Potty Talk

Photo commentary:
1.  This is one of those moments when Matt shakes his head and says, "Girls are such strange creatures."
2.  Yes, that is Emily combing Sarah's hair.
3.  At some point in time, Sarah will come to resent this picture.

Pre-post warning: if you can't handle potty talk, just stop reading, because that is all this post is about.

There are a few things I don't like about this country. I do not like intestinal viruses that creep into my body and give me diarrhea.  Especially when I am at the beach and it keeps me from having my morning walk the last day.  The dehydration that results from this illness coupled with too much heat and too little water (because you always have to buy it every time you want to drink it) sucks too. Also not on my top 10 list is the horrible fructose syrup my mother was dear enough to get me from the pharmacy because they don't have stores that are open 24 hours a day that sell Gatorade.  But I suppose it was better than going to the hospital. (If you want to know why, just read Sarah's story.)
I know, it sounds like I'm whining.  I'm actually not, it's just that at 3:30 this morning I became a bit reflective.  This happened because I had to get up in the middle of the night (again) because I still haven't kicked this problem.  And so, a few other things I don't like about this country all sort of converged into one unforgettable experience. 
As I was going about my business, I noticed that I had forgotten a very small, yet very important task before bedtime.  See, the showers all have drains that work very nicely to let water down during the day.  But at night, they also serve as a way for other things to come up.  Namely, cockroaches.  One of the other things I really do not like about this country.  So, noticing I had forgotten my chore, I placed the mat over top of the drain, looked around to see if there were any neighborly visitors, and finished my business.  This business includes the other thing I most dislike about this country.  (Matt and I agree on this one.)  See, the plumbing here is such that the water pressure isn't strong enough in most cases to flush toilet paper.  Thus, Brazilian bathrooms all have trashcans next to them where you dispose of your toilet paper instead of flushing it.  Having taken care of this I washed my hands and went back to bed where Emily was curled up. 
Unfortunately, I woke her up and she decided that she needed to go potty.  I noticed that she was heading to the bathroom barefoot.  (Rookie. There's a reason Brazilians wear their Havaianas everywhere.)  She turned the light on and began her business and all of a sudden I hear this soft squeal, "Maaaaaaameeeee!"  I knew exactly what was going on.  So I summoned all my courage, grabbed my Havaiana and said what my Mother had always said to me and never ever helped.  "It's ok honey, it won't hurt you!"  I stepped into the bathroom and saw Emily on the potty with her feet curled up around the toilet.  There below her on the floor was a cockroach impressive even by Brazilian standards.  It's body alone was over 3 inches long and it's antennas were a good two inches longer than that and it was scratching them together making a sound that makes you want to crawl out of your skin.  The cockroach made a beeline for the trashcan (of course!) and Emily saw her chance and made a run for it.  I tried to get it with my shoe, but it hid behind the can.  All our squealing woke Jean up and she came in to see what was going on.  "Cockroach," was all I said, and she grabbed my other Havaiana. But as she went after it, it scurried out of the bathroom and under the dresser in my bedroom.  We waited it out for a while, but decided to give up and go to bed. 
Em curled up next to me and said, "I finally found a bug I don't like." 
I lied there wide awake, knowing that I had blocked any access the cockroach might have to return to the underworld.  I also realized that given my illness and the fact that I had just lost a lot of fluid I should be drinking the bottle of Gatorade my mother had bought me now that we are back in Porto Alegre.  But I also knew that if I did, pretty soon, guess where I was going to have to go?
And suddenly it hit me...I'm ready to go home.  I miss my toilet, that flushes pretty white paper flowers.  I miss 24 hour grocery stores.  I miss my husband who surely would have braved the darkness to kill the evil cockroach so that I could take care of my business in safety.  (Or at least move the dresser.)  I miss my bed, which is at least 2 1/2 feet off the floor.  I miss Sam, who would have eaten the cockroach for a snack, or at least played with it until it's legs came off. 
So I decided that since I couldn't sleep, I would make a run for my Dad's study and write about it and maybe I would get tired enough to go back to sleep. 
Plus, it's closer to the other bathroom. 
And yes, in a sort of awkward way, I am typing with my feet up on the desk. 
And I am drinking my Gatorade...and I'm trying to suck up the courage to go to the bathroom before I go back to bed.
Here goes...