The Changeover

It’s amazing how quickly a house looks soulless after its people leave.

The Foreign Service lifestyle is filled with farewells, and never is this more obvious than summer months here on our embassy housing compound in Seoul.

Friends pack up and leave, and almost immediately, the curtains come down. The furniture comes out. After a week or so, the family name on the sign out front is painted over—but not enough to completely hide it.

Workers go in and out over the next weeks, cleaning, updating, painting, replacing. Flipping for a new family. I’ve watched this happen to several friends’ houses over the last year and a half, and honestly, it is sad.

But quick change is how things work in the Foreign Service.

When we arrived in January 2012, several people told us they were “not worth getting to know” since they were leaving six months later. Funny enough, several of those people became our close friends.

One summer 2012 departee is someone I still consider one of the closest and best friends I made in Seoul: She was the friend I could call last minute to hang out; the one who talked me into watching the new Zac Efron movie and Titanic 4D with Korean subtitles. When she left shortly after Luca was born, I felt a little cheated.

But, you know what? She was worth getting to know. I’m so grateful our husbands’ assignments in Seoul overlapped, and I'm thrilled I'll get to see her again in D.C.

I don’t pass her house that often and I don’t know the family inside, so I still think of her and her husband when I see it. To me, it is still their house.

And I’m not alone in feeling this way about friends’ places. We stay attached for a while. One departing couple’s next-door neighbor (half-jokingly) swore to “hate the newcomers,” but just for a little bit.

“Oh, you moved into JBK’s house,” we would say to the new friendly young couple. “Big shoes to fill.”

Then, we became friends with the new couple. The house became their house.

Other houses—ones now filled with families in different life stages; people I haven’t met or connected with—are still, in my mind, the houses of friends who left. Across the street, it’s still Stephanie’s house.

Because Stephanie left a legacy of friendship with me. We took a million walks to the park with her little girls, and with Luca strapped on me. She joined in my excitement over Luca’s birth. She cried with me in the hospital—two different hospitals—when Luca was suffering. We celebrated Thanksgiving together.

But, unlike in most living situations, that legacy of friendship won’t stay in this place. It will travel with me to our next post. Any personal legacy left behind here lasts only as long as others stay. A “legend” is the person who used to cook amazing meat at Fleishfest a whole two years ago.

This week, we said goodbye to more good friends. The wife brought me meals after Luca’s birth and helped me during one of our hospital stays last winter. She was a friend who shared my joy in Luca’s milestones and then, more recently, her joy in her new baby girl. We commiserated over lack of sleep.

Her house is empty now; the curtains are gone. The sign awaits the light paint job that will halfway erase their last name.

Of course, with all the Foreign Service friends we’ve made, there is always the anticipation of reconnecting at some future post, or in D.C. We become a worldwide network of friends that is constantly changing, growing, moving.

After a few weeks, the sign in front of our friends’ place will be thoroughly painted a near-glowing bright white with a new name stenciled in black.

And that’s when things start to feel exciting: All the fresh signs with unfamiliar names. Potential friends.

We are sponsoring a family this year—making sure they have groceries, being friendly when they arrive—and when I checked to make sure their house was prepared, I felt a twinge of excitement. They will arrive in a few days, and for the first time, they will look around at each room, at the setting of what will be their life for the next couple years.

I think back to entering our own home for the first time that frozen January night, and I think ahead to entering new homes at future posts.

The excitement of new beginnings.

In about six months, our neighbors will see our house emptied, our sign painted. They will wonder who will move into the Kims’ place. Maybe our next-door neighbors will resent the newcomers, just for a minute.

Later, Joe, Luca and I will move into someone else’s place in some other city. And then again, I assume, a few years later. And so on. To me, the wonder of the unknown and ever-changing future sounds like fun. An adventure.

I guess the hellos—to new people and places—are why this lifestyle suits me, despite so many sad goodbyes.

Becoming Food Allergy Mom: A Coconut Milk Experiment

Luca’s increased mobility and insatiable desire to explore his world have brought new stresses. In addition to the normal first-time-mom worries—that he’ll fall on something sharp or bonk his head—I’m obsessing about food.

