I Need a Title Generator

If some girls that are not my daughter want to wear low-rise jeans, I say more power to them. But is it too much to ask that they at least buy said jeans in their own size? There's no added sex appeal in sporting a bulge of tortured flesh that has escaped the dungeon of denim. If you're showing most everything anyway, why pretend your ass is smaller than it actually is?

The weather is so unpredictable these days that half of the girls on the bus were wearing sweaters, and the other half tank-tops. It tried to rain this morning when I took D.D. to school, but this afternoon people were out sunning on the river meadows, getting a long-overdue dose of vitamin D. [Corrected thanks to L.H. So I don't know vitamins.] The ice cream stands were doing a booming business when I walked through town earlier.

The daffodils have started dying off, but the dandelions are well on their way to being ripe. As a matter of fact, fluffy bits are floating through the window and collecting in threatening balls under the desk even as I type. (L.H. just pointed out that they are probably not from dandelions, more likely from trees. Spoil sport.) D.D. scans the sidewalk to and from school for "puffs." Some of the neighbors have really glorious gardens coming up; I told D.D. that since we live in an apartment, we can enjoy their gardens as we walk to school, and we don't have to pull weeds or pay for all the seedlings.

Speaking of which, one of the seeds I planted has sprouted! Go me! I have no idea what it is, since I just threw all the saved seeds in the pot, but I guess we'll see eventually.

Today I sat next to a highly annoying person in my textbook analysis class, a mistake I will try not to repeat. Granted, our instructor is a funny lady, but laughing like Luna Lovegood at every little witticism is not the way to make friends in class.

In case you weren't aware, grammatical gender will be the death of me. German nouns are masculine, feminine, or neuter, and there's very little rhyme or reason to it. Why is milk feminine but coffee masculine? I. Don't. Know. I'm not even positive I just got that right. I try and try to learn it, but it *does not stick.*

While chopping up the veggies for dinner just now, I noticed the labels on the packages. After checking them all, here is the international vegetable stir-fry we are having:
onions from Poland
garlic from Argentina
green beans from Egypt
mushrooms from Holland
cherry tomatoes from Italy

and oranges from Morocco on the fruit dish.
But pork and spaetzle from Germany, of course.

And for your reading pleasure, here are my results for the quiz, What Kind of American English Do You Speak:

Your Linguistic Profile:

70% General American English

25% Dixie

5% Yankee

0% Midwestern

0% Upper Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Bits and Pieces

D.D. is well on her way to mastering the fine art of hyperbole. On the way home from school yesterday: "This backpack is snapping my spine! It's killing me! Look—I think it has a tiny knife, or a gun, or maybe some dynamite!"

Then this morning: "My finger is killing me! I'm dying! I don't think I can go to school!" My response: "If you die from a paper cut, you don't have to go to school. Now get up!"

The rain clouds have finally moved off, but it was nippy enough this morning that I made D.D. wear a sweater and gloves. Of course, it turned warm in the afternoon (but still no rain! Yah!), so she had to drag home a pile of clothes, but she'll survive.

You know how once you've thought of something, you can't *not* think of it? My problem is CO2. Normally, I don't give other people's breathing a thought, but once in a while, like on the bus, it will occur to me that I'm breathing in the exhalations of my fellow passengers. I haven't quite given myself a complex about it, but I might end up hyperventilating from the shallow breathing while on the bus, then deep lung-cleansing breathing when off the bus. (Typing this, I realize I sound like a freak, but everyone needs one hang-up, right? Hello?)

I like various types of sewing and crafts, but I try not to step over the line into sewing little clothes for the cats, or crocheting wall hangings with plastic baby faces. But apparently the people at the sewing machine shop next-door to my favorite bakery have no such self-restraint. It was gone from the window today, but last week they had used their power for good (embroidery machine) for evil (pot-plant cozy).

I know it can't be easy keeping an elementary school clean, especially when it has rained for 2 solid weeks. And I see the cleaning lady sweeping and mopping every afternoon when I go to pick up D.D., so I know it's being cleaned. But the smells! Normally it smells like sweaty puppies (small wonder), but yesterday eau de cat box wafted through the halls. I'm worried that D.D.'s sense of smell will be permanently damaged by the constant exposure.

Since the new Pope is German, there's been something about him in the paper every day since his election. The latest: The 78-year-old Pope is in good shape! He takes the stairs instead of the elevator! I mean, come on, people. He's German. I think they are constitutionally incapable of using elevators. 112-year-old ladies climb the stairs here. People with crutches climb the stairs here. Open a building with fewer than 8 floors and include an elevator, and people will think you've lost your mind.

L.H. has attracted his own stalker. Well, a really annoying, needy, 42-year-old (male) student who can't take a hint, such as L.H. putting on his coat, picking up his bag, saying "I have to leave", and turning off the light. True story. I had to be in L.H.'s building today to use the library, and I came across him and Stalky in the hall, and he refused to make eye contact with me in case Stalky decided to attach himself to me instead.

We are really going to Paris the end of next week (there's a state holiday—Christ Ascension, I think). I know that it didn't work out last time, but this time we have hotel reservations (confirmed yesterday), a car, a map, a guide book, and a phrase book on CD. So we're halfway there! Only, D.D. doesn't want to go, because she's heard the French eat snails. I hope she doesn't burst into tears whenever we pass a butcher's shop or a restaurant.

What's Up With Us

I decided after L.H. got home from California that 5 days of being a single parent was plenty, thanks. I don't ever want to do that full-time. L.H. is therefore not allowed to die on me. No sudden heart attacks. No fatal bike accidents. No acute food poisoning.

D.D.'s class has been studying invertebrates, so they've covered the snail and the worm. The teacher even brought specimens to class for them to touch and watch. Considering how wet it's been, you can't walk 5 feet without coming across one or the other, so I'm sure collecting them was not a difficult feat. Then last night, the popular science program we watch (Galileo) covered the type of snails that we have around here. D.D. was all into it until she realized that we were watching escargot farmers in action, and that the snails were being raised to be eaten. That's when the tv went off and the tears came on. Then when she spotted a couple of snails on the way to school this morning, there were more tears. So she has a soft-spot for slimy, disgusting gastropods.

I am thinking about starting a hidden-camera anthropology project on the bus. First, I can have the old people that have to shake hands with every person they know on the bus, even if there are 20 of them. Then I can have drunky hair guy, who seems to think that grooming and flinging his long hair repeatedly, while head-banging to his portable cd player and sipping on a bottle of beer hidden in the pocket of his leather jacket, is attractive. Finally, I can cover the range of adolescent thoughtlessness: backing into other passengers with a 20-pound backback, hogging up a seat with a backpack so that others have to stand (and why don't the others call him on it), listening to music so loudly that even with earphones the passengers 2 rows up can hear nothing else. If you can't tell, the glamor of the bus is gone.

The weather is so shitty that I'm not even going to bother bitching about it. It would be like a -2 on the scale (except I can't remember which way the scale goes, so take my word that -2 is not good).

Composed April 24

If April showers bring May flowers, I hope they can swim. We have had rain, rain, and more rain. Funnily enough (but not in the ha-ha sense), we've noticed that it'll rain all day when we want to or have to get out and about, then clear up around sunset, when it's too late for most errands or outings anyway. Bleh!

After the rain, the thing I am most sick of seeing is Anastacia's ass. There's a kiosk across the street with posters for "cultural events" (in the widest possible sense), and every time I look out the kitchen window, she's giving me a come-hither look over shoulder, which is completely a wasted effort.

It's only one o'clock, but it's already been a full day: up at 5 to take Lovely Husband to the train station for leg 1 of his trip to California, got Darling Daughter to school by 7:45, *cleaned* the house, and went to the dentist for a filling. In the middle of the dental appointment, I noticed I wasn't keeping my tongue properly out of the way, and I had the most absurd thought: "I'm licking the dentist!" I guess it's a job hazard in that line of work, but it struck me as hilarious at the time (drug-free dentistry, thanks).

Then after the filling I got asked out. How sad is asking a total stranger *at a bus stop* to go for coffee? I couldn't even think what would be the correct response for 1. turning someone down without being insulting OR encouraging, and 2. saying it in German. I thought the whole thing was kind of funny, but L.H. was concerned when I told him about it. I think he's worried the guy will turn into a stalker, but I'm not worried about attracting stalkers until my fiction is published; then I'll have one eye behind me for literary critics.

