So yesterday I posted about what went wrong on our return to the US: TSA checks, temporarily-lost cars, broken arms, that kind of trivial stuff. But I forgot to talk about what went right. And many things did:
All nine of our bags made it through customs and to the final destination in Boston. Nothing was broken. Everything is here. Yes, two of the bags are literally exploded on my bedroom floor but since I don't have any place to put anything (the dressers are not yet here and I am opposed to hangers in general), that's just the way it's going to be.
My brother and sister-in-law surprised us even before the baggage claim. They were holding a huge sign welcoming us to the United States and had two perfect kid-sized Boston Red Sox hats for the boys. I haven't lived in the same town as my brother since 1995 (and technically we are still not in the same town since he is downtown and I'm in the 'burbs) but he took time off of work (as did my sister in law) to make our arrival special. He even helped us find our lost car in the parking lot. Love.
Three of my new neighbors came over to introduce themselves--one brought cookies, and one loaned us a soccer ball since we had forgotten our ball inflater in Brazil. We are sitting on several useless deflated balls. Lalo is no fan of deflated balls. One of my neighbors is clearly insane since she volunteered to stay with the twins if I needed to run out and do some errands (clearly she doesn't know that I would never ever return--just kidding, BH!) I now know more of my neighbors in Weston than I did during six years in São Paulo. Love.
My parents. My wonderful parents. My parents live near Chicago but they drove cross-country a couple of weeks ago to get us set up here. We arrived to a giant soccer goal and art supplies for both kids, food in the fridge, cold beer and wine, extra sheets and towels and a whole lot of love.They have been helping with the kids too as we run around with various errands. They even rented a car to help with the vast quantities of luggage and braved rush hour Boston traffic for us. Mom has weeded the flower beds and gifted us plants which I will try really really hard not to kill (but know that their days are numbered). Love.
And when things did go wrong and my son Nico broke his arm, the forces of good came together. The pediatrician got him in quickly, various people offered doctor recommendations and other support, my sister in law came in to the hospital with a fluffy toy and a card, later taking his six-year old cousin's out of camp early so she could visit the hospital too. My brother again stopped by, taking time off work. My parents sat for hours with us in the uncomfortable hospital room. My mom stayed with Nico at the beginning of a rough second night so the rest of us could have some time out. Lest you think I have forgotten, the much maligned BH won massive numbers of points from his overnight stay, his taking-care of the whole insurance mess, and for dealing with a very upset mama bear.
As we were leaving for the hospital, a beautiful vase of flowers was delivered from a São Paulo friend. A homecoming gift. More love, and from afar. And the response of friends through email and facebook about the injury to Nico has been overwhelming. His two godmothers sent him a remote control tarantula--yes, he loves spiders and he can control it with just one hand. Perfect. Love.
I don't have a single friend yet in Weston but I have one incredible support team.
And that is what has gone right.
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