at the game, the atmosphere was, in my opinion, much more high school football game than college football game. It just wasn't nearly as much of an affair, nor did it have the energy that I was expecting.

It's just different in the south. And I was once again reminded of that when two of my good friends emailed me this picture this week.

I can only assume this photo was taken after the devestating loss to Alabama two weekends ago which dropped us from a #3 in the country ranking to #10.

A Special Request

Dear Internet Users:

For the love of all that is good and holy, please, please, please let's not make mention of things like Krispy Kreme for the remaining 27 weeks of my pregnancy, okay? Fellow blogger, excellent photographer, mommy to some adorable munchkins, and girlie I used to go to church with for a bit while I was in college, Amber, decided to post some photos and stories about her family's Krispy Kreme outing on her blog last week. Over the course of the subsequent 5 days, all I could think about was a hot, soft, sweet, tantalizing doughnut melting in my mouth with all of it's sugary goodness.

I have received lots of questions lately about whether or not I've had any cravings. And usually my answer is that I have not for anything too particular, anyway. But the doughnuts, oh how the doughnuts changed all that!

Given that I've never seen a doughnut in Brasil, much less a HOT doughnuts NOW sign illuminated over the mecca that is Krispy Kreme, I finally decided to take matters into my own hands. Because it was either that or eat everything I could find containing yeast, flour, and sugar for the next 27 weeks trying to find a fix for this Krispy Kreme calling.

I scoured the internet for a recipe that could produce something comparable to the Krispy Kreme goodness I enjoyed throughout my childhood. I finally found it, a recipe called Crispy and Creamy Doughnuts. Oh yes, nice . . . very nice.

Yesterday evening, I got to work on my masterpiece. I changed the icing from the suggested butter-filled recipe given to just a simple sugar, vanilla, and hot water glaze. (I like to be healthy and all, you know.)

And one nice big messy, greasy, sticky kitchen and 26 hot, steamy, glazed doughnuts later, I had this . . .




Hey, I said there were 26 doughnuts. Please stop trying to count them, okay? I mean there really were 26 doughnuts (despite the recipe only promising me 18 of them!) And I'm not sure why there are less than 15 in my refrigerator right now.

I am totally going to blame it on this guy though.

But hey, anyway, what I'm trying to say is that until I find a pregnant-American-woman-living-in-Brasil filter for online content, let's try to keep the food-I-can't-easily-gain-access-to talk to a minimum. Can we all agree to that please? And that's going to include Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. I like real, homemade mac n cheese, not the boxed stuff; but for some reason here lately I've wanted it unlike anything else . . . except for maybe Krispy Kreme.

Thanks so much for your cooperation,

Emily . . . the soon to be whale

Sobrinha #3

Eric and I are excited to announce the arrival of our third sobrinha (niece) yesterday!

Hannah Joy was born October 2 and weighed in at 7 pounds 12 ounces. Eric spoke to Tanya (his sister) around noon yesterday, less than 2 hours after the birth. She sounded peppy and perfectly normal - you'd never have known she had been at the hospital in labor since three in the morning and had a baby just a couple hours earlier. (I keep telling her she is a bad example for Eric - he thinks all pregnant and just-gave-birth women are as pleasant and easy-going as her! hehehe) Mommy and baby are doing great, the proud father of three girls was very excited when we talked to him last night, and big sisters Madison and Kaylee are in love with the new baby.

And Tio Eric and Tia Emily couldn't be happier! We just wish we were there to meet little Miss Hannah! I have sent stern instructions though that she isn't to grow or change a bit until we get there in December . . . we'll see how that all works out.

Excuse me sir, but your bananas are poking me

Pregnancy hormones have rendered me with zero patience these days, and several things that I either had gotten accustomed to or had just accepted are now bugging me all over again. Personal space, or the lack of it, is one of those things.

There are several cultural differences that I love here with regards to people's personal little bubble. Like, for example, I think it's great to greet friends with a hug and cheek kisses. I have no problem with people I know standing, sitting, or speaking a little closer to me than I, as am American, am used too. And I even understand when folks are pressed up against me on a crowded city bus.

It's mostly the standing in lines with strangers that gets to me the most these days. Yesterday at the grocery store was a very typical experience for me lately:

I am standing in line to check out, with four or five small things in my hands. I leave an American norm, probably 2-person, space between me and the person in front of me. As I patiently wait my turn in the long line, a man holding a large bunch of bananas comes up and steps right in front of me. Being accustomed to this routine, I wait about three seconds. The guys then turns to me and politely, but looking a little surprised, asks if I was in line. I smile and inform him I was; he apologizes and steps behind me to get in the back of the line. And when I say he steps behind me, I mean right behind me. I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. I take a half step forward to put a little distance between us. He proceeds to take a full step up. His bunch of bananas are ever so slightly brushing my back with each breath he takes. (I know this because I can still feel his breath on my neck.)

