We Survived A Year In Brazil!

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This March marks our one year anniversary of living in Brazil. While I feel it was a very difficult year, and I am proud of myself for not throwing in the towel, it seems that others don’t really feel that I have reason enough to celebrate – all because we are here on a company package. I’ve been reading lots of expat blogs lately and getting lots of comments from expat friends who are not here on company packages. They all seem to have the opinion that if you are on a company package, your life in a foreign country is just not the true ‘insert name of country here‘ experience and that it must be sooooo easy. That REALLY irritates me.

Since moving to Brazil, my five-year old daughter E has been diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder, Separation Anxiety Disorder, Social Phobia, and Social Anxiety. She also has a rule out diagnosis for autism – meaning that her test results place her on the autism spectrum, but they feel that the results may be skewed due to her other issues. At times, her behavior can be much like that of a child with autism if I do not control her environment properly. We have to avoid many situations and social functions that cause sensory overload which then leads to a meltdown of epic proportion.

The team that evaluated E suggested treating the other issues first, and if we don’t see improvements in a year, they will reevaluate her for autism. As a result, E receives occupational therapy twice a week and psychotherapy (mostly through art therapy) once a week. I had to first learn about all of these issues (I had never ever HEARD of Sensory Processing Disorder) and then sort this all out in a foreign country – one in which I had only been living in for less than a year at the time of her diagnosis. The fact that I am nowhere near fluent in Portuguese and that I don’t understand the healthcare and mental healthcare system here only complicates the matter. I would not have known where to begin to get her the help that she needs if we were still living in the US, so trying to figure out the system in a foreign country is daunting. Then I had to find therapists who speak English since my daughter isn’t fluent in Portuguese either. It’s been a VERY difficult year.

I’ve been on all sides of the expat life. I lived abroad long before my husband’s company offered to pay our way. I’ve done it on my own, and I’ve done it with very limited support from the school I worked at. None of those situations were easy. And you know what? This situation isn’t easy either – even if I wasn’t dealing with my daughter’s issues. Sure; I live in a very nice condominium unit. I have hot water in my kitchen. I have a bath tub. I also have a car. My kids attend a very expensive school. To some, this means that I am not living the true Brazilian experience because many Brazilians don’t enjoy these luxuries. But you know what? The other 99 Brazilian families living in my condominium do. And so do the countless neighbors in my barrio. Yes, it’s an exclusive area and we have amenities that many Brazilians do not – I’ll give you that – but this is MY Brazilian experience. There is no TRUE Brazilian experience just as there is no TRUE American experience.

I grew up middle class. We didn’t live in a fancy house or drive fancy cars. There were no ballet classes or name brand clothes because my family could simply not afford these things. My husband grew up much the same. My husband and I both put ourselves through college and, after graduating, he worked his way up the corporate ladder and now makes a very good living. We struggled financially the first few years of our marriage, but my kids will now live a much more comfortable childhood than my husband or I ever had. Even so, there are still neighborhoods in my hometown that my husband and I will never be able to afford to live in. The lives of the people who reside in these neighborhoods may not resemble my own American life while living stateside. But at the same time, the amenities that I enjoyed as an adult while living in the US were far better than those of my childhood. While living in the same country, I myself have experienced different realities. The bottom line is that we all have our own unique reality and we all experience challenges and triumphs – we just experience them through a different lens.

So for those that may not feel that I am living the true Brazilian experience, I would gladly trade you my nice apartment, my bathtub, the hot water in my kitchen, and my car if it meant that E could become a neurotypical child. Not that I don’t love E just the way that she is, but I would give ANYTHING to make her everyday life easier for her and to provide her with a carefree childhood.

This is MY Brazilian experience, and it is not easy.

- Melissa

My Husband Left Me

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Marriage is tough. Marriage combined with raising two small children is even tougher. Marriage combined with raising two small kids in a foreign country is basically as tough as it gets . . . well, with the exception of dealing with terminal diseases, natural disasters, death, and whatnot.

When my husband told me that he was leaving, I got really pissed. Had I not given up everything – my career, my social life, my minivan with remote power sliding doors (crucial when toting two small kids around since your hands are always full of crap or kids) – to move to Brazil so that he could further his career? And now he was leaving me with two small kids??? I was livid to say the least.

