We have been in Bangalore for almost a week now and I feel like I have been here a month. I am still in a jet lag, melatonin, moving-in haze, which I think has protected me from being as homesick as I expected to be. Plus, I have been so busy taking care of the kids, trying to figure out how to “manage staff” (yes, that’s a thing) and how to buy food that I recognize in the grocery store and know how to cook that I haven’t had time to really think too much about being homesick. Except at 2 am, which is when I miss you people the most.

Things are good so far. (Thank you for the prayers!) I like it here. Dan likes it here. The kids love it here. We live on a palm tree-lined street in what looks like a Florida vacation community (we love you, Orlando). We walk to the pool each day where there are all of 2 other people swimming, even on a Saturday. Dan goes into work later than he did in NYC so that we have coffee together, or more often, I sleep and he watches cricket in Hindi while the kids play in the converted Hindu prayer closet which is now their clubhouse. (Apparently, this is only offensive if we keep shoes in it). Dan is going to sign up for his golf membership this week, so he couldn’t be any happier.

We have a driver named Kiren, who has been extremely helpful in getting us things we need for the house and educating us on the interesting and almost never logical ways of Bangalore. We also have a housekeeper named Shanta who just showed up here last week saying that her mom used to clean this house so now she would. Fine with us. So far she has showed up an hour late each day and left an hour and a half early. Today (Saturday) she asked if she could work 9-11 because she had a birthday party to go to. I didn’t even know she worked Saturdays so that was fine with me. She’s 18 and beautiful so I feel guilty that she’s cleaning my house when she should be modeling. But I have acclimated enough to upperclass Bangalore housewife life to complain about her lack of commitment to her hours to the neighbor. She says that I’m too nice. I’m giving tough New Yorkers a bad name.

Today we interviewed a person to cook for us because who doesn’t need a cook? When in Rome…What’s most surprising is that even with a driver and a housekeeper, I have never been more exhausted. I have help except when I could really use it, which is in the morning when getting the kids up and ready and in the evenings with dinner, bath, bed routine (Dan works until 8 pm or later now). And because things don’t run smoothly here (getting to the grocery store can take 10 minutes or 2 hours depending on traffic; opening a bank account takes 5 phone calls, an in person meeting, and knowing the right bankers to pull some strings; absolutely everyone needs a copy of my passport for absolutely everything; the furniture delivery guy needs my signature on a separate piece of paper for every single piece of furniture I bought as well checked off on his phone; getting internet access takes a week and clandestine meetings at the ATM in the rain to pay for it; setting up my iPhone to work here requires something called a jail break, which means that it won’t work in the US, and a new one costs $1000 US) help is needed. I have been wondering if the system is so complicated to make sure that helpers always have jobs.

As I lay awake in bed each night, unable to sleep because of that 4 pm cup of coffee, which was a necessity at the time to get me through dinner and bedtime, but that now I regret, my mind is busy reflecting on the past week here in Bangalore, a few moments are most salient, and they are in no particular order:

-We arrived at the Marriott from the hotel late last Saturday night. The jet lag affected us all big time, but Mia most of all who just refused to sleep for 2 days and had a horrible cold. In the hopes of getting everyone to acclimate to the time change, Dan and I gave the girls a small dose of the all natural hormone melatonin. At dinner Sunday night all 3 girls were falling asleep at the table during dinner. Masan was holding a chicken nugget and nibbling on it as she nodded in and out of sleep. At one point she landed on Evie’s shoulder, and without opening her eyes, Evie punched Masan in the arm to move her off of her.

-Driving around (more accurately, being driven around by the helpful driver Kiren) Bangalore buying groceries and other house-related items on Tuesday we passed a snow covered lake and I did a double take. Wait, what? Snow? When I questioned Kiren about it he said that it was the chemical waste and sewage in the water making it look soapy and white. He showed us the mesh fences erected to keep the stuff out of the school bus windows on the bridges. I was informed that often the lakes catch fire. This prompted me to ask about clean up plans, but apparently that would mean redoing the entire sewer system of Bangalore, and that’s out of the question.

-On Thursday morning the 8 year old boy who lives next door was playing cricket in the street in front of our villa with his driver. The girls ran outside and joined in. Organic playdate at 8am on a Thursday. Dan and I sat on the stoop having coffee watching, and this place felt less lonely and more like home. Since then we have had several impromptu playdates and drop ins with these neighbors at both of our villas. The kids immediately took to one another, and I think Masan may have met her match and has found a kid who likes to be in charge as much as she does. It’s interesting to watch her defer to this boy like I rarely see her do to kids her own age at home.

-I stopped by the neighbor’s house to pick up Masan and Evie who they had been watching while I tried to sort out my phone situation. The mom promptly sat me down, gave me lemonade and some rice dosas her cook had made, and started “managing my spice level” to see how much spice I can handle in my food. I just ate whatever she put in front of me since it was all amazing. My favorite part about this culture is its need to feed. Reminds me of growing up across the street from the Khosla family who fed me almost every day after school until I was in high school, my Italian father’s hospitality, and my Grammie Brown making food for the ‘elderly’ (the woman herself was 88) in her community.

-Dan and I were talking in front of the driver about how much fun Masan was having digging in the dirt in the yard behind the villa. Kiren mentioned that may not be the best idea because of the centipedes and scorpions which can sometimes be found in the dirt. Duly noted.

-The woman who does some sort of work for the family across the street stands in front of our villa on the sidewalk and just stares at us. Every day. I think she wants to be our cook since that’s the only word she says that I can understand.

-The driver has bought Dan 2 cases of Kingfisher beer thus far. We have been here a week. Guess he doesn’t want him to run out.

-A woman came to the door today to inquire about being my gardener. Do I need one? Apparently so. She quoted me 2000 rupees a month to water the plants in the front yard and cut the extremely small area of grass we have in the back. While she was in the yard checking it out, I ran next door and asked the neighbor how much I should be paying. She said 1500 rupees for coming every day for a month. I told this to the potential gardener and she quoted me 1800. I then haggled again and got her down to 1500 because I told her how small our yard is. I was so proud of myself because I currently have a reputation amongst all the housekeepers and “helpers” as our neighbor calls them, up and down the street for being a push over. So I was trying to prove that I can be tough. But now I feel guilty for not giving the woman some extra cash which she could probably really use. I can’t win.

– The gals and I met Dan and his new team at Morgan Stanley for lunch last week. Mia was having the time of her life being passed back and forth to all of the young, sweet, lovely ladies and the one young gentleman.

-I am proud to say that I have not shopped at the expat grocery stores, but with all 3 girls (and the help of the driver, of course) have ventured into Indian grocery stores where the food is exotic, the flies are plentiful, and the cheek squeezes from strangers are common (Evie hates it!).

-Dan, who has been suffering from dysentery all day, is feeling much better after some Aleve and Papa John’s pizza, which tastes pretty much the same here as it does in the States.