Sorry It's Taken So Long For Me To Post This, Part One: Tunnels, Toilets, and Tequila

I think I'm going to rename this blog "Sorry It's Taken Me So Long to Update This Blog." That seems to be the first line of each new post for the last few months. So, today I'm going to ignore the children and do some more last minute Christmas procrastinating so I can fill you in on recent (and not so recent) events around here.

Last time I wrote was before Thanksgiving. (Sweet Jesus, I've really become a slacker.) I had promised to tell you about our tunnel rats tour.  For the last 6 weeks you've probably been wondering, "What the hell is a tunnel rat?  And why would we want to go on a tour of it?"  If you think back to World War II history, you might remember that Okinawa was the sight of many battles.  (For the Japanese, they were losing battles, which is one reason why I'm living here today!)  According to our tour guide, the Okinawans knew that since most of them are shorter than me, their physical size would be no match for the gigantic, burly Americans and they had to think of a clever (albiet losing) strategy to defeat these guys.   So, they decided to go underground.  They built very elaborate tunnels using only pick axes (you can still see the marks they made.)  The first tunnel we went into was quite impressive.  It was the Underground Naval Headquarters which is where many Okinawa soldiers lived, slept, and worked during the war.  It was really amazing to see all the they had built underground.  Unfortunately, it was also the place where many of them committed suicide when they decided that things were hopeless.  What a fun way to spend the day, right?  You can tell the kids were excited: 

I have no idea why Emma is doing that, ahem.... inviting pose, or why Mary has that solemn face, but it could be because they were reading the sign on the opposite wall --

The Underground Naval Headquarters is a popular tourist spot on Okinawa so there's the required gift shop and (luckily) restrooms.  Again, I'm going to apologize to my sensitive readers, but when Mary and I went in to "use the facilities" we found this: 

After double checking to make sure we were in the ladies room, I decided we'd better get to down to business and figure out how to use this thing.  I had read about this and knew that squatting was required, but it was also my understanding that there would be handles to hold on to.  Well, I guess someone forgot to put the handles in this stall.  I'm not going to go into more detail about this but I will say it's a good thing I've been working out.   If you're still curious about how all this works, here's a little website that explains the whole process:

 How To Use A Japanese Toilet

Once we were finished with that tour (and I'd figured out how to use the toilet) we headed to another tunnel that the Japanese used during the war.  It turned out to be less of a tunnel and more of a cave, but apparently the soldiers also used these as hideouts during the war.  On the bus ride over, the tour guide gave us a little briefing on cave safety and precautions.  He'd asked if we had remembered to bring our flashlights (which we hadn't) and then he told us to watch out for these critters:   

                              
Apparently these little fellows like to hang out along the cave walls, so if you're wandering around in the pitch dark and you decide to use the wall to steady yourself, don't be surprised if one of these guys decides to crawl up your sleeve!  That's when I said, "That's great...no cave for me.  I'll hang out at the entrance with all the other wimps."  Emma was also a little concerned about the gigantic centipedes, so Bill took Michael, Andrew, and Mary into the cave with the other brave tourists (who had flashlights) while Emma and I hung out at the entrance.  About 10 minutes after they left, Emma found her nerve and decided she wanted to go into the cave as well.  Unfortunately I had not yet found my nerve and was not about to go into that cave flashlight-less.  (To be honest, even if I'd had a flashlight, I probably wouldn't have gone into the Cave of Freakish Centipedes.)  She spent the next 20 minutes pleading  begging  whining  persistently asking if I would take her in there.  I'd like to think I'd be willing to risk my life for my kids, but apparently I'm not willing to risk running into a centipede-on-steroids for my kids.  Finally, the cave dwellers emerged, and Bill gave Emma a quick little tour of the cave before we had to leave. 


We took the tunnel rat/cave tour on a Sunday, and that next Thursday was Thanksgiving.   This year our Thanksgiving was, um....interesting. A group of neighbors invited us to an outdoor potluck-type dinner that I wasn't exactly thrilled about having to attend in the first place. However, they were the neighbors, so they'd know if we were making something up about having other plans. All they'd have to do is see our cars in the driveway, or see the boys playing Nerf wars outside and we'd be caught. The dinner started around 2pm and actually turned out much better than I expected. The food was good, the kids were entertained by a bounce house and crafts, and the temperature even dropped below 80 degrees so it actually felt like a real Thanksgiving. However, around 5pm, the mood of the party changed dramatically.  That's when the margaritas and shots started flowing. Now, I'm all for having a good time, but I don't recall the Pilgrims & Indians playing drinking games at the First Thanksgiving. You might think that these were younger neighbors and we were the old farts of the crowd, but that wasn't the case either. We're talking 30-something, PTA moms who must have missed their calling for bartending. It was a surreal experience--with kids doing crafts at one table, and moms doing shots at the next table. Apparently one of the neighbors decided to nominate herself as Alcohol Intake Monitor and wanted to make sure everyone kept up with her. That's when I decided to call it a night. I'm too old to be having someone tell me I'm not drinking my margarita fast enough. But alas, it was too late. I'm sure the kids will remember this first Thanksgiving in Okinawa as the Year Mom Got Drunk at Thanksgiving. Good times.  A friend of mine put this up on Facebook, and I thought it'd be appropriate for this post. 

With that pleasant thought, I'm going to stop here so you guys can take a break and be grateful you live in a country without freakishly large insects and with normal toilets.  In the next post I'll talk about our crazy December.  I promise it will be soon.  It's already typed up--I'm just waiting for my editor (Bill) to check one thing before I put it out there for all the world to see.  Stay tuned!