Temporary Absence

Lovely Husband is leaving for California at an ungodly hour Wednesday morning (I get to drive him to the train station), and he's taking the laptop with him. It's the end of the first week of school, and I'm already behind in a couple of classes, so I'm not going to even make the effort to seek out a different Internet source while he's away. Maybe I'll be caught up when he gets back Monday.

See you then.

I'm Not Dead Yet

With university classes just starting back up, the whole family is having to get used to a new schedule. But not really, because Lovely Husband's department postponed their classes for a week to do testing. Then he'll be in CA the end of next week, so it'll be 2 weeks before the family schedule gets chugging along. So every 5 minutes I'm checking my Palm to make sure I'm on top of it all. It wouldn't pay to forget, say, Darling Daughter at school.

Before the crush of homework and reading assignments got too onerous, I got the chance to accompany a friend to the opera. Actually, she had invited L.H., but 1. he felt weird going alone with another woman, and 2. he couldn't afford the time now that he's in presentation preparation mode. (He should have known that #1 wouldn't bother me because she's a friend to both of us, and I'm cuter than her; but I was very proud of him for #2.) So he suggested me instead since I'm a fan of Lohengrin. This is an almost *5-hour opera*, people. I love it enough that I didn't fall asleep, unlike some people in the audience, but I kept having the insane urge to yell loudly, just to see if I could be heard over the singers. Do you know the imp of the perverse? He lives in my head.

I thought that the staging of the opera was a little strange—lots of slanted floors and walls, and modern clothes mixed with medieval-esque—but the one part I really didn't get was the presence of 20-30 flags being waved almost continuously by the chorus. Ok, so they're the citizens of Brabant, and they support the king, blah, blah, blah, but it's basically a love story, so I didn't get it. Instead, I wondered if the director had attended a seminar on flag-waving and thought, "That's perfect for our new production!" Or maybe that was a big sale on flags in Mannheim. *I don't know.*

***

Do you ever catch yourself falling back into a childhood behavior you had forgotten about? I don't chew my nails anymore, though a snagged nail will get bitten off until I can get to an emery board. But thanks to my new interest in freakish, giant snails, I catch myself spending way too much time scanning the ground as I walk. When I was a kid, I got really frizzle-fried at the lake (a few times), so often I didn't even bother getting in the water. I'd walk around the picnic tables there at the state park looking for winning soda-can tabs. Now that bottles with twist-off lids and cans with pop-tops have replaced the old tabbed cans, you just don't see little dangerous slivers of aluminum lying around like you used to.

I am now up to 4 intact and 1 partial snail shell for my collection. D.D. wanted to make a necklace out of them (gross!), but I plan to make a diorama—attack of the zombie snails! I haven't decided what materials to use yet, but I will keep you posted on my progress.

***

My Darling Daughter is usually a very laid back child, but certain things will set her off, like a callous disregard for nature. She has a lovely book of children's stories from all over the world (thanks, Gwamma!); the Swiss story is about how the mayor of some town decides everyone would be more productive and the town more famous if the citizens weren't distracted by beautiful nature. So the plants and flowers are locked up behind a brick wall topped with barbed wire, and the butterflies are pinned in boxes. D.D. won't even read the story anymore. She cries just thinking about the poor butterflies.

Our landlord's penchant for hunting also brings her to tears. (1) "What did those poor deer ever do to him?" is her anguished cry. Thank goodness he moved his collection of stuffed animals (and I don't mean teddy bears) from the window and walls of his shop on the ground floor of our building. D.D. never enjoyed walking past a happy little dead woodchuck and ducks. I hope she doesn't notice his business's display of plumbing fixtures and taxidermy outside her dentist's office when she goes for a cleaning in 2 weeks.

(1) I thought I had posted about our apartment decor, but couldn't find it to link to. On the outside of our building is a mural with Saint Humberto and a stag (who was Jesus in disguise). SH is the patron saint of hunters. In our apartment, we have the lovely light fixture over the dining room table made of *antlers*, then the hand-made chairs with wild animals carved into their backs, and finally the tile oven with decorative tiles of, you guessed it, wild animals. So our home is a daily reminder to D.D. of the landlord's hobby.

L.H. told me that when he and D.D. were walking to school one day, she pointed out a tiny sapling trying to grow in a crack in the sidewalk. He made some offhand comment that it didn't look like the best place for a tree to grow, and she jumped to defend it: "How would you like to be a little tree trying to grow and have someone make fun of you?!" What the--? D.D. should join the Sierra Club, or possibly the more militant Greenpeace. I can see her in the future, strapped to the mast of a whaling ship, her self-designed "Don't Mess With Nature" tatoo glistening in the sun...

***

I !hate! people who stand in the middle of the sidewalk or doorway. (2) We live in an old, narrow town, and there is just not room to stop and gawk without forcing other people to walk in the street. And the university library is *1 door*. It's not even a double door. I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to go in, or out, and had to squeeze past a cluster of dummies smoking or chatting or even waiting for someone with a stroller. Move along, people!

(2) L.H. says no one actually "hates" anyone else, but he is wrong. I hope there's a level of hell where path-blockers have to eternally navigate a crowded space—like the Vatican during the Pope's funeral, or Potsdamer Platz in Berlin when the wall came down, or a Tokyo subway car. With a large, hot coffee in each hand. Pushing a stroller with a screaming baby. With a full bladder. Now I feel better.

***

D.D. and I finished the 5th Harry Potter over her school holiday, so now we're eagerly awaiting #6 (3 months and 1 day!). It comes out on the last day of university classes for the semester, but 2 weeks before the end of D.D.'s school year, so I should be able to read it during the day while she's at school and hide it at night in my room. Then I can forewarn her of any scary stuff before/if I read it to her.

We're looking for other things to read, as she has gone through all her books, including the large stack she got for xmas (thanks, JEKL!), minus the one about cats going to heaven or something. I've tried reading Little House on the Prairie to her, but after 3 chapters she thinks it is too sad. I guess it's time for me to practice my German aloud; she may still have a couple of German books that are unread.

Mattel is Ruining My Life

My Darling Daughter is as prone as any other child of 7 to get all "gimme" when she sees toy commercials, but it is especially bad during the run-up to her birthday. She wants everything she sees for her birthday. And to add fuel to the fire, there are ads currently running for no fewer than *8* different Barbie products, running the range from fairies and princesses to toothless kids and "chicks." Fortunately for my sanity, the ad for the potty-training smallest Barbie has finished its run. The commercial that cracks me up, though, is one for the California Barbie and friends (remember when the bikini Barbie was the cheapest one? I doubt it still is). One of the Kens has an afro, which D.D. calls his disco-ball hair. Hee!

D.D. went back to school last week, thank the 7 dwarfs. It was getting hard to entertain her. She got a tin of kid card games at xmas, so we played Old Maid, Go Fish, Crazy Eights, and War until I was sick of shuffling. We did tend to get silly playing War: D.D. would slap down her card shrieking "Hi-Ya!" like the sound effects in a Hong Kong fighting film. War is a *verrrry long* game, so the card-slapping shouts mutated into the names of Chinese towns and foods—egg roll! Bejing! dim sum!—and finally into the first thing we saw—coffee table! Barbie jeep! Monty Python! D.D. got down to one card and was ready to quit, but it was a 9, so she managed to get all of the cards and win.

We also put together many puzzles. If you know my mom's family, you know most of us like puzzles (except for my lil sis—weirdo!). My middle sister even included a puzzle in her novel. (Oh no! I gave away an important plot point! Just pretend to be surprised when you get to the part about the assassin and the puzzle. Thanks.) But unlike the rest of the family, D.D. does not start with the border. She starts with the most salient content—the dolls in a Barbie puzzle, or a string of pearls on a make-up table (complete with adorable kitten) in another. Then she lets me fill in the boring background and border pieces. One day she'll be able to help me finish my Millenium Falcon 3-D puzzle (received as an xmas gift while she was in utero and now 2/3 complete).

The weather was cold and wet the end of last week, but yesterday it finally cleared up. It was still cool, but the sky was cloudless and the sun was shining, so it was very pleasant. D.D. and I went to the indoor pool on Sunday to give L.H. some uninterrupted work time, but it felt weird to be putting on a swim suit when it was so cold and gray outside. Today is overcast again, but not so cold as over the weekend.

