Thunder

There is a thunderstorm approaching. Every once in a while I hear a low rumble of thunder. No one else is paying attention. In fact, one neighbor is actually watering her flowers. But my PTWS (personal thunder warning system) is in high alert. She is panting and pacing. Checking the outside. Checking under the table. She would like it very much if I would stay in the same room as the girls so she could watch over us all. And being on the 3rd floor is NOT making her happy. The thunder, although distant is almost constant. If I didn't know her better I would think that she is channeling Lassie and Timmy is in big trouble. Heaven knows what she would do if faced with real storms like those recently visited on the mid-west.

I think if I were that scared I would be in the basement. But she is a pack animal and we are her pack. Nervous to the point of panting and shivers, she have nothing to do with petting and cuddles. She knows that won't help the thunder go away. She just needs to be with us. And watch. I am reminded that my domestic pet, who I talk to and play with, can't truly understand spoken language. I can't rationalize the thunder for her like I do for C. Frankly Greta doesn't buy the story about God bowling on the ceiling. And I don't know how to comfort her. Now that the rain is falling I think I will give in to her doggie pleas and head downstairs to 'safer' spaces. It is the least I can do for my PTWS.

Memorial Day

I am not sure if my patriotic streak was sharpened by becoming a wife of an active duty military person or if it was always there. I know it was fostered by Girl Scouts and the occasional chance to raise the flag at Grandpa Lewis' house. My grade school class recited the pledge everyday. I do know that I have never really been able to hear (or while a musician play) the national anthem or Stars and Stripes without getting a huge lump in my throat.


Several years ago I went to Hawaii and visited the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific. My Dad had told me that a relative of mine (his cousin Paul) was buried there. S and I visited and laid flowers at his grave. It struck me that so many fallen heroes live in graves far away from home. How many have ever been visited by their families? One of the statues bears the following quote: "The solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom."

According to Wikapedia the origin of the quote is as follows-

In 1864, Massachusetts Governor John A. Andrew wrote to President Lincoln concerning one Mrs. Lydia Bixby, a widow who was believed to have lost five sons during the Civil War. Lincoln's letter to her was printed by the Boston Evening Transcript.

The following is the text of the letter:

“

Executive Mansion, Washington, Nov. 21, 1864. Dear Madam, I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant General of Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle. I feel how weak and fruitless must be any word of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save. I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom. Yours, very sincerely and respectfully, A. Lincoln

S has been in the military long enough that he and I have had the privilege of knowing some of those heroes. One of the newspapers we get on base lists the names and photos of those who have died or are missing each month. Memorial Day is no longer about those long dead. It is about our friends and neighbors. About our relatives and about ourselves. It is our time to pause in silence and say thank you, you will never be forgotten. So I try hard to remember that my long weekend with family and BBQ has a purpose. To not forget. To hold those lives dear. To remember the price.



Yesterday C&R and I bought poppies from the local VFW guys. I tried to explain what the holiday is about. That sometimes the bad guys kill the good guys and they don't get to come home. So we have to remember what they did for us. She paused and said, "But what about my Daddy? Can that happen to him?" I choked a little and lied through my teeth. "No, Daddy doesn't go to those places." She is young enough to not have that reality in her life.

In Flanders’ Fields

In Flanders’ Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders’ Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders’ Fields.

How to REALLY freak yourself out

Step 1- Decide that you are really ready to cut your hair short. (I should refer you all back to the entry on relativity. Short for me was going to be just above the shoulder.) Be happy with the decision and look forward to going to the hair cut.

Step 2 - Pick a good hair stylist.

Step 3 - Now it gets fun... Decide to take along your 2 1/2 year old. And what the heck get her first hair cut too!

Step 4 - Gesture vaguely to the stylist that you want it short and you are ready for a new look. Something for summer! Try not to wince when it keeps getting shorter.

Step 5 - Let the stylist chop off the toddler's hair too. Try hard not to cry.

Step 6 - Why not go nuts? Take the 4 1/2 year old in the next day and chop off her hair too.

Final step - Go to a foreign country/busy tourist city and try to keep track of the kids. You won't be able to find those two heads of long blond hair anywhere! PANIC! Relax. The kids standing next to you are yours... just with short hair.