Once reality set in and my anger subsided, I simply broke down and cried. How would I survive with two little kids on my own? How would my kids react to him being gone? And maybe the most pressing question of all: How in the world does a man who is a much bigger fan of the loo than the Louvre (he never even bothered to visit when he was in Paris – and time was not an issue!) get to spend three weeks in France and Italy while his wife (who would kill to visit a decent art museum right about now) is stuck back in Brazil taking care of two little kids on her own – two little kids who happen to be off of school all week for Carnival leaving their mother without a minute to herself? All I have to say is that when my husband returns from his three-week European business trip, he better have some damn nice presents for me in that suitcase of his, or I might be the one leaving him!

Santa Came Early This Year!

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santa letter

Santa came to our house early this year! After hauling all the gifts that he bought in the States this summer all the way to Brazil, he wasn’t about to drag then back to the States again for Christmas (we weren’t planning on coming home for Christmas when Santa did his shopping)! He left us a note explaining that he surprised with our gifts early because he knew that we were leaving this Friday to spend a month in the US, and had he delivered our gifts to us there, they wouldn’t have fit in our luggage so we wouldn’t have been able to bring them back to Brazil. And because he knows that we are spoiled Americans who couldn’t bear to wake up on Christmas morning without a gift to open, Santa did mention in his note that we should send him a letter with one or two gifts that he might have missed on our lists and that he would bring them to our house in the US on Christmas Eve. To top it off, because Santa hadn’t decided until 1:00 a.m. that morning that he would be coming early and the kids were already asleep and couldn’t leave him milk cookies, Santa made sure to explain to us that he helped himself to a snack. Thankfully, Santa knew that a three and five-year old would never question his motives.

After waking up to a surprise visit from Santa, what does any self-respecting American family do after opening the Christmas presents that they really didn’t need to begin with? They head to the mall to buy more crap they don’t really need! Actually, our goal was to hit four malls to check out all their Christmas decorations, but we only made it to one that had an awesome three-story Christmas tree. Hitting four malls was a lofty goal with a three-year old and five-year old in tow, so we weren’t surprised that we didn’t get very far. That’s generally how we roll.

Christas Tree at Diamond Mall

We had visited two other malls in the past few weeks, so maybe another four malls would have been overkill anyway.

BH shopping

BH Shopping has a very cool Christmas village. There must be at least 20 buildings almost as tall as my three-year old.

mushroom

As my sister noted, it looks like we’re waiting for a Christmas gnome rather than Santa. Not sure why he sits under a giant mushroom at Patio Savassi.

Next year, Santa intends to plan ahead and not spring Christmas on us. He’ll pick a date far in advance, figure out in which country he will do his Christmas shopping, and make sure that the fridge is stocked before Christmas arrives. Instead of having our early Christmas dinner at Eddie Fine Burger inside the mall, a home cooked meal would have been nice. But at least we can have a “do-over” on December 25th.

Happy holidays everyone! I hope your celebrations are much more thought out than ours!

Prostitutes, Revolving Doors, and Parking Meters

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When I first moved to Brazil, I had no use for banks. Mainly because I was a prisoner in my own home, but it didn’t help that it took my bank SIX MONTHS to get me my debit and credit card. For some unknown reason, my husband’s cards arrived in a week, but no matter how many times my husband called to inquire about the status of my own cards, the days dragged on into weeks and the weeks dragged on into months. In the meantime, I lived like a prostitute; my husband would leave cash on my nightstand for me each morning as he slipped out the door on his way to work. I felt like a kept woman.

Even after my bank cards finally arrived, I still went on living like a prostitute for a few weeks since I was too scared to belly up to the ATM whose menu is only in Portuguese. But one day after being stiffed by my husband, I had no choice but to face my fears and visit the ATM as my maid needed to be paid (I know; such problems I have!). I walked to the bank, stepped up to the ATM, and randomly punched keys hoping that they would be the ones allowing me to withdraw cash. Thankfully, this particular ATM didn’t eat my card after several failed attempts, and about ten minutes later, I walked out of the bank with cash in my hands. Yeah me! I visited that same ATM on two more occasions with no problem. I should have known that winning streak had to end sometime.