I was in town yesterday, and I noticed that the high school students standing around after school were being more obnoxious than usual, playing loud music and blowing whistles. Then I noticed they were getting loaded (the drinking age for beer is 16, I believe, but most of these kids would be 19 anyway). Finally it occurred to me that their exams are right about now. I only hope yesterday was the last day. As L.H. said, it wouldn't pay to start celebrating too early. Anyhow, these aren't just end-of-semester finals, but graduation/college entrance exams, so they're very important for their futures.

Today was my first class, and it was interesting and went well. I found out that the class I was planning to take on Wednesdays was already full, and I don't feel like hanging around bugging the teacher to get in, so I'll take it next semester. I have to finish it by the end of the fourth semester, but I don't think it is a prerequisite for any of the classes I need next semester, so I'll just double up then.

For the moms: This afternoon I saw a lady with a baby strapped onto her chest trying to get three 2- or 3-year-olds to hold hands and walk with her down a path with a lot of bike traffic. The 2 little girls were patiently holding hands with each other and waiting while she tried to get the hand of the little boy. He kept throwing himself on the ground, and when she'd get ahold of his hand or wrist, he twist and turn and start whining really loud. I half-way expected him to cry out, "It burns!", the way he was acting. It made me glad, once again, that mine is big enough to threaten instead of having to manhandle her into cooperation.

I went to Toys R Us today to look for a gift to send to a birthday party tomorrow. I found what I wanted right away, but decided to take a look around since D.D.'s birthday is next month, and I might find something good. At the least, I expected to pick up a new Barbie for her. (I know, don't say it.) By the time I was done, I was ready to claw my own eyes out of my head. I think there were only 4 other shoppers in the whole store, which was weird, being in an empty toy store, so it wasn't that I was hassled or jostled or even spoken to, but just the overwhelming amount of *stuff*. The MyScene Barbie she wants is horrific-looking. I can't even begin to describe it. And the other things I had made mental notes on were either not in stock or not there. And I forgot to find something for yet another birthday party on Saturday, but I think I'll try a different store next time. Maybe they'll be better stocked.

Smurfin' Like It's 1999

D.D. watches the kid channel almost incessantly (the shame!), and they have been advertising a show for weeks: The ABCs of the Smurfs (called Schlumpfs in German). Tomorrow night, all these German celebrities are slated to come on the show and talk about their smurf memories.

That set me and L.H. off on a round of smurf-talk:

Smurf 1: Oh, no! Gargamel found our mushroom village!
Smurf 2: We're smurfed!

Smurf 1 to Smurfette over a glass of smurf-berry juice: Wanna smurf?

On viewing Crack-Addict Smurf lying in a gutter: He must have been smurfing up again.

Smurf 1, after walking in on Smurf 2 in the bathroom: I caught him smurfing!

And so on and so forth. Maybe not so funny as Mimi Smartypants, but that is a level I am still hoping to attain, someday...

Attack of the Invertebrates

It's cool and drizzly today, so we were able to see our first snails of the year. Dude, these aren't just any snails, these are *escargot* (according to our neighbor). The shells are at least the diameter of a silver dollar, and the bodies are about 3 inches long and white. They are gross but cool. D.D. and I collect the empty shells; we're up to 2.

But as gross as the snails are, they are not nearly as disgusting as the slugs we saw in Sweden. Imagine a 4-inch-long dog turd, black or brown, that is determinedly sliming its way across the sidewalk where you are trying to walk. Now imagine *thousands* of them covering a hundred-yard-long sidewalk that is the only way to your child's daycare. The only thing worse is a cage full of locusts or millipedes (remember, we were recently at the Frankfurt Zoo; trust me on this one). *shudder*

The dark side of spring isn't all slime-laden invertebrates, though. It is also *copious hair loss*. I've always been a big shedder (no mispronouncing and snorting, JEKL!), especially compared to the two other long-haired persons, one long-haired cat, and one short-haired cat I share my home with. But the start of warm weather accelerates the process. It's bad enough that it happens at all, but it appears that *only the brown hairs* are jumping ship. At this rate, I'll be completely white by winter. And the white hairs are thick and kinky (my mom compared them to piano wire; thanks, Mom!), so I'll probably look like a female Einstein. But that is where the resemblance will end, unless my moustache (also turning white!) starts growing uncontrollably.

On the bright side, the pink and white blossoms are appearing hard on the heels of the yellow ones, which helps to cut the gloom of the low-lying clouds and drizzle. Yesterday was cool but sunny, so I worked on cleaning up our terrace. I don't really have a green thumb, more like a brown pinky, but I try. The previous tenants left behind 8 or 9 large planters with mostly unrecognizable contents. There's a small tree in one, and 3 or 4 have tayberry bushes (according to the only label left behind). They put out some pitiful berries last summer, longer and narrower than strawberries and quite bland. I don't know if they'll stay. Then there's some kind of good-smelling herb (maybe basil?) in some of the pots and a few chives in most of them. I stole the dirt out of the most weed-choked pot to plant a few seeds and repot a couple of plants I keep in the kitchen window. I don't really have high hopes for the seeds, which I have been saving from our fruit—it's more of a science than a gardening experiment—but I figure that if I haven't killed off the ivy or xmas cactus yet, they'll survive a little repotting.

Speaking of all things organic, remember the flaming ball of xmas tree? We have a compost can downstairs, so I wanted to do the right thing and put the tiny, singed tree in it. First I had to get the hot-glued-on ornaments and candles off. Turns out, it's not a tiny tree at all. It is a pine branch that was denuded, the stick jammed into a pot of clay, then the branchlets wired back onto the stick in the form of a tiny tree. So the damned thing was not alive at all (no wonder the water kept running straight through the pot, duh!) and was a fire hazard from the get-go. Next year we are going to be here the whole time, so we'll get a full-sized tree and use electric lights. Those two things alone should reduce our chances of a house fire.

I just realized this morning that classes start *next week*! Ack! Ack! Aaaaaaaack! (In case you were wondering how I feel about it.) Did I mention AAAAACK!!?

It's the Most Yellowful Time of the Year

If colors had personalities, yellow would be cheerful. It's the first color to make a widespread appearance in the spring around here, and I for one appreciate it.

Well, I finished my paper only 5 minutes after the department closed on Thursday, which is probably the closest to on time I've ever been with a paper. I managed to dodge several bullets—the black ink cartridge on our printer was almost empty, but held out for 40-something pages; some of my typed notes disappeared, but they were mostly digressions; and my instructor was totally cool and said I could turn it in "whenever"—and I got the damn thing out the door. So I was pretty pooped out Thursday evening (i.e., no blogging).

Friday we spent the day in Frankfurt. First we went to America (a.k.a. the Consulate) for a few hours to renew D.D.'s passport. As D.D. pointed out, it felt a bit strange to hear so much English.

Then we went to the zoo. It's east of the skyscrapers downtown, but we could still see buildings rising up around the zoo grounds. For a relatively small zoo, we still weren't able to see every single thing in 3-1/2 hours. We only saw the giraffes in the distance on our way to the restaurant (L.H. had found out via their web site that they have a Mexican restaurant—it was ok), and we tried to see the lions at 6:40 on our way to the gate (they close at 7), but some grumpy zookeeper was telling everyone to take off because they were closing. Jerk. Fortunately, a lion was in its outside enclosure, so we got a walk-by viewing.

Saturday we slept in, then we had to make the mother of all grocery trips because we were out of *everything*. Mother Hubbard looked in our pantry and was shocked. When I shop, I like to take a list, and I stick to the list, unless I think of something that I know we are definitely out of and that should have been on the list. L.H. takes a list, but he tends to use it more as a starting point. D.D. is 7 and wants everything in sight, list schmist. Sadly, L.H. and D.D. have had to become fairly adept at sensing when I'm reaching my grocery-shopping breaking point, at which time they become quiet and wary-eyed. I feel bad for them, but at least I retain my sanity and don't lash out at them.

There's a reason L.H. and I have stayed happily married for 10 (!) years:
Thursday morning, preparing to charge myself up for the last leg of paper-writing, I put on a full pot of coffee. L.H. was still in bed, but awake, so I told him, "I hope you've got your coffee-drinking shoes on." And he replied, "More like coffee-drinking Depends." Hee! I love that man!

Out of Pocket

I know everyone is panting breathlessly, waiting for my next sparkling update, but I've got nothing but a brain full of a linguistics paper on cognitive metaphors. So check back in next Friday once I've got the bitch turned in.

