reality check
It is cleaning the new rug with a lint roller because the vacuum has not yet arrived (along with the rest of your household goods).
It is shopping for said new rug and hesitantly allowing your toddler to jump freely on top of the giant rug piles because this country “lets kids be kids”… and finally relaxing when another family does the same.
It is food court options at the mall serving wine.
It is so many moments of shear frustration created by this nearly impenetrable barrier called language…
And another moment of pure gratitude, when the toddler comments rather loudly on how “large that man is” in the grocery store. I tell myself he didn’t understand and take comfort knowing that, most likely, I am correct.
It is sensory overload every time you leave the house.
It is needing Greg’s co-worker to call the chiropractor for you because his receptionist does not speak English.
It is doctors giving out personal cell phone numbers, should you have any questions later on.
It is prescription refills that do not require a prescription… “Just tell the pharmacy what you need,” the doctor says.
It is wiping away tears (the happy kind) as Greg describes his first experience on public transit: station workers pushing from the outside to squeeze more people into sardine-packed trains because, as they say, “a mother’s love always can accept one more.”
It is typing only the letter “t” into the address bar before your internet browser graciously fills in the rest, because it knows what you need: translate.google.com
It is battling colds in the 75° winter chill.
It is walking down the sidewalk as your toddler calls out “BUS!” every time a bus drives by, and remembering a street corner in Utah where we celebrated confirmation of this upcoming adventure (Burger Bar style) - where the toddler also called out “BUS!” every time one drove by. We had laughed and said we’d be “that” family in Brazil. And now we are.
It is swelling pride when that precious toddler starts calling out “ônibus” instead :)
It is pushing the stroller and wearing the baby into a business park full of business people because, after this morning, you need an iced chai latte (your first in the last six weeks) - and Starbucks is the only place you know will have it.
It is meeting for brunch at 9:30 am and returning home just shy of 4 pm.
It is Greg dripping with sweat after an hour and a half drive home with no air and fogging windows to allow the recently bullet-proofed, tinted windows time to seal.
It is discovering the most amazing French-inspired dessert cafe a block away from your home.
It is processing and prayer and honest conversations, on continuous loop.
This is how Brazil looks and feels, now that the honeymoon phase has wrapped.