The other day, I went to that same ATM (I’ve never dared to try a different one). This time, it’s like I had entered another universe. Instead of walking right into the bank, having the glass doors to the ATM area automatically open for me, and having cash in my hands within minutes, I felt like I had entered Fort Knox. I managed to get through the front door of the bank and into a little glass enclosed lobby area without a problem.  I confidently walked toward the set of automatic doors that open to the ATM area only to almost smash right into them as they did not open as usual. Yet mysteriously, I could see people on the other side using the ATMS. So I stood and stared at the doors for a couple of minutes trying to figure out how to open them while I prayed that someone else would come by and open the doors so that I could slip in behind them. This didn’t happen.

So this picture was actually taken when the bank was closed due to a strike, but it pretty much sums up my experience on a normal business day when the bank was in full swing operating mode.

I then turned my attention the revolving doors. I watched a few people go through the door and tried to determine where they were headed before I decided to give it a shot (why are even the most simple tasks so daunting when living abroad???) I pushed the door forward, stepped in, and much to my horror, I got stuck. The door would not budge. All that watching and observing wasn’t paying off. Being that I am claustrophobic, I immediately started to freak out. After several panicked attempts to push the door forward without it budging, I managed to think clearly for a moment, and then tried to back my way out. Thankfully, this worked. So there I was, right back in the little glass lobby where I had started, staring at the ATMs on the other side of the glass door.

A security guard approached the glass wall and started speaking to me in mumble jumble (aka Portuguese) so I replied back to him in mumble jumble (aka English). He kept pointing to a little glass drawer in the wall which someone else had just put their cell phone in.  So I tried to put my purse in it. He was not happy (I could tell this by the tone of his mumble jumble). Thankfully, I heard a little voice behind me whisper, “Put here.” I turned around to see a petite Brazilian woman pointing at a wall of lockers (Which I had always assumed were for employees even though I could never figure out why they were in the front lobby of the bank. But since nothing here ever makes sense to me, this assumption made complete sense to me. Does that make sense???). So I put my purse in a locker, locked it (thankfully a simple process with no crazy create-your-own-combinations required), and I walked toward the revolving door that the Brazilian woman was pointing me towards. Magically, the revolving door let me all the way through this time. The security guard who was not too happy with me a moment earlier gave me the thumbs up sign, and I headed to the ATM and got my cash. Hallelujah!

I’m not really sure why I was able to enter the bank so easily on other occasions and suddenly it appeared to be on lockdown. Maybe they just pick random days to enforce security. Or maybe the bank was recently robbed. It’s likely that I will never know why because I have no intention of ever going back to that bank. And it’s not because I’m scared of getting stuck in the revolving door again. I’m way more afraid of figuring out how to deal with the five foot three, 90 pound parking attendant that now patrols the city streets outside of the bank. Where’s a good ol’ coin operated parking meter when I need one???

This Girl’s Got Issues

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When the opportunity to move to Brazil came up, my husband and I jumped at the chance although I knew it would be a challenge for my oldest daughter who was four years old at the time. E has always thrived on routine. I know that most kids do, but this is a kid who REALLY, REALLY thrives on routine. She also hates change, loud noises, many types of clothes, socks, and meeting new people. This girl’s got issues.

I think it was around the time that E turned three that I realized that these issues weren’t just normal childhood quirks. In fact, they seemed to be getting worse. She would cover her ears and complain about noises that didn’t seem to bother anyone else. She would only wear clothes that were made of certain fabrics and the designs had to be certain cuts. If I wanted to ruin the morning, all it took was a pair of jeans and a knit sweater and hysterics would follow. And socks? Forget about them! They have been the bane of my existence and have instigated countless meltdowns.

But the most challenging and heartbreaking of all of E’s issues were her social differences. While E was very affectionate with me, her dad, her sister, and her grandparents, she would rarely play with other kids nor interact with most people. If we were at a party at a friend’s house that we had been to many times before, it would take three to four hours before E would even get off of my lap. While all the other kids ran around playing and laughing, E was sitting on the side lines, curled up in my lap, just watching. Even after she finally felt comfortable enough to crawl off my lap, she never went and joined the other kids. Other times, she never reached that point of felling comfortable, and after a few hours of being a self-imposed prisoner on my lap, the whining would start. The longer and longer I postponed leaving, the worse it got – sometimes leading to a complete meltdown. This not only happened when we were in a new setting but also at our own house when people came over that E didn’t know well. Her safe haven had been invaded, and this didn’t sit well with E.