Errata

I didn't mean to imply in my previous post that gluttony is the primary trait L.H. has passed on to D.D. It's probably only a coincidence that they both love spaghetti more than our pets, because L.H. hated spaghetti as a child. His mother still finds it astounding that her small child who hated mushrooms, onions, and tomatoes and would only eat spaghetti plain with a little butter turned into such a big spaghetti fan.

No, love of language is the trait he's most proud of passing on. I asked D.D. a question last night, and she answered, "Oui. I mean, si." She's as fluent as any other second grader in German (according to her teacher), and L.H. keeps her in practice with Swedish. She's even mentioned wanting to learn more Spanish, in addition to the few words she remembers from kindergarten. And she is always asking language-related questions, like wanting to know about the letter 'e' with the two dots over it. (She should ask her dad; I have no idea.)

And she's like both of us in that she loves Ren and Stimpy. She's watched the first couple of seasons on DVD with us (thanks JEKL!), and she does a passable Stimpy voice. Hee!

***

Small kids are cute, but I'm glad D.D. has left that stage behind. There's a little sister at D.D.'s ballet class who I think is about 4, and everything she says comes out at the top of her voice. I guess I'm just not used to little people, but I think that would drive me ape shit if it were my child. I'm sure D.D. was a lot louder a few years back, but now she spends as much time as she can finagle sedated by television, so I'm more used to the loud toy commercials narrated by MONSTER TRUCK RALLEY-TYPE ANNOUNCERS. Yes, even here in Germany.

Mini-Me

Our Darling Daughter is a perfect mix of the two of us. When she was born, MIL said she looked just like me, and my mom said she looked just like L.H. When she was a little older, they switched positions, but there was no doubt that she belonged to both of us.

As she's gotten older, she looks more and more like me (to the point that my nephew swore that a photo of me at about age 6 was D.D.), with certain features that are her dad's. People we've just met even comment on it. It's a running joke that if we lose her in a crowd, I'll just ask everyone if they've seen a smaller version of me.

Anyone can manage to produce a genetic duplicate of themselves, though, so I'm more excited that she's taking after me in other respects. She loves to read. Every night, either L.H. or I read to her (she often reads along and corrects me when I misspeak), then she takes a book or two to bed for another 15-20 minutes of quiet reading. She's getting very fast, too, and will announce how many pages she's read when she's done. Some days she wants something short and easy, like one of her many Arthur (the Aardvark) books. Tonight she is reading a chapter book that came with her American Girl doll (thanks gwamma!).

But 2 recent events have proved beyond a doubt that she's got the reading gene. In a friendship book (remember those?) that went through her class recently, she put down "reading" as both her hobby and her favorite thing to do. Then as we were walking from the car to our house this afternoon (we're leasing our parking space to our neighbor, so we park on the street around the corner), she was *reading and walking*. Classic Nee childhood behavior. Only TV zombifies her more than books, and she is actually continuing to read now that we're home instead of turning on the TV (her usual M.O.).

Probably over a third of our household goods we shipped to Germany was books, and I am afraid the percentage will be somewhat higher when we eventually head back. I guess I should start saving for that now. Eek!

Added 30 minutes later: She tried to eat and read, but I nixed that because 1. I am using the book for my research project and don't want it covered in spaghetti sauce, and 2. she would not actually manage to eat anything, and I'd rather that reading not become mixed up in her mind with dieting.

And to round out the picture of her genetic heritage, she is able and willing to eat copious amounts of spaghetti. Her father is (in)famous in his family for having eaten something like 15 meatballs at one meal. Peas, meet pod.

And Now for the Rest of the Story

Our Little Shop of Horrors plant put out a new leaf, and it looked like a Venus flytrap on its side until it finished unfurling. I'm starting to think it might be an alien life form.

***

Turns out I misread the sign on the new restaurant in our village. It's a pizzeria/kebab house. I guess I was confused by the picture of a guy *wearing a sombrero*. That doesn't really say "pizza" or "kebab" to me. They don't even deliver, so I doubt we'll ever try them out. Besides, one should approach such a place only if one has acclimated oneself be eating a steady diet of Taco Bell and Sonic chili dogs.

***

There's an older couple from Spain that live across the street from us, and I see them sometimes when I'm out and about. Today the lady was wearing a red leather jacket, red leather boots, and a hot pink knit tube?skirt. I saw a blind man behind her wince.

The Navel-Gazing Post

Do you ever have one of those days where you just feel like a meat sack?

***

I have to say that I'm a rather reserved person (in person). Once I get to know and love someone, I can be the real, the obnoxious me, but until then I can be a hard nut to crack.

I'm the same way with my writing. I've only let a couple of people that I love and trust read my fiction (not the blither-blather I post here), and I only talk about it in a rather general way here. But that doesn't mean I'm not interested in how other writers go about the business of writing.

One thing that I haven't made up my mind about is keeping writing-in-progress type statistics. Some writerly blogs I have seen have a special column dedicated to number of words written for the month, or number of manuscripts sent out to publishers, or number of rejections for a year. I can understand *mentioning* those things in a self-woo-hoo kind of way (like, I hand-wrote 3 steno pad pages of a long-dormant story last night; woo hoo!), but I feel that I myself would get so bogged down in the minutiae of this kind of "bookkeeping" that I wouldn't manage to keep writing. Maybe that's just an aspect of my anal-retentive nature.

One of the blogs I follow irregularly is from a person I came to respect on the recently vacated writing list, and she is a member of a smaller group that self-selected from the larger critique community. Apparently, they use the numbers I mentioned above as part of an internal support system comprising congrats, reminders, and a shoulder to cry on. It kind of reminds me of a weight-loss program, where every member is trying to accomplish the same goal but is eager to encourage every other member in the process. Anyhow, I can see how putting your numbers out there in such a situation would be part of the way such a group would function, but working alone, I don't think it's for me.

To put it a bit crudely, to me it's like a potty-training parent: she and every other parent in the same boat is totally excited that Susie made a poopy in the potty, but no one else wants to hear it.

So forgive me if I don't post about my poopies on a regular basis, but occasionally I'll get off my high horse and offer myself a very small self-congratulations here.

Wallowing in Spring

Most Germans—at least, those I've observed here in our village—take their seasonal responsibilities very seriously. When we had our first cold snap in the fall, everyone dutifully trooped out for the last lawn-mowing and hedge-trimming of the year. On the third day of spring weather, people could be seen sweeping and scrubbing sidewalks, trimming rose bushes, and putting out new flowers. So I find it humorous to see one house where they still have plastic evergreen garlands and candy canes festooning their balcony. They may not have made it out on the balcony since they put the stuff out, but you can't miss it from the entry to the house.

After the first day or two of industriousness, though, everyone is out catching some sun and enjoying themselves out of doors. Even though the river is up over the sidewalk on the north bank again (all that melted snow had to go somewhere), the river meadows farther down were covered with bodies when I rode the bus past this afternoon. At the moment [of composing], I myself am soaking up some sun at the playground with Darling Daughter, whose goal seems to be filthing herself up as much as humanly possible. She's taking a break from throwing herself off the swing into the dirt to watch a ladybug that landed on her hand. This week we've seen our first ladybugs, bumble bees (the size of jawbreakers), and butterflies of the year.

Another marker of spring is the annual migration of the ice cream parlor owners from the Mediterranean. ("Italian ice cream" is *the thing* around here.) Their return is heralded by the appearance of patio furniture outside of every shop that can be considered a dining establishment by the furthest stretch of the imagination. Last year, it was still pretty cold when the restaurateurs decided it was spring, but people flocked to the outdoor tables like lemmings, huddled up in their heavy coats and scarves.

I can't help but compare this spring to the one we experienced in Sweden, which started *late*. D.D. had to hunt easter eggs in a snowsuit because it was that cold, and there were a few flurries while we were outside. I don't think we actually saw the sun until early May. I don't remember exactly *when* it was, but I remember going downtown and seeing that every inch of grass in every public area was covered in half-dressed bodies, and every shop was empty. I thought I, the Texas-raised girl who was used to 360 days of sunlight a year (only a slight exaggeration; the Austin visitor center site says it gets 300 days), was the one to appreciate it the most, but it turns out that power-sun-worshipping is a popular sport in Sweden.