There is still some space between me and the next person in line, so I try my luck again and take another half-step forward, hoping he doesn't notice this time. The man behind me once again takes a full step forward, along with all the people now behind him in line. Now his bananas are poking firmly into the small of my back and I am all but sitting on the shoulders of the lady in front of me. And wouldn't you know the cashier was taking forever! Now, I probably was in this situation for less than 5 minutes, but man, oh man, it seemed like a lot longer. I told myself to take some deep breaths and relax. But each time I inhaled, my chest would expand and my boobs would touch the head of the woman in front of me (she was quite short, and I was very close to her by this time.) When I exhaled, the bananas would dig further into my back. I couldn't move to either side because there were shelves to my left and then someone had left a buggy just to my right between me and the other set of shelves. I was thoroughly stuck.

I am rather lucky that I can usually keep up appearances and maintain a nice pleasant exterior regardless of what is going on inside. And yesterday was no exception, but internally I kept repeating to myself, "calma, calma, calma . . ." because a real large part of me wanted to scream "everyone just back off already - alright!?!"

Yes, it appears that some days I still like my personal space bubble. Yesterday was obviously one of those days. And Eric is lucky he worked late last night. Had he come home immediately after my arrival back from the grocery store, I'm not sure how I would have responded to his 'Honey I'm home' hug and kiss!

She isn't even a teacher!

There are some days when I absolutely love teaching English. And then there are others when I ask myself why the heck I am doing this.

One of the latter came earlier this semester. I was at one of the school branches where I teach several classes and also a few individual students. (I should add that some of the branches are franchises and make all their own decisions with regards to who they hire to teach, etc. While I work mainly at several of the schools operated by the main branch, I was invited and then hired to also teach at this particular franchise.) One night early in the semester, the owner of this branch asked to speak with me. She explained that some students from one of my adult classes had made some comment along the lines of "Emily's not even a teacher". She then went on to question me about my degree, what I did in the US before coming to Brasil, and other things that we had discussed when she hired me. And then she asked if I had ever told this particular class that I wasn't a teacher.

Now, it seems sort of silly to me to even ask that question. I have been teaching since April (which hardly makes me a veteran or anything, but still . . .) I spent two months prior to that attending trainings, observing experienced teachers, and everyday since then studying up on my English grammar rules and teaching techniques so that I could be an effective ESL/EFL teacher. Now, why on earth would I undermine all my work by announcing to a class that "Hi, my name is Emily. I'll be your teacher this semester, but I am not actually a teacher"? I brought this up but also added that if the class had ever asked me what my degree was in or what type of work I did in the US, then I would have been quite candid with them. But never would I make the statement, "I am not a teacher."

Our little conversation ended by it being suggested that I tell a "little lie" in the future when asked about things like my degree or background. I was told it would be best if I answered those type of questions simply with, "I have been teaching here for 2-3 years" and just leave it at that. Now, don't ask me how in the heck I am supposed to explain my lack of fluency in Portuguese if I've been here 3 years . . .

I thought it was one of the most nonconstructive pieces of criticism I've ever received. Express concern over my teaching techniques, tell me I need to do a better job of explaining grammar, you can even insist that I become better at translating from English to Portuguese if you'd like. But it is not exactly helpful to be told that I'm "not a teacher" and then be told to just lie about it.

One of the other teachers had overheard our conversation and she and I still joke about me "not being a teacher", or how I've "been here 2-3 years", and how I'm just some random native speaker they found on the street and invited in to teach the class . . . you know, since I'm obviously not a teacher or anything! My teacher friend has jokingly suggested too that I stop attending teachers' meetings, since I am apparently not qualified to be there and all. (And I must admit that part doesn't sound half bad.)

I have always taken a pretty firm stance in agreeing with the idea that speaking a language doesn't make you qualified to teach it. But, man, I've really worked hard to do a good job at this by making sure I know my stuff and am able to transfer my knowledge to students. I was so annoyed by being hired with full knowledge of my qualifications, or lack thereof I suppose, but then later instead of defending me in front of students, or asking if they had any specific complaints about me, just telling me I need to lie in the future.

But alas, today made up for any doubts, insecurities, or frustrations I had still lingering from that day a couple months ago. I had substituted for an adult class on two previous occasions this semester and last week I got a call asking if I could take on teaching the class permanently one day per week. Apparently a couple students had gone to the coordinator and told her what a good teacher I was and how much they enjoyed the classes I taught. They expressed interest in having me as one of their teachers on a permanent basis and today was my first day as such. The class meets at 7:30 in the morning, so I can't say I was completely pumped to be at school that early this morning. But when I was met by smiling faces and adult students (much older than me, none the less) telling me repeatedly throughout class that I was a really good teacher and they were really happy to have classes with me, well, it made me fall in love with my new profession all over again.

I mean, who knows, maybe I really am a teacher after all!