Will someone leave a plate of veggies with Ranch dressing on a low coffee table at a party? Will a child drop cookie crumbs or Goldfish crackers at a playgroup? Will a parent or child offer to share a Gerber puff at the playground?

Now, I don’t have it nearly as bad as many mothers: Luca’s food allergies have shown no indication of causing anaphylaxis. Of course I watch for it when I introduce new foods, and I’m not going to give him peanuts to test it out at this point. The memory of Luca’s hospitalizations is still poignant; I remember well how horribly his skin can react.

Of course I hope he’ll grow out of his allergies. Of course I hope he can savor a real cookie someday. Drink real milk, even. Eat eggs.

But for now, I’m joining the hoards of Food Allergy Moms who seem more and more prevalent as the years pass. Who are hesitant about or avoid daycare or church nurseries. Who compulsively (and—I’m sure—awkwardly) pick up crumbs friends’ children have dropped.

Who search and search for substitutions to make sure their child gets enough vitamins while avoiding basic ingredients.

Since Luca turned one year old a few weeks ago, I’ve gotten more aggressive with trying new foods to be sure he gets the nutrition he needs. It’s a challenge. Luca gets rashy when he catches a cold, or when he sweats too much in the carseat (which is likely when it’s 90 degrees with 72% humidity), among the myriad reasons we don’t know. Food was clearly the trigger for his severe eczema breakouts last winter, but at this point, it’s hard to know whether his (mild) itchy rash comes from an addition to his diet or from a cold. Twice now I’ve suspected a food (chicken, then quinoa) only to find out Luca caught a cold. But, still, I tuck the food away for a later trial. Just in case.

Since cow’s milk is such an essential part of most toddlers’ diet, finding a suitable substitution is my current mission. As I google and read blogs and research products and talk about food trials with all my friends (who graciously listen), I realize I’m becoming that mom.

The Food Allergy Mom.

I can’t help it. And here’s where I’ve really crossed over: I made my own coconut milk.

Luca started with rice milk since he’d eaten rice with no problem, but it’s my goal to give him a combination of coconut milk and flax milk, since both are far more nutritious than just rice. We tried coconut and, success!! No issues.

Except for the fact that it is not easy to get good coconut milk here on a military base in Seoul. The Commissary only sells the canned (BPA-filled) kind you wouldn’t drink straight and a shelf-stable box of very sweetened vanilla So Delicious coconut.

And, honestly, I have concerns about some of the ingredients in the boxed coconut milk. While I research vendors who will ship shelf-stable milks to Diplomatic Post Office boxes, I figured I’d better at least try making my own. Here's how it went:

I drilled a hole in one of the eyes and let it drain, saving the water.

I put each coconut in a ziplock and got out the hammer.

Luca was confused about why I was hammering the brown ball. During the second coconut smashing, he giggled uncontrollably.

They really smashed beautifully.

Ahh, the fun part. Getting the meat out is no small chore, even with a pairing knife and veggie peeler. I had to stop and finish it the next day.

I put half the coconut meat and coconut water along with 2 cups boiling water in the blender...

...and the other half in the food processor, which leaked a lot.

I poured the results into a nutmilk bag in a pitcher, and squeezed the milk out of the bag.

Yum!

The pulp is currently drying in my oven to become coconut flour for baking!

Two coconuts made about a liter and a third.

My experiment was fun, and the resulting milk is yummy... but it separates (which I expected) and developed some chunks as it cooled (which I did not expect). I may blend it one more time tomorrow.

Scraping the meat, however, out took way too long for this to become a part of my routine. Unless I buy a special coconut-scraping tool and figure out why my milk is clumping, this will be Luca's one and only batch of homemade coconut milk.

Next up: homemade flax milk!

UPDATE in case you (or I) want to make this in the future: The next morning, the milk was separated into liquid and very solid. I put it in the blender, which helped, but the milk was way too thick to drink straight. I added water--enough to double the volume--and also added two tablespoons of good quality vanilla (one T per coconut). The result is delicious, and Luca likes it!