***

Darling Daughter has some strong prejudices. Lovely Husband was flipping channels on the TV and came across a concert by some German singer I'm not familiar with. D.D. immediately declared that he was too old to be cool (about 50 in her opinion), plus he was singing a country song, and that was definitely out. So be forewarned that she has deemed herself at almost-8-years-old to be the arbiter of all things cool.

On the way home from the playground D.D. was telling me that she likes to call the still-leafless trees naked. Then she said, "I see your penis, tree! hee! hee!" It's hard to keep your cool in front of your child when you want to fall down laughing.

Spring Fever

It is glorious outside, the epitome of a spring day. The sun is out; we could tell before we even got out of bed this morning. I hadn't noticed—thanks to all the overcast recently—that the sun is already much farther north in the sky. Our car's external thermometer said it was 15C (around 67F) yesterday. This Sunday is the official first day of spring, but it appears to be getting a running start. I'm all for it.

There are snow-drops and yellow and purple crocuses in the neighbor's yard, confirmed with Darling Daughter's binoculars (thanks westtexasgirl!). A little snow is clinging tenaciously to a few roofs and the shadier parts of people's yards, but I have full confidence that it will be gone in another day or two. Oh happy day!

Self-flagellation, again: If it weren't a time-waster itself, I'd make myself write 100 times, "I will not fart around." But instead I will work on my paper. Only 16 days until the due-date. Ack!

Composed March 12

At the supermarket meat counter (pre-packaging is not so big here), you can get ground beef or pork or a mix, so I asked for the mix to put in spaghetti. I get home—and it's pork all the way, baby. I should have suspected something was amiss when the woman gave me the exact amount I asked for, because she usually messes it up on the order of 100 grams. Something had to give, I suppose.

The mistake wasn't enough to ruin my lovely spaghetti dinner, but I was still a bit put out. So Lovely Husband says, "Eat pork and be merry," only he puts in a slight pause after "eat." That cracked us up. Now he's considering sending it to the Pork Advisory Board as a new slogan. Even if they don't use it, it will be immortalized here in my blog.

Mother Nature Hates Me

On Wednesday, Darling Daughter and I spotted the first flowers of spring, *2* snow-drops (little, white, bell-shaped flowers that are the harbingers of spring here and in Sweden) in someone's yard. Thursday, it turned cold and dark. Today, Saturday, we woke to a heavy snowfall. It is still too warm, relatively speaking, for it to stick, so everything was slushy when I ran down to the store around noon. Since we are now guaranteed to neither starve nor freeze to death (yay! tile oven!), I do not plan to move from the house for the rest of the weekend.

[Added about 4 pm—Mother Nature is now taunting me; we're getting alternating clear skies/sunshine and dark gray clouds, but no more snow. Hooray! The snow from this morning has melted off most of the roofs around us. Double hooray!]

I suspect Lovely Husband of a plot to push me over the edge. It is subtle and insidious. This morning he repeatedly said, in a delighted voice: "Look at all the snow!" "It's steadily snowing!" "I love snow!" See the simplicity, the evil?

***

As an aspiring writer, I feel it is my duty to propagate new words as I come across them. In that spirit, here is a bit of new vocabulary (with attributions) for you to enjoy and use:

fantacular (4-year-old niece) – fantastic plus spectacular, I think
stupitude (me) – state of being stupid
a sphincto-cranial event (via John Scalzi) – an instance of head-in-ass syndrome

***

I had a very unproductive week, school-wise. I'm only halfway through my primary source for my paper, and I haven't even begun my analysis. I got a lot of housework and Internet surfing done, though, which I guess you could say is the mental equivalent of staring and drooling.

I admit that one reason I haven't finished reading for my paper is that I have been reading for pleasure. My first choice would be fantasy, but since I've read all my books (1) and the pickin's are slim in English at the library (I'm too cheap to go out and buy books), I have only read one Terry Pratchett novel in that genre. So I turned instead to Jane Austen. I have a copy of Pride and Prejudice at home, so I started by rereading that. Then I read Sense and Sensibility and Mansfield Park.

I have to say that P&P is still my favorite work by JA, followed now by MP. S&S? Not so much liking there. It was hard to understand, and therefore empathize with, the characters in the first half of the book. I may give it another try before I have to return it. There's still Emma, Northanger Abbey, and Persuasion to read, so the order of favorites may still change.

(1) "La chair est triste, hélas! et j'ai lu tous les livres" ["Alas, the flesh is weary, and I have read all the books"]-- Stéphane Mallarmé

Writing and Weather

I used to lurk on a writing-themed yahoo group—until the number of personal attacks outnumbered the number of useful comments—but now have no place to post my brilliant insights on writing. So consider this a thinking-out-loud post and feel free to skip ahead.

One thing that used to annoy me about the writing list was how *literal* people were in their critiques of other people's work. (It's a surprisingly easy trap to fall into.) For instance, suppose you read, "His eyes were filled with anger," or "I could see the fear in his eyes." (1) I understand the argument that these are perhaps overused expressions, but I seriously wanted to start knocking heads together when people objected to them because they weren't literally true.

Now I am reading Metaphors We Live By for my term paper, and the authors are able to clarify the source of my annoyance for this example: human beings conceive of eyes as "containers" for emotions. This idea is so intrinsic to us that we can say someone's eyes are "full of" anger/fear/hatred/joy and not think twice about what it means. We use the metaphor "eye=emotion-container" in our everyday speech, not just as a literary device, so when we encounter it in literature, we should not assume it is an affectation.

So take that, critiquers!

(1) Lakoff, George and Johnson, Mark. Metaphors We Live By. The University of Chicago Press, 1980. p. 50
***

The weather-caster on CNN International said that Europe was experiencing lower than normal temperatures for this time of year. Well, DUH!

We're currently getting either rain or very wet snow. It doesn't matter, as the effect is the same: melting snow. Hoorah! I would gladly take a whole week of dreary, gray skies and showers if it means the snow will finally be gone. Lovely Husband was hoping for *more* snow, but he's obviously off his rocker. I don't think that's proof enough to have him locked up, though. Hmm...

I will say one nice thing about the snow here—it stays white all winter. In Sweden, it would turn dirty gray, and even at the start of May there were still glaciers of blackish ice on all the street corners where the snow plows had deposited snow over months and months. I guess there's just not a large enough volume of snow here to keep gravelly slush on the streets and sidewalks. The snow that sticks around is invariably on stretches of ground that no one has to (or can) walk across.

***

Novel Do-Nots, Cont'd:
3. No one will live for centuries without biological or gravitational effects. My old-timers will look like withered potatoes, not young people in the prime of life. This applies to wizards, sorceresses, elves, etc.

People Watching

I am an inveterate people-watcher. I haven't veered off into voyeurism--yet?--but I really can't help noticing that the love-child of Sherlock Holmes and David Crosby (complete with mutton-chop sideburns and a long-stemmed pipe) was accompanying Anna Nicole Smith's grandmother through downtown today.

Remember Better Off Dead with John Cusack? A woman in the bank was wearing the dad's aardvark-fur coat, minus the cute aardvark-head hood. Where do you even find a coat like that?!

Here's another one: remember the Chicken Lady from Kids in the Hall? A woman on the bus was wearing a furry? feathery? fuzzy? scarf that looked as if she had skinned the C.L. and dyed her fuzzy neck-thing purple. Ghastly.

Yes, I know, I'm probably going to burn in hell.

Cat Psychology 101—Now Enrolling

Here is how I like to imagine our cats view the world.

Eliza Cat (lying on the radiator at the top of the stairs):
"Here comes that woman! She's headed straight for me! Do I have time to hide?! Maybe if I crouch down she won't see me! OH NO! She's spotted me! Run for the bed!!"
(Shoots under the bed like a flash.)

Later, back on the radiator:
"Here she comes *again*! Must flee!"
(Jumps down to the stairs, flings self between rails and drops down one foot to the top of the tile oven.)
"Whew! That was close! It's a good thing I'm so clever and agile!"

Missy Cat (lying across the middle of the stairs):
"That woman wants to come upstairs again—over my dead body, Beeyotch!"

Quickie

The Chinese take-away was replaced by some sort of Mexican pizza restaurant. I only saw the newly painted window as I drove by the other day. Although the word "Mexican" is on the sign, we don't have high hopes for the quality of the restaurant, as there is a "Mexican" fast food restaurant in town that is pretty much a Turkish kebab house, maybe with a bell pepper thrown into the food. The meat is that shaved goat or pork or whatever. I don't know what kind of indigenous gods there are in Turkey, but that place will definitely give you Montezuma's revenge, if you know what I mean, so we avoid it.