Before:



After:

Random Rome Moments

Our family trip to Rome was great! S and I decided that we should not try to do and see everything. We will have to go back to wander the museums and enjoy romantic dinners. Our trip was very full in spite of skipping almost every major museum. We returned to our rental apartment every night tired and happy with the day's sights. Instead of boring you with lists of what we saw and such, I will just share some random highlights and thoughts. Let me just say at the start that traveling with two little people is a joy and a curse and a joy. :)

A sink, just my size...
We arrived at our rental apartment late at night so the girls went straight to bed. But that didn't stop C from noticing something different in the bathroom. When she came in to brush teeth, she declared, "Look mommy a little sink, just my size!" She was starting to kneel down in front of the bidet and turn on the water when I stopped her. S and I were able to explain that some people use it to clean themselves after the potty. And she never tried to put her hands in it again. However, our last day there I 'caught' her using it. She had gone potty and then moved over to the bidet. She had done everything right. I'm not sure I could have done so well! She thought she was going to get in trouble but we praised her for trying new things. What a worldly 4 year old.

Fountain search
Because we had gotten in late the night before we decided our first day shouldn't be to hard. We headed for the Trevi fountain. The metro dropped us near the Triton fountain. Further wanderings had us pass by the San Carlo alle Quatro Fontane (Fountains at each of the 4 corners of the street), and several piazzas with fountains. C and R loved turning the corner and running into yet another fountain. And the discovery of (safe) water fountains all along the way was just as good. The 3 girls threw three coins in the Trevi fountain and we all plan to return to Rome someday. We somehow ended the day at the Spanish Steps. Which has a great fountain at the bottom. We filled sippy cups and drank from the fountain. Water + kids = happy

Pizza x 2
Traveling with picky eaters can be the pits. When we were in Prague we actually bribed C to sit through a wonderful Czech meal that she wouldn't touch by promising to go to McDonald's afterward. R was asleep or she would have gotten the same bribe. So Italy was something a mommy could look forward to. Pizza!! It was my goal to give those picky eaters one of their most favorite meals twice a day everyday until we left the country. And that is what we did. C was overjoyed. R, well you know R, she ate like a pro. C even made up a song about pizza margarita. S thought we should break the trend on day and stop in at the local golden arches but I stuck to my guns. Those girls ate pizza for lunch and dinner 5 days in a row. Kids were happy. Mammy was happy. Daddy was happy. Hmmm... Maybe I should try that at home? The one thing I did learn is that traditional Roman cuisine and much of the Sicilian cuisine was not served at the places that had wood-fired pizza.




prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella
And then God created cheese. Those that know and love me are aware of my life long relationship with cheese. Well move over cheddar, Mama found something better! One evening we ordered a common appetizer of prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella. I have had prosciutto before but this was the best ever. And the fresh buffalo mozzarella left me drooling for more. Yum!

Is it older than you?
Any trip to Rome must include the really old stuff. So off we went to the ruins of Rome. We wandered around some of the most amazing ruins I have ever seen. Vestal Virgins, ancient temples, homes of emperors... Of course that was the only day it rained during our trip. But what is a little water. At least it wasn't cold!! We found that the Peg (stroller) can do cobble stone until you get to the really old stuff. Huge stones with a gap big enough to loose R in were tough going. C was having trouble understanding how truely old this stuff was. I said it was older than Grandpa Ted (sorry Dad!). So she asked if it was older than me. Was it older than Daddy? And as the day wore on and she wanted us to move on to the next thing she would say, "Lets go see some more old stuff!"



the Jesus count
Ever since we say Notre Dame while mass was being held C has loved to go into churches. She asks lots of great questions. And she loves to make "God's Houses" in the sand box in the back yard. She is particularly fond of Jesus on the cross. She is fascinated with his wounds and the story of how people could kill him that way. It sounds grim as I write it but she makes it all matter-of-fact as she sorts out things in her own way. She is also warming up to the idea of pictures of Jesus as a baby and picture of hime with Mary.

I thought it would be a great way to get her interested in some of the places we visit by counting how many Jesuses we can find. Whenever I saw one I would point it out and C would usually ask a million new (and hard) questions about Christianity. She loved Michaelangelo's Pieta. And she always wanted to go straight to the alter of any church we entered to check for a Jesus on the cross at the front of the church. We found them in tapestries, sculpture and paintings. Jesus is a popular guy in Rome. So C got a good look at Jesus at all ages and mommy lost count.

