Lisbon With Visitors

I hadn't been to the Castelo São Jorge in Lisbon since my sister visited in 2001. Having house guests is the best excuse to revisit monuments and also freshen up on history.

I discovered later that my camera was on fish-eye mode for quite a bit of the time, and then switched to another grainy/dark mode. Freddy's 36 pictures of peacocks and stray cats came out beautifully of course.

Little fingers also changed the date display setting.

 It was breezy at the lookout point, but warm and wonderful in the sun.

 I was so pleased with my little Canon for finally getting a jumping shot.

 Seb having a milk break

 Pai was there to relay all pertinent historical information.

 Sebby did a good job of reminding me why we don't do this more often. He was in danger-seeking bliss mode scampering around the castle grounds. He also spent a good hour in his best don't put me down, but don't pick me up mode. For Seb that spells t-i-r-e-d, so we drove back home along the coast around 2.

 Castles are made for kids; I've never seen a child get grumpy meandering along a castle wall. It probably has something to do with how dangerous it is.



38 Weeks- Outie Time

 My belly button is certainly calling out for attention these days.

Here I am just before walking out the door to the hospital this morning. It's all very well to have bags packed, and lots of plans discussed, but not actually bringing the bags and not having any of the plans finalized meant a great wave of panic struck when the Dr. mentioned I might need to be induced today.

 Lots of cozy, albeit boring time in this chair, a few blood tests, and an ultrasound later, and I was on my way just in time for the school run.

I just want to share another example of classic Portuguese commentary before I settle into a cup of tea with crumble. The nurse setting up the fetal monitor asked me if it was my first baby (you know I love that) and when I said it was my fourth, she replied "Four?!? Are you crazy? Everything is so bad in this country right now. That's too many children!" 

I just smiled.

Gone Native

Ever since I first came to Portugal, Pai has wanted to take me to a bull fight. I always resisted. It was never opportune (read: wasn't a priority), and frankly the whole idea is unsettling.Before Peta lines start ringing off the hook, it's important to note that Portuguese bull fights are not Spanish bull fights. The biggest difference is that in Spain they kill the bull, and in Portugal, the fight finishes with milking cows and two shepherds herding a trotting bull out of the ring. The bull doesn't die until it's hamburger time, but that's another issue all together and has nothing to do with Iberian culture.

A central element of a Portuguese bullfight is to highlight the equestrian skills of an experienced horseman ( o cavaleiro) . All of those crazy dressage moves actually come naturally to a horse when it's being chased by a large angry bull. I will admit that I was captivated.

Joining the cavaleiros are actual bullfighters on foot ( bandarilheiros) who wave their capes around. The bandarilheiros were charged, stepped on, and in some cases humiliated, and the second rider flew off the horse and had to run from the ring in shame. It's definitely not one-sided.

Plus, they have to wear pretty ridiculous outfits consisting of bright pink knee-highs in 100+ degree heat.

We sat next to the announcer in the shade and despite that we almost died from the heat. I actually had to leave the stands halfway through and sit in a cooler area of the ring where I joined rotund man who had just wet himself and looked on the verge of a heart attack.

Each fight finishes when these men, the forcados, can stop the bull from moving. Let's call it a group hug.

That cues the milk cows who come and herd the bull away. This was Freddy's favorite part.

The horse rider, both bullfighters, and the main forcado, take a glory walk around the ring while people throw flowers and hats. I'm mainly showing this photo however, to snicker a bit at the pink socks with flats.

One bullfight was enough for my lifetime, but if ever we have some hamburger-loving visitors to Portugal, I will definitely recommend seeing a bull fight.

Last Weekend: Part II

One of the children's greatest joys in spending time in this house is playing with the dumb waiter that connects the butler's pantry upstairs, with the enormous kitchen downstairs. When Moojie was the one and only great-grandchild, all of the older cousins would go down to the kitchen and growl and roar, leading a 2 and 3 year old Moojie to believe that a monster lived down below.