I had been dealing with E’s issues for long enough to know the triggers and what E needed to put her mind at ease, but it was not always possible to meet her needs immediately (or at all in some situations), and it was even more impossible to explain to others that she was not just being a brat – she had issues. But without a name or a label to explain these issues, people just looked at me skeptically as if I were trying to make excuses for having raised a bratty daughter. I eventually made up my own little label and started telling people that she had sensory issues and that she was easily over whelmed. This seemed to help a little since it sounded a bit clinical and people never questioned it because they either: A.) didn’t want to appear dumb by not knowing what that meant (when frankly I wasn’t even sure what I meant), or B.) didn’t want to appear to be insensitive by questioning a hidden handicap. In either case, you could tell that they still believed that my daughter was simply a brat. Even my own mother-in-law thought that I was letting E manipulate me by allowing her to refuse to wear certain clothes.

I had always hoped that E would just outgrow these issues. But sadly, this just isn’t happening. Her school uniform has become her worst enemy, and having to wear shoes and socks on gym day is a recipe for disaster. And then there are the social issues. I was heartbroken to hear from E’s kindergarten teacher that after being in school for a few months, E was still playing alone on the playground. Something had to be done. So I sat down with E’s teacher and we talked about has been going on at school and at home. I told her about the sensory issues that we have been battling forever. E’s teacher recommend that she be evaluated by the school’s occupational therapist (OT). Although I had heard of occupational therapists before, I really had no idea what they did. Now that I know, I can’t believe I didn’t find out about them sooner! That little label I gave E  - the sensory issues label? It actually exists, and better yet, it is treatable! Things are now looking up.

E was evaluated by the OT and has been diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD). Basically, it’s a neurological “traffic jam” that prevents certain parts of the brain from receiving the information needed to interpret sensory information correctly. And lo and behold, this traffic jam can often result in social problems too. Kids with SPD often become socially isolated and suffer from low self-esteem and other social and emotional issues. I’ve never been so happy to get “bad” news! I’m just so thankful that now we can start to help E, especially after I read that if left untreated, SPD that persists into adulthood can affect an individual’s ability to succeed in marriage, work, and social environments. I’m glad that we can nip this in the bud while she is still young, not only for her own well-being, but also because, after all, who do you most people blame for their problems as adults? Their moms.

Rio Sucks

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The view from our hotel room / Ipanema Beach, Rio

Rio sucks. Or more specifically, the road to Rio sucks as well as the tourist trap known as Christ the Redeemer, and the person who stole our money. They all suck. But the beaches? The beaches were fantastic and the only thing that saved our trip to Rio.

To celebrate the Brazilian Independence Day last month, the kids skipped school, my husband skipped work, and I skipped a day of doing absolutely nothing and we headed to Rio for a four-day weekend. The drive from Belo Horizonte to Rio generally takes six or seven-hours, but being that it was a holiday weekend and that traveling with two small kids required us to make more than a few stops, it took us nine and a half hours. The trip started off pretty well. No major incidents and no major traffic. But then we hit Rio.

Just outside of Rio, everything went to hell. First, my three-year old puked all over herself and her car seat. It was disgusting to say the least. If you’re ever in Brazil and you need a hose, you can find them hiding under a small circular lid in the ground in the parking lots of most gas stations and shopping areas. And if you’re in Brazil and drive from Belo Horizonte (BH) to Rio, you will most likely need to hose someone/something off at some point. A friend of mine who lives in BH and also spent the weekend in Rio with her four kids just told me today that she had been warned that lots of kids puke on the drive to Rio. It’s like one long twisting and turning road through mountains. Thankfully, my five-year old wasn’t bothered, but my three-year old puked on the way home as well. I doubt we’ll be going back to Rio any time soon, but Dramamine will definitely be on our list of things to take with if we do.

Once my daughter and her car seat were cleaned off, we hit the road again, and then BAM! We spent the next two hours creeping along on the very congested highway leading into the city. To make matters worse, we were running out of gas and there was no way to exit off the high way since we were on a VERY long bridge. My husband wasn’t concerned at all, but I seriously almost followed in my daughter’s footsteps and puked as I watched the needle dive further and further in to the red zone. It was totally stressing me out. Even though my husband is a mechanical engineer, I didn’t trust him when he said we had a good forty minutes before we needed to worry. After all, he is a man and they just don’t seem to care about much. And besides that, we hadn’t moved very far in the last forty minutes so there was a good chance that we would only be a couple of miles up the road when the 40 minute mark hit. In the end, we were OK and managed to get gas before we stalled, but I could have done without the two hours of added stress.

