That's Just the Way Things Are

For the past two years we have been living in Guatemala as "tourists."  This means that every 90 days we must either exit the country or renew our tourist visa.  Let's just save a long story and say that that's what most people like us do. 

 That's just the way things are.

Stephen recently traveled to the US when he defended his dissertation, so he's good to go.  Georgia is Guatemalan, so no problem there.  However, Sam, Ruth, and I have to have ours renewed before we leave this month.  Even though Stephen is good to go, he's always the one to take care of this kind of thing.  Always.  (I love you, Stephen!!)

Last Friday, Stephen traveled to Guatemala City to complete necessary paperwork on our behalf.  Two hours and $20 worth of transportation later, he came back to Antigua to report that the visa office was closed. 

 "Why?"  I asked.

 "Oh, you know," he says, "Guatemalan Labor Day is on Tuesday."

"What?  But today is Friday."

That's just the way things are.

 So today Stephen made another trip to the city in yet another effort to pick up our passports and renewed visas so that we can successfully leave the country in 13 days.  Although he anticipated being home at lunch-time, he calls at noon to say that if he's lucky he'll be home around 4:30.

That's just the way things are.

While Stephen is reading history books in the visa office in the city, I am playing with my daughters in our house, and Sam is playing with his friend Josh at Josh's house.  Josh's mom agrees to meet me in the park (half-way between our houses) when the play date is over. 

"I'll call," Marcia (Josh's mom) said when I dropped Sam off.  "This way we can both leave our houses at the same time and get to the park at the same time."

 But I don't get cell service in my house.  And my land-land phone is connected to the Internet company that has been fickle lately, so my phone can't ring. 

That's just the way things are.

I decide to go to the park around 5:00 p.m.  As I'm waiting for Sam, I illegally park with my two-year old bouncing around in the front seat in her swimsuit and my baby in the back in her car seat, although not buckled.  I wasn't worried about all the offenses, because I put on my flashers.  Putting on your flashers is the all-Guatemalan way of saying, "I know this against the rules, but no tenga pena, no tenga pena, no tenga pena…"  No tenga pena is the all-Guatemlan way of saying "no worries."

That's just the way things are.

Here come two police.

My heart races because I'm American and view police in a very American way and think that police can give you fines and put you in jail and I'm in Guatemala and only two of my three kids are with me and none of us are following the rules and my heart races.

 (In Spanish…)

"Excuse me, m'am," says police officer #1.

"I'm so sorry, I can move the car now," says me.

"Oh, yeah.  You probably should, but I just wanted to ask how much you're asking for your car.  You're selling your car, right?"

 My pulse slows.  He starts asking me lots of questions about the car that I just can't answer.

 "You can call my husband," I keep saying.

Finally he asks to see the papers for the car so that he can see more information, just in case his sister wants to buy it.  Then he tells me the papers are expired.  Another offense.  I'm illegally parked, my kids are not buckled, I'm not buckled, and now my papers are expired.  Here goes my pulse again.

"Look," says the officer, "You could get some fines for all these things, but no tenga pena.  Go ahead and move your car now.  And by the way, my sister may be calling your husband about the car."

That's just the way things are.

And then Stephen calls and says he obviously won't be home at 4:30 after all.  Only Ruth's passport was ready.  He'll have to come back to the city again tomorrow to get Sam's and my passport.  A third trip to the city.

That's just the way things are.

So I get home and get dinner on the table for the kids while we wait for Stephen.  Sweet Sam eats all his carrots and all his meat and says he's sorry he just doesn't like the potatoes. 

"Please eat at least two bites of potatoes, Sam, if you want dessert," I say.

So he does because he's Sam and he's lovely and obedient.  As he's chewing his last potato he gets up to get more water to wash them down and then projectile vomits on the kitchen floor.  In the same moment, he trips and falls in the projectile vomit.  And Stephen is still in the taxi.

That's just the way things are.

 And it's beautiful.