Alas! (My new favorite exclamation after reading Pride and Prejudice. Not that it's in there, but whatever.)

Indoor Fun

When I took D.D. to the movies last week, we got there early enough to catch the very end of the credits from the earlier showing, and I saw that the band that did the soundtrack is named Bananafishbones. That is the best band name I have ever heard! I am already planning to name any goldfish we get in the future that. It's probably a good thing that there won't be any baby-naming possibilities in my future, because Bananafishbones S. has such a ring to it, don't you think?

***

We inherited some kind of tropical tree thing when we moved into our apartment, and it makes me a little nervous. For starters, it leans over the stairs (it's much too heavy to move), and we brush against it every time we go by. I'm not sure why it hasn't died, because we hardly ever remember to water it. And it has these weird things—I think they're some sort of air-roots—that dangle off it between its big, frond-y leaves; some of them are several feet long, and sometimes they stick out over the stairs, too, like long feelers. If we all turn up missing, check the plant.

***

In other news, snow.

***

Sometimes I don't think D.D. lives in the same world with the rest of us. We were watching a movie, and some characters were talking about the prizes (record albums) for a talent contest they were planning to enter. Out of the blue, D.D. says, "I hope they like bagels." There wasn't anything about bagels in the scene, so I asked her to explain what she meant, and she said, "You know, they're like donuts with little seeds on top." Thanks for clearing that up, honey.

D.D. is forever going on about having a "project" or "experiment", usually involving water, plastic bags, and/or strings. Many of her "projects" are variations on a disco ball, but she still has managed to make some, uh, creative things, and even a few things that work, like a string pulley. She's not scared of math, either, so it occurred to me that if her 7-year-old's plans of becoming a dancer don't pan out, she might end up an engineer. But then my experience of working with engineers sits up and screams in horror, "NOOOOO!" I guess 7 is too young for any of us to be making career plans for her yet, but perhaps I will gently steer her away from the soul-sucking career of engineer anyway.

***

I love this site: The Top 100 Things I'd Do If I Ever Became An Evil Overlord. It includes classics such as
7. When I've captured my adversary and he says, "Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about?" I'll say, "No." and shoot him. No, on second thought I'll shoot him then say "No."
and
53. If the beautiful princess that I capture says "I'll never marry you! Never, do you hear me, NEVER!!!", I will say "Oh well" and kill her.

It has inspired me to start a list of things I have seen in fantasy novels that I will NOT do in my novel:
1. My protagonist will never know something without knowing how he knows it.
2. My protagonist will never instinctually know how to do some horribly complicated task (see number 1).

This is just the beginning. I'll add to the list as I come across other useful items. Feel free to send suggestions.

I wasn't going to haiku about the weather again, but during a flurry of crafts with Darling Daughter, my lack of artistic talent prevented me from visualizing the most aesthetically pleasing arrangement of the available beads, foam shapes, paper, and glitter glue, so I had to resort to creating a poem out of lettered beads. In case you can't make it out onscreen, it says

blue skies-sunshine-green-
only a figment of my
imagination

It's ok, but it's not the same without the glitter glue effect.
 

Humorless

When I went to bed last night, a day of bright sunshine had taken its toll on the snow outside, and I was looking forward to more of the same today.

I awoke to the sounds of snow being shovelled.

I may just go back to bed. Almost 2 hours after getting up, IT IS STILL FALLING. I can't even bring myself to haiku about the injustice of it.

Life in the Fast Lane

I took D.D. and her friend to the movies Wednesday afternoon, and I was *the only adult* in a theater with a bunch of 8-year-olds. I have seen the 9th level of hell and will be getting religion directly.

I was looking for one of my Violent Femmes tapes recently and came across a box of tapes we didn't have shelf space for. I dug out a big stack of my music and 1) got down on my knees and thanked all 7 dwarfs that there wasn't any Whitesnake or Bon Jovi in there, then 2) drug it downstairs for dishwashing music. That's one chore that just *flies* by when you're listening to techno dance music. I'm sure Mr. Voyeur John Deere employee across the street is enjoying the sight of me shaking my ass while I wash coffee cups.

In order to increase the literary quality of my blog, I have decided to start composing portions of it in haiku. I hope you enjoy this new feature.

Skin like Death Valley;
Garments of yarn—I hate you!
Snow driving me mad...

Harbinger of Spring,
Sunshine yellow Narcissus
Smells like pee—must go!

Seared Eyeballs, etc.

A lady got on the bus this morning with a baby stroller that could double as an all-terrain vehicle (very common here in Germany), but I didn't really pay her much attention until she was getting off the bus. She had on these *pants*; they were ghastly: black, textured upholstery with white horizontal threads in them. Whoever sold her the things should be taken out and shot, and whoever designed them should be sterilized. They were hideous; I mean, I wouldn't even pick up something made in that fabric off a curb, even if it were still wrapped in plastic and had the price tags on it.

***

I have held out hope these many months that the Chinese take-away in our village would reopen. There was even a sign up for a while that they were remodelling, and I just knew that my faithful patience would pay off. But alas! This morning I saw that the name had been scraped off the sign, and the building was closed and shuttered. I will have to make a special trip for Chinese food in the future (which is actually not too hard; I can think of 4 places in town off the top of my head). But it is a pisser nonetheless, because we are down to only 2 restaurants around here that deliver, both pizza/Italian. That means I have virtually no excuses for grocery shopping laziness.

***

Weather-bitching level: 10
I guess I don't really have it so bad compared to the poor sods in northern Spain (-26C, I read), but -6C plus snow and ice on the ground is bad enough when you're getting around on foot. And when you hate snow. Actually, I was doing pretty well this winter; we didn't get much in the way of snow until February, but now I am ready for it to leave, thank you very much. I'm looking forward to warmth and sunshine outside at the same time.

All the shops around here have already put out their spring clothing lines, and it is a bizarre sight: people wearing parkas stopping to look at window displays of scantily clad mannequins in front of photos of flowers. L.H. and I always complain that it is still below freezing outside, but we probably won't be able to buy snow gloves for D.D. if she loses hers again before next October. And the winter clothes went on sale the beginning of February, which is when it started snowing (see above). Stu-pid!

Most Boring Post Ever

(Don't say you weren't warned about the high boring factor of this post.)

I was quite a slug while Lovely Husband was away at his conference. I've finally gotten around to having a mild cold this winter, so that was my excuse. Actually, I probably could have fought off the cold with my amazingly anti-illness powers, but I stayed up late reading the first night L.H. was gone, and I've been dragging ever since.

We've still got some snow on the ground, but I'm ready for spring now. We had a little early-springish sunshine yesterday, but Mother Nature is a tease. The forecast says there's an Arctic front on the way for all of Germany. Blech!

L.H. brought gifts from Cologne: Darling Daughter got a pink canvas make-up bag thingy with red sequins on it (tres chic!), and I got a bottle of the original eau de cologne. We were trying to decide what it smells like, and D.D. figured it out—bug spray. Very citronella-ish, but not unpleasant. I've just now put some on for the first time, so I'll have to report back on whether or not it ends up smelling like sweet pickles on me. Stupid body chemistry.

Speaking of weird smells, when D.D. and I started working on the Valentine's puzzle from L.H., we almost choked on the overpowering stench of patchouli (not my favorite scent) from inside the box. L.H. says the gift shop where he bought it was full of incense, but I suspect it was assembled in a drug den in Amsterdam. That might explain the way the pieces don't fit together correctly.

I'm starting to wonder about the pattern of scented gifts—cologne, scented candles, stinky puzzle. And that isn't even the first patchouli-scented gift from L.H. Before I went to England in the summer of 1996, he bought me a sunflower umbrella. From a head shop. It took forever for the smell to fade.

Random observation from our village:
The florist near D.D.'s school regularly puts decorations outside her shop, usually holiday related, but she's lost me with the latest: plywood cut-outs of *shoes*. What do shoes have to do with selling flowers? Is this her way of announcing that she'll be adding shoes to her inventory, because flowers alone is just not lucrative enough? Or maybe her shoe fetish is spilling over into her business. I have never heard of a shoe-themed holiday, and the cut-outs seem to be firmly attached to the beam where she displays her hanging plants, so I have to assume they are a permanent addition to the decor. Weird.