Rio

According to the GPS, we were 14 minutes from our destination. Actual travel time to destination? Two hours! I would have hated to have been the person waiting for the ambulance or cops to come help me. Amazingly, they managed to squeeze their way through without killing the snack vendors that roamed the highways.

While in Rio, we went to see Christ the Redeemer. I would NEVER recommend this to anyone! It was a HORRIBLE experience. We took a taxi from our hotel to the train station where we purchased tickets to get up to the top of the mountain. What we failed to realize when we bought the train tickets is that they were for the next available train – 2.5 hours later. So we managed to waste away 2.5 hours with nothing much to do. There was a small playground so that helped us kill time, but we spent a good hour or so just hanging out on some church steps. And that’s where things went really bad.

With two little kids and tummies that don’t stay full for long, my husband went and bought some water and cookies for the girls.  This was all good, until we finally went to catch our train and my husband realized that his wallet was gone. He’s not sure if he left it behind when he bought the snacks or if he was pick pocketed, but thankfully he did manage to get it back (a woman found it on the ground in front of her snack cart and picked it up)  - but unfortunately the BRL $300 (about US $150) that was inside was gone. We really couldn’t complain since at least all the credit cards and his ID were still in place. So we blew it off and didn’t let it ruin our day. We got on our train and headed up the mountain.

But then the kids got hungry again and even though there is a concession stand at the top of the mountain, we were screwed because they didn’t take credit cards. So there we were, stuck at the top of a mountain with two whinny and hungry kids and no way to feed them. Add that to the annoying crowds of people crammed into a very small area – half of who are laying on the ground so that they can take a picture of their friend standing with their arms spread out like Christ the Redeemer and the statue in the background making it nearly impossible for anyone to move around – and you get one really crabby family of four who spent the better half of their morning waiting to get UP the mountain only to now be dying to get DOWN the mountain. I kind of felt like Karl from An Idiot Abroad  when he visited Christ the Redeemer and commented:

“I sorta think from a distance . . . Jesus, top of a hill, lookin’ like he’s about to bungee jump, you pass it, you go, ”There he is. Great. What else are we doin?’” - Karl Pilkington 

Thankfully, after a very long wait to take the train down the mountain, we headed back to our hotel where we ordered crappy room service because my kids were too crabby to take to an actual restaurant. We spent the rest of the evening and the next day at the beach where we should have just stayed the entire trip. I’ve decided that all future vacations will revolve around relaxing on the beach. Happy kids and a happy mom trump one of the seven wonders of the world any day.

Outsiders

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Reblogged from Communicating.Across.Boundaries:

I found myself growing hot with frustration.

I tried to back up. "Let me explain. Both of you grew up here. You've lived in the towns where you now live since you were born. It means you know the rules; you 'get' how to do things, how things work. Those of us who move here? We don't know these things"

Read more… 570 more words

I just ran across this blog post and had to share. Many of us become jaded after living in a new country for a few years and forget just how difficult it is for newcomers. I know I have been guilty of this. Here's a friendly reminder to reach out to those who have just arrived and are struggling with the basics :)

Brazil the Second Time Around

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When we moved to Belo Horizonte, Brazil back in March, it was more like I moved to Le Grand Atlas (our condominium complex) rather than a city of three million people. Life the first time around felt like the movie Groundhogs Day: swimming, cartoons, playground, Barbies, swimming, cartoons, playground, Barbies, swimming, cartoons, playground, Barbies. You get the picture. We rarely left our condo complex Monday – Friday since my husband had the car at work all day (small children and VERY steep hills don’t mix well for walking anywhere, I hate to use taxis and no car seats since people drive like absolute maniacs here, and I’ve been told by Brazilians that the bus is not safe). Le Grand Atlas has served me well, but one can hardly make a life for herself behind bars.

Heaven for little girls. Not so much for a stay-at-home mom with no adult interaction all. day. long.

I made some pretty rookie mistakes when we first arrived that resulted in one really stressed out and lonely stay-at-home mom who was ready to pack it up and head back to the US. Which I pretty much did considering we had only been in Brazil for 3.5 months before my kids and I headed back to the US for a six-week week eating binge (man was it nice to have access to cheddar cheese and good Mexican food again!) But thankfully, I gave Brazil another shot. We’ve been back for a month now and life here is 5,000 times better the second time around.