The most beautiful place ever
We weren't expecting the girls to love the Vatican. We knew it would be crowded and hard. I had the Jesus search going with C and that helped. And R had lolly pops. The day we picked to go do our Vatican stuff fortune landed in our laps; we got tickets to the Wednesday audience with the Pope. So we hung out with a few thousand of other folks in front St. Peter's Basilica and waved at him. S got some amazing pictures.

Next we took our mildly sunburned selves up the elevator in St. Peter's Dome and buzzed through the Rafael rooms in the papal palace. The girls were getting bored by the time we got to the big push through the crowd for the Sistine Chapel. S wasn't having much fun in the crowd either. But we managed to find a decent spot to wedge the stroller. S held R steady as she gazed at the ceiling. Who knows what was going through her amazing little mind. C and I walked into the larger section of the room and managed to snag a seat on a bench. She sat there with her head resting on the wall behind her as I tried to point out something that might hold her attention. "There is God...That guy he is touching is man... well the first man... well... Isn't it beautiful? He painted for 5 years to make that. On his back..." She didn't say anything for a while. Finally I got impatient and asked her what she thought of it all. She said, "It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen!"

As we were getting ready to leave the room I pointed out the walls of the chapel to C. There are curtains or drapes painted so realistically that she wouldn't believe me when I said they aren't real. She insisted that we go touch them. You can't just go touch the walls of the Sistine Chapel but I got close enough to convince her that is is an illusion of paint and artistry. I was reminded then that I could see Rome without kids- see more, take more time. But with my children I saw differently, more clearly.





melon gelat-oh!
In addition to twice a day pizza we had some gelato everyday. Because gelato is NOT like American ice cream C couldn't find any she liked. In the first restaurant we tried to order plain vanilla gelato. What we got was - and I am not kidding here - basil flavored gelato. I was the only one who liked it. R wouldn't even eat it. Who knew that basil was an dessert flavor? Next we tried vanilla and yogurt flavors. We tried chocolate. C wouldn't eat any of it. Finally we got Fior de Latte. It was a hit! S stuck mainly to Stracciatella which is basically chocolate chips in vanilla ice cream. I was was being conservative and getting the same thing for awhile. But then it hit me that melon and strawberries are in season and they make this stuff fresh. So I ordered melon (cantaloupe) and strawberry. WOW!! It was so yummy! I had gelato twice the last day we were there. :)

How to get your butt caught in the train door
What a great transition- ice cream to my big butt getting snagged by the train. Actually, there is more to it than that. At certain times of day the metro in Rome is packed. I used my newly acquired German pushiness to shove my way onto the train with the stroller. But S and C were behind me and the doors started to close. I figured the door would hit my rear and pop back open. Haha. S and another guy (whose luggage was one the train without him) pried the doors back open. S grabbed C's shoe that had come off in the excitement and we all got on the train. Lets here it for big hinnies!



There were so many other moments in our Rome trip that I could share. We had a great time. If you want to see more pictures from the trip, check out our Flickr account.

What ever you do, don't smile

We have lived in the Stuttgart area now for 1 1/2 years. Most of my German neighbors are older, grandparent types. When we first got here they NEVER smiled at me - at anyone. I have learned that it is a cultural thing. Smile at someone here and you have a screw loose. I guess the idea of smiling at a stranger for no reason just doesn't make sense to these folks. But to my 4 year old (and to a lesser extent to my 2 year old), not smiling and saying hello is just rude.

On morning as we headed to the car for school a group of older gentlemen out for their morning stroll walked by the car. They looked at me (stared actually, but that is a whole other behavior here), and kept on going. I smiled out of habit and mumbled "guten morgan". They didn't say a word. C is a very outgoing kid so she used her best German and said, "guten morgan". They didn't resond. By now they're backs were to us. C was flabbergasted. "Mommy, they didn't say good morning!!" She was incensed, hurt, shocked... angry. And out came a loud and not so friendly "GUTEN MORGAN!" Those men never turned around. I had a nice chat with C about how some cultures do things differently as we drove to school.

It has been several months since this happened. Our neighbors have warmed up to us and the girls in particular. They love to chat with her as she is the most fluent German speaker in the house. There are smiles and "morgans" all around. And even the gentlemen on the morning walks will nod and occasionally say good morning to the loud four year old girl doing her best to be friendly.

My First Blog

Well, I guess this was bound to happen. I have all these thoughts and random comments packed away in my head and it is about time to let them out! My plan for this blog is to share my experiences as a Mommy, an American living in Germany, and any other thought that seems to pop up.