This tradition continues, and the children play with the dumb waiter every chance they get. They send various offerings down to the "monster" who gobbles everything up and as all the little kids squeal.

 
It's a simple pulley system with ropes and an open-faced wooden box. Maybe I'll put Moohje on making one for our house. It sure would be handy for sending shoes or forgotten phones up and down the stairs.  


This is a typical scene in the butler's pantry- a million kids waiting to see what the monster has sent up.

One of the best parts of being at this quinta  is walking into the dining room and sitting down at a set table without having to empty a dishwasher, make coffee, set out breakfast things, or do a general tidy of the kitchen. This is the scene that greets us in the morning.




Everyone eats as they wake up, and since we are the early birds of the family, Moojie and I had the dining room to ourselves.


Oh how I covet these tiles! We fit 16 at the main table, and there are two more round tables out of this shot that fit 6 each. The family is getting so big, that they had to add another table for 14 medium sized kids (3-10yrs old) is the room just off the dining room. Meals are served in 3 shifts;  under 3s eat in the butler's pantry before everyone else, then the medium kids are served, and the big cousins and adults eat last.

After breakfast on Saturday morning, Moojie and I went out for a walk. Rather, I sauntered and he biked in circles around me.
                                                       Arriving back at the main house

We spend most of our time out in this big square reading, catching up, and watching the kids ride bikes. A traditional rugby or soccer game is always played after lunch.

Three generations playing soccer

I caught this sweet little cousin watching the game from the upstairs
This veranda is one of my favorite places to sit and relax. The boys are always climbing in the tree below and the girls love to decorate forts from the cutting garden.
Here's a closer look at Freddy on his new bike.


I'm leaving out a hundred plus pictures, but this post is already far too long.

Weekend: Part I

Even though we only go to this quinta twice a year, I'm sure that some of the children's strongest childhood memories will be of running around there with cousins, going hours without seeing parents,

  

taking walks down red poppy lined lanes,

riding their bikes around a huge courtyard with dogs barking at their heels ,

 and soaking up the amazing experience of staying in a beautiful house surrounded by acres and acres of rice fields 

 

 I'll add this to the list titled benefits of living in Portugal.

School Pictures Are Here

The boys got their school pictures back yesterday and we are still waiting on Miss Zita's. Every year when the kids bring home their school picture, I make them sit with me, tell me the names of everyone in the class photo, and tell me a little bit about each person. Moojie has had the same class for four years now, but with that school uniform, it's still hard for me to keep some of those girls straight. It also doesn't help that there seems to be roughly 3 names divded among 16 girls.

Freddy's class is much the same. I pulled him into my lap and squeezed him as he listed his classmates. It went something like this "Leonor, Afonso, Leonor, Afonso, Lenor, Afonso, me, the teacher, ....." This is very normal in Portugal- everyone sharing a limited supply of names- hence the prevalence of two syllable nicknames, usually ending in a vowel.

I use pseudonyms on this blog, but they are the kids' real nicknames. Nickname use is taken to such a level that many people's real names are not known until their obituary is released. Many a time I have sat at a funeral mass, gotten the little paper thing they give you, and wispered to Pai, "you mean Tio/tia ´toto, titi, mimi, meimei, bla bla bla´was  really named Maria/Miguel???" I digress. Back to the kids' photos.
Here is my Freddy bear

He's grown so much since his first ever "school" picture. I think his face is squeezy and cute now, but man oh man do I wish I could get to 2007 and smooch those baby cheeks.

Here's Moojie who will never forgive me for making him go in such a small sweater.* As we were looking at the photos after school, I was laughing so hard at Moojie's Italian-man-in-a-tight-sweater impression. That's something I love about Moojie- he can put on any accent and do a Saturday-Night-Live level impersination.

*I've blured his school shirt and school emblem

Sunrise on Happy Street

(mobile upload from my iPad)