Some of the things I’m excited about the second time around:

I have friends! Actual friends that call me and text me and invite me to their homes. I didn’t even bother to get a cell phone for the first 3.5 months here because I hardly left the confines of our condo complex, and no one other than my husband called me anyway. Life is so much better now with friends. My four closest friends back home have been in my life for at least 15 years – two of them I’ve known for 25 years. I’ll never be able to duplicate those friendships here, but it is nice that expat friendships tend to develop quickly since we’re all on our own. It already feels like I’ve known some of these women for much longer than four weeks.

My kids are in school! This has so many perks. Not only are they out there making new friends and learning new things (including Portuguese), but I also get to meet new people through the school. The school is small with only 200 students from just over 130 families, so it’s a nice little community to be part of (see above ‘I have friends!’). And amazingly, my kindergartener’s teacher is not only from our home state of Wisconsin, but from a city only 40 minutes away from our hometown! The world really is a small place. I’m sure I could connect her to Kevin Bacon if I tried.

I’m have time to myself! Having the kids in school all day allows me to actually take some time for myself. I had my first Portuguese class last week which was impossible to do when I was at home with the kids all day. I started with a class that the school offers for parents. It was a disaster. I actually cried in class. Not the sobbing or weeping kind of crying, but the trying to discreetly wipe my eyes kind of crying – which I found out later was not so discreet :(  After having kids, I cry about everything. I used to laugh at my best friend for crying at sappy TV commercials. Now I do the same. It’s really embarrassing. Having kids has totally messed up my hormones. But in my defense, you really can’t throw someone who knows zero Portuguese (that would be me) in the same class with someone who is fairly fluent and just wants to improve her grammar and expect it to work out. So I’m starting private lessons next week and will be going for one hour, four days a week. I hope I do better than only learning how to say the equivalent of: “I don’t know,” “I don’t understand,” and “Your mom was born in a toilette” after four years of middle and high school French classes.

I have a car! I wasn’t able to get a car right away because my husband works for an automaker that required him to wait three months to qualify for the new car discount. Cars are crazy expensive in Brazil so we thought it was worth the wait. If only I had been able to import my cars from the US. The Jeep Grand Cherokee and Dodge Grand Caravan that I had in the US both sell for around US $90,000 – $100,000 here! Of course you can get cheaper cars, but cheaper cars are still expensive by American standards. Even so, we were wrong in thinking it was worth the wait for the discount. After three months, we ordered the car and had to wait another three months to actually get the car – which is way longer than we were told the wait would be. It was insane. Nothing happens fast in Brazil, but for some reason this took way longer than most people would have to wait. Six months later, I finally have a car and a sense of freedom again.

And last but certainly not least, I have a maid! but you already heard about that here :)

A Match Maid In Heaven

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I have a new best friend. Here name is Juana. She doesn’t speak a lick of English and I (embarrassingly) don’t speak a lick of Portuguese. But it doesn’t matter. We speak the universal language of pointing and nodding (and the occasional ‘thumbs up’ which is ever so popular in Brazil). We can spend an entire day together without speaking a single word. You know that dialogue from Pulp Fiction about uncomfortable silence? Yeah, me neither, but I googled ‘uncomfortable silence’ and this is what I found:

Mia: Don’t you hate that?
Vincent: What?
Mia: Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it’s necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?
Vincent: I don’t know. That’s a good question.
Mia: That’s when you know you’ve found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence.

And I have definitely found someone special. Juana and I can just shut up and enjoy the silence. It probably helps that she is being paid for the time that we spend together, and that I try my best to stay out of her way while she keeps my house sparkling clean. But it’s a match made in heaven (at least for me – maybe Juana, being the maid, would argue that). When we leave Brazil in another year and a half, I can already tell that Juana will be one of the people who I will miss the most.

But please don’t tell my mother about Juana. When I told her that we were entertaining the idea of hiring someone to clean the house, she responded, “Then what are YOU going to do all day?” To which I really had no reply. But that’s the best part of living so far away – my mom will never find out. That is unless she stumbles upon this blog which I have also never told her about. If that’s the case, then I’ll have a lot of explaining to do.

