18 Months and Being Raro

Today marks our Argentine 18 month anniversary.  One year and 6 months.  78 weeks.  548 days.

We spent the entire year of 2011 in Argentina. 

Probably every single day of the last 548, someone has told us that we are raro (in other words, weird).

It could be for any number of reasons:

• What we wear – for instance, I have chosen not to reveal half of my rear-end when I wear a bathing suit

• How I wash dishes – drying them on a towel or having the drying rack too close to the sink, I have learned, is not normal

• How we talk – no example needed

• What we eat – fruit with a meal, peanuts for a snack without beer, or garlic bread to name a few

• What we do while waiting in lines – reading is the only way we can sanely pass the time

• The number of times we call a doctor – I tend to avoid the doctor when a child has a fever or the barfs or gets stung by a bee.  I've learned a lot about illness since being a mom and I am confident in my mama-intuition.  I'm so thankful that we have a wonderful clinic here and I promise we will go if it's warranted.  Raro, I know.

 Raro 1 and Raro 2

Raros 3, 4, & 5 

Anyway, here is another instance of our raro-ness, from any cultural perspective:

We were recently on our way home from a neighborhood about 40 minutes away. As is always the case, I was the only female in the car. I have heard it said that females have an innate need to speak, I don’t know, about 20,000 words per day in contrast to the male species meager 7,000 or something. I just want you to know that I did not speak at all – much sighing, but no speaking – during that 40 minute ride home. However, I think the Frohling males in the car did not stop talking the entire ride home and each used at least half their aforementioned word quota.

Whoever did that study on words per day, obviously did not study our family. I have to remind myself that I want to treasure these detailed thought sharings of my boys because it may not always be this way. And, I’m sure I’d miss it.  I have to admit though, that sometimes I reach my words-listened-to quota at about 9 am.

Have a nice, quiet day.  And embrace your raro-ness.