The Pea Family

D.D. showed up in our room Sunday night after we had put her to bed, so we let her crash with us. It doesn't happen too often anymore, so what the hell, right?

The overhead light was off, but L.H. had his bedside lamp on to read by, so D.D. and I turned away from the light and tried to go to sleep. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes and saw a blurry shadow puppet on the wall. I rolled over to say something to D.D. and saw that *2* sets of hands were casting shadows. Papa pea and baby pea.

***

Monday night we had an early bday dinner for yours truly since L.H. was going to be out of town most of the rest of the week at a conference. We went to the Greek restaurant here in our village (mmm...lamb chops), and D.D. decided to be scandalized by the nude statuettes that were part of the decor. For someone who's spend most of her life in her skivvies, she's a terrible prude.

***

I finally drove the car for the first time today. L.H. was trying to get ready to leave for his conference and kept remembering things he needed to bring, and so missed his bus into town. He's not the most organized person, which is one reason he needs me so much (among many other, less impersonal, reasons). I didn't even get pulled over or crash. Success! I think I may drive D.D. to ballet, which is a more precarious trip over the mountain. As long as it doesn't start snowing heavily, I'm going for it.

The Fog Lifts

Apparently my brain wasn't firing on all cylinders this past week, even with the bulk of my exams out of the way. L.H. finally had a spare minute to look over my recent posts, and he pointed out 3 egregious errors (like calling him D.D. and having the river flow the wrong direction). In the meanwhile, they've been fixed. Mea culpa.

We woke up this morning to falling snow, plus 4-5 inches piled up on our patio furniture. The planters out there still look like giant snow cones. D.D. went to her friend's house to slide down their "driveway". It's fenced all the way around, and no one actually parks on it because it's so steep, so it's perfect for a mini-sledding course when there's enough snow.

Although I am tempted to lie around doing nothing, I have been keeping at my to-do list and already have several items marked off. I gave myself the treat of a novel once classes were over (yesterday at 1), but I stayed up late and finished it, so now I'm back to the to-do list. Oh, well. That's satisfying, too, in a 7-dwarfs-in-the-mine kind of way.

***

There's a juice bar down the street from the English Department. A couple of months ago, they remodeled, and my brain just boggles every time I walk past now. The entire inside is red—red walls, red couches, red lamp. It makes me think it's a front for a bordello, but it's such a tiny shop that I can't imagine where they might have space for that kind of enterprise. Maybe they have some kind of deal with the sex shop a block over. (As far as I can tell from the window dressing, it sells lingerie and "marital aids", but I haven't had the guts to wander in, in case it's the other kind of sex shop.)

***

Speaking of mind-boggling, there's this guy on the bus who strongly resembles Ozzy Osbourne, but if O.O. had had a sex change operation, and then changed his mind and went back to his old clothes. It freaks me out, the aura of drug-induced dementia and surgically enhanced femininity. Shudder.

What a Girl Wants

On the way to school this morning, D.D. was telling her dad that the teacher has just made a new rule: if a boy pesters a girl during recess, he has to write sentences, and vice versa. Then she proceeded to tell us that she had been chasing a boy named Tom, but when she caught him, he tried to kiss her. We teased her that she wasn't supposed to be chasing him under the new rules, right?, but she replied something to the effect that if you can't pester them, you have to love them.

I burst out laughing, which she didn't appreciate, and L.H. looked concerned. What she said seems to sum up her whole attitude towards boys.

The Stream of Consciousness Post

Looking out at all the snow that's been falling all day, I think winter's here to stay for a while still. And we're on our last 2 rolls of winter-scented t.p., so we'll have to tough out the last few weeks of winter with plain ol' t.p.-flavored toilet paper. So sad.

Valentine's Day is a pretty major event in the U.S., but it hasn't really caught on here in Germany. Darling Daughter and I crafted a series of Valentine's notes instead of full sized cards, and she made a little mail container for us to deposit them in.

Lovely Husband surprised us with chocolates and little gifts, then we all ate bratwurst and spaetzle for dinner, and that was the extent of our holiday. I guess I should start thinking ahead to our anniversary, or poor L.H. will end up getting a grilled cheese sandwich and a handshake.

Apparently I missed hearing the grading scale for my first Latin test (thanks, chatty classmates!), so I was pleasantly surprised upon getting the second test back graded to discover that I had actually made an A (not a B) on the first one, and a B on the second one. Go me! I even got a complimentary note on the test from the teacher because I did so well and am not a native German speaker.

D.D., when asked about her lunch at after-school care today: "I didn't like the vegetables. They weren't like Ma's. Hers are delicious; I always like her green beans." [Note: Ma's green beans come from a can. :-)]

D.D. is the queen of buttering up grandparents. Of course, she learned at the feet of the master, L.H. He and his brother and cousins have the knack of complimenting their grandmother, ensuring a cornucopia of homemade goodies when they come to visit.

They flip side is that she attributes compliments to them that we all know they didn't make. For instance, upon seeing the pieced top of a quilt she was making for us (the infamous asbestos quilt), L.H. is alleged to have said that it was the most beautiful fabric he'd ever seen.

The fabric in question is double-knit polyester in maroon and baby blue. You be the judge.

Although it's been snowing all day, it's still just a little too warm for it to stick at our house. But go to the next town up the hill—where D.D. has ballet—and it really is a winter wonderland. The trees and ground are covered in so much snow that you can barely see any brown or green. I may hate snow, but even I am affected by the transformation it's made in the landscape—from the warm, dry comfort of the car, of course.

I Crack Myself Up

There's a port-a-potty at a construction site on my bus route that just kills me. On the side, it says
TOI
TOI
Obviously, toi is short for toilet (in both English and German), but there is also a good-luck expression in German: toi toi toi! I can picture someone going into the portable feeling a sense of encouragement just from reading its name. Tee! Hee!
(I know, "simple pleasures....")

This morning I saw a cigarette ad depicting several yellow taxis in nighttime traffic, and the slogan on the ad said, "New York Taste." As far as I am concerned, a taxi and a cigarette *are* similar-tasting, but I don't think the ad guys were going for that association exactly. Maybe they figured that if smokers weren't put off by the strict German cigarette labels ('Cigarettes will kill you'; 'Cigarettes will make you impotent'), then what's a little exhaust flavor?

Courtney Love's Clone finally decided to do something about her 3-inch roots and looks quite cute with a nice brown dye job. I saw this morning, though, that she is backsliding. She had some badly penciled cat eyes going. When she stood up, I thought I noticed a belly bump. I hope for the sake of her hypothetical fetus that she gets the make-up thing straightened out soon, because *no one* wants that to be the first thing that they ever see.

Weather Woes

We had 3 days of almost non-stop rain, so when it finally stopped, water started gushing up out of the neighbor's yard and running down into the street. Then it started to snow. So this morning D.D. and I got to walk to school in the snow while L.H. shoveled the sidewalk. It's our week in the house for stair-cleaning and sidewalk-shoveling.

Water is still running down the neighbor's yard. I'll be surprised if their apple tree makes it after that spring erupted right next to its roots.

It was actually quite lovely during the 5 minutes it took me to write the above: blue skies dotted with fluffy white clouds, snow-dusted trees and houses below. But a thick blanket of dirty gray clouds has just rolled over the top of our valley, sealing us off from the weak winter sunlight. Bah!

On the way into town, I saw that the river was up. On the upstream side of the locks (the river flows westerly), the water was pushing at the buoys so hard they looked like they were being towed through the water. On the other side, the water already covered the concrete divider thingy that directs ships into the locks. It wasn't over the banks, though.

When I came home this evening, the water had made it over the north bank. It rained in town, and snowed at home, but it was too warm to stick, and everything is melted now. Poor L.H., having to get up and shovel in the dark, when he just had to wait... uh, most of the day for it to melt.

The Car Post

After 17 months of living car-free, we finally broke down and bought one. Actually, L.H. has been talking about it for a few months. Grocery shopping and other errands (like buying an office chair) are a bit of a pain when you can only buy as much as you can carry on the bus. We have already made it to one grocery store that would otherwise been out of reach for us, and managed to save about half on our weekly grocery bill. Of course, with a tank of gas at 45 Euros a pop (a Euro is currently valued at about 1.30 US dollars; you do the math), plus a limited amount of free parking in town, it wouldn't be affordable for us to drive the car to work daily. For trips to neighboring towns for D.D.'s Swedish and ballet lessons, though, it's going to save us a lot of time and hassle. We're also planning to drive it to Paris for a weekend in March. It'll be faster and probably somewhat cheaper than buying rail tickets.