What I Learned From My First Brazilian Wedding

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I went to my first Brazilian wedding! I’ve attended weddings of expats in other countries that I have lived in and even spent an afternoon wedding dress shopping with an American friend in Seoul, but I never got to attend a “native” wedding. I’m sure that weddings vary greatly here in Brazil just as they do in the US, so hopefully I’ll have the chance to attend another wedding so that I can compare notes and see what is “normal”. But until then,  based on this wedding, I’ve learned that:

You NEVER have to be on time in Brazil –  even to a wedding.
Brazilians are not punctual. We’ve pretty much learned to leave our house at the time the event starts (or later) rather than show up on time. And even then, we are usually one of the first to arrive. I thought that weddings might be an exception and that punctuality might be important for once. I thought wrong. When we arrived 20 minutes late (by accident this time), we weren’t even sure that we should go into the church and disrupt the ceremony. But as we approached the church, there was a large crowd of people hanging out on the sidewalk. No one was in a hurry to go in – not even after another 20 minutes when the wedding finally got off to a late start.

If your hungry, just skip the actual wedding and munch on hotdogs and popcorn outside the church. Even after the wedding started, people still lingered outside. Some of them never bothered to come in at all. Thankfully, there was a hotdog vendor and a popcorn vendor set up outside the church to keep them well fed and hydrated during their impromptu street party. I’m guessing these vendors purposefully set up in front of churches during weddings to feed the crowds because, besides for the wedding crowd, the street was dead and had zero foot traffic.

Brazilian brides realize that its impossible for a group of women to all look good in the same dress. Unlike in the US, the bridesmaids all wore different dresses. And it’s not like they were all limited to one color or got to choose their preferred style like you sometimes see in the US. They were all completely different – no unifying factor whatsoever. We’re talking a mix of sequins, solids, floral patterns, long, short, strap-less, sleeves – you name it, the bridesmaids wore it. While it’s nice that each bridesmaid gets to pick a dress that she actually liked (and maybe one that she might actually wear again), I can’t imagine that it makes for very nice pictures of the wedding party.

It’s OK to take a smoke break during the ceremony. If you do bother to go inside the church for the ceremony, you can come and go as you please. I had to make a fast exit out a side entrance shortly after the ceremony started since my two-year old would not shut up. Once she quieted down, we snuck in the back of the church and took a seat in one of the last rows. I felt very rude doing this, but I soon realized that it was completely acceptable behavior to come and go as you pleased – and even to take a smoke break. While this was a Catholic ceremony, it was nothing like the longgggg Catholic weddings that I have been to in the US. It was over and done with in about 30 minutes. I would think most people would be able to make it 30 minutes without a cigarette. But by the looks of her very wrinkled, very leathery looking skin, 30 minutes without a smoke break probably would have been some kind of record for the 70-year-old woman decked out in a green sequined evening gown that was sitting a few rows ahead of us. I loved how she pulled the cigarette out while still in the church and waved it around for a while (unlit) before she finally got up to leave. No attempt at being inconspicuous there! I didn’t see anyone else leave with a cigarette in their hand, but there were plenty of people coming and going throughout the ceremony. There were also lots of side conversations going on –  kind of like everyone was just hanging out in the church to chat with their friends rather than being there to actually witness the wedding.

You gotta be on the list. When we received the hand-delivered wedding invitation, it included two tickets for the reception. We had to give the tickets to the bouncer at the door of the reception hall who then checked our names off the list. There was no way any wedding crashers were getting past this guy. My Mexican-American husband has told me that it is normal for guests at a Mexican wedding to invite guests of their own. They actually ran out of food at his sister’s wedding because there were so many uninvited guests. If either of my daughters ever get married, we might just have to go the Brazilian route and issue tickets so people don’t have to leave hungry. Or we could always hire a hotdog and popcorn cart to feed the uninvited.

I wasn’t able to stick around for much of the reception since my daughter got sick about five minutes after we arrived. I spent the next twenty minutes in the bathroom with her, and then the kids and I went home. Since it was my husband’s coworker’s wedding, he got to stick around until the end. He said that it wasn’t much different from your typical wedding reception in the US, but he did enjoy watching a bunch of Brazilians dance to Michael Jackson’s Thriller and the Macarena. I guess some things are universal.

What’s weird things have you seen happen at weddings – either at home or abroad? I hope it wasn’t anything like the Brazilian groom who killed his bride and best man at the reception. What a sad ending to what should have been a very happy day.