Another perq of having the car that I realized on the bus was the stranger-free airspace. The man sitting next to me had either recently eaten a herring, or had perhaps forgotten his grocery bags and had stuffed his pockets full of them, I don't know. There was a distinct stench that I would have preferred to avoid.

BTW, the car is a blue Opel station wagon. It looks somewhat like this.

The Week in Review

I've survived the gantlet of 3 exams and 1 presentation in a 49-hour period. Sadly enough, I think I did the best in the 2 courses I care least about. I really should start working on these things earlier. At least I have 5 days until the last exam and a month-and-a-half until my paper (whose topic has not yet been approved) is due. I am officially taking the afternoon off (from school, anyway), but will start reviewing for the last exam tomorrow. Hell, I'd be taking a nap right now, but I'd probably get rolled here in the study hall.

Darling Daughter has been out of school all week, so Lovely Husband and I have been swapping childcare duties. Unfortunately for her, she's had to accompany me to class several times. Except for walking all the way around the classroom to throw something away *while* I was giving my presentation, she was amazingly well-behaved. Did you know she could read a 65-page book in the course of about 2 hours?!

D.D. had many cute and wacky and perceptive and sometimes rude things to say while we were out and about together, like:

* Dogs should not be allowed in Germany. [Her response to the pervasive piles of poop (PPP) downtown.] Or, at the least, the dogs should wear a special dog-diaper that D.D. designed herself, which is a plastic bag, *glued* to the dog's butt. We have a budding inventor on our hands!

* A boy she met at the playground was nice and had a good heart, unlike the boys in her school, who have black holes instead of hearts. This totally cracked me up because I was actually going to quip that they had "black, rotten hearts", but her description was better.

* The other students in my classes are teenagers, but *I* am a grown woman. You must understand that in D.D. parlance, teenager=cool, and woman=mom and therefore not cool. D.D. gives me lots of tips on looking cool—gleaned from the Barbie web site, no doubt—that usually include wearing lots of make-up and jewelry and totally different clothes: basically a complete make-over. She doesn't yet realize that a possession by Satan would have to be involved for me to actually take any of her beauty advice. I blame her grandmother for D.D.'s tendencies; she's the one who pointed out "chicks" on the beach when D.D. was 4. :-)

* After seeing a poster in a shop window of a woman with whole carrots in her ears and mouth and cleavage (eagle-eyed D.D. spotted the last one; I have no idea what the poster has to do with selling eyeglasses), I joked that it's not comfortable keeping carrots in my bra. D.D. replied that men would notice the carrots and look at me; no men look at me now. I'm not sure if I should be insulted.

***

I have a cool idea for a psychological study (mention me if you use it!): how people choose ring tones for their cell phones. Because the woman at the bus stop whose phone rang "Bear Necessities" (from The Jungle Book) [Damn! I've just given myself an earworm! Aaaack!] must be insane.

My personal favorite sounds like an old-fashioned dial phone. I remember my grandparents had a big square black one that probably weighed 20 pounds.

But if I were to buy a cell phone for myself (don't hold your breath), I'd have the theme music from the Harry Potter films. I love John Williams!

***

I took D.D. to the Fasching parade on Tuesday. Fasching is the same holiday as Mardi Gras. The parade here was very tame compared to New Orleans or Rio or even in other parts of Germany, but D.D. was pleased to catch a pile of candy off the floats. And she didn't even have to bear her chest! Besides, it was too cold for risque costumes (maybe 40 F). I think I read that it was around 90 F in Rio, which would help explain the sweaty, naked bodies. And that it was in Rio.

***

I have reached the point that I am no longer coherent. Lucky for you I wrote the above based on my notes during the hour after my exam this morning when I was still hopped up on nerves and about 8 cups of coffee. Now I must go to sleep and try to recuperate.

Tune in tomorrow for the tale of the new (to us) car!

Not dead yet

Just a quickie to let everyone know I haven't completely forgotten my poor, unloved-feeling blog. But with one presentation and 3 finals this week, well, you can see what I'm getting at.

Check back Saturday, and I'll post all the jottings on napkins and gumwrappers I've been collecting (all of them mine, thanks).

Darling Daughter and Barbie

Now I am positive that D.D.'s problems with the boys in her school are not completely unmotivated. There is *one* boy in her ballet class, and she is the only girl out of an even dozen who plays chase with him when there's a quick break. I think I see a pattern here.

I overheard the following conversation in the changing room at ballet:
Girl 1 (pointing to a Barbie bag): All my Barbies are Rapunzel.
Girl 2 (to Girl 1's Mom): She only has Rapunzel Barbies?
Mom: I guess.
Girl 1: Yeah, because I named them all Rapunzel.

Simplifies things, I suppose.

D.D. has an impish nature, which I'm afraid we've encouraged. I really comes back to bite us in the butt, though, when she does stuff like corner me with twin Dorothy (of Oz fame) Barbies and torments me in vapid stereo: "There's no place like home!" I hope whoever bought those Barbies—because it wasn't me!—BURNS IN HELL!

That's My Girl!

On the way home yesterday, my darling daughter announced that if she were president of the United States, she would call up the mayor of our town here in Germany and demand that the boys from her current school class be delivered up to her. And she would have all her girlfriends from the class and her family flown in first class to have a big party together and to help them improve their English. She apparently has a keen grasp of American government—use your position to crush your enemies and lavish your friends with gifts.

Thanks to D.D., I didn't have to inflict the 2 pages of crap I had previously written onto these pages. Count yourselves lucky.

Today she was playing on the Barbie web site, and she did the makeover game (gah!). When she was done, she declared that her character was "Over the line." Which she later clarified--"Over the line of cool." Being cool is very important to 7-year-old little girls, or at least mine, in case you were wondering.

Other D.D. highlights: she had another abortive sleep-over attempt Friday night. We had just got to sleep when the doorbell rang; she had been walked home by her friend's dad. We got her settled in her own bed with no further problems, but I felt like I weighed an extra 50 pounds trying to drag my carcass up and down the stairs after being sound asleep. Today I've been more crabby than usual, even though I got to sleep in.

Right now D.D. is glamming herself up with green foil gift-wrap stuff and a fuscia tube top covered in sequins. I may have been a drag queen in a former life (or so I feel), but D.D. is on her way to being one in this life.

Drive-By Post

Here's what's been happening, in abbreviated format.

• Snow and sledding (DD and LH)
• School-related list-making and self-flagellation (nee)

Doesn't sound very interesting like that, but it's accurate nonetheless.

In other news, JK Rowling had her baby (a girl). Go Ms. Rowling!

***

I've had a novel idea floating around in my head for a while, but no actual words on paper. Still no words, but lately I've been having a series of epiphanies that are making the story much more interesting. I don't know if I'm moving toward or away from the story being more cliched, but it's exciting to know that something is happening. Not that it's the best timing in the world...

I've noticed that the closer it gets to the end of term, the more I yearn for things to distract me from school-work: reading, fiddling with my never-written stories, sewing. I haven't thought much about these things over the last few months, but now suddenly I'm desperate to do them all. I'm a starter at heart, not a finisher, but I come by it honestly. When I get the overwhelming urges, I make a list of what I'd *like* to do, then forget about it. It helps me get on with daily life.

***

I can't really bitch about the weather, considering that people in the NE of the US are snowed into their houses, but we've gotten a good bit of snow that's lasted a couple of days now, and there are light flurries outside the window even as I write. Since I can see some blue sky between the snow clouds, I don't think I'll go on a murderous rampage today. Maybe tomorrow.

WARNING: not for epileptic patients!

From my SIL:

The Hasshoffian Recursion

This is so funny I had to pass it on, but so scary that you will probably require psychiatric counseling afterwards.

Let's Do the Time Warp Again

I think time may be moving backwards. Cartoons and characters from my childhood—well, my sisters' childhoods; they're younger than I am—are being marketed again.

Scooby Doo has been around for a while in various revamped incarnations, but now Strawberry Shortcake, the Care Bears, the Gummi Bears, My Little Pony, Rainbow Bright, and the Smurfs are making another appearance. They aren't even updated, and they weren't necessarily that good to begin with. It's like someone decided to clean out a warehouse and came across the old tapes and unsold merchandise, so they dusted them off and sent them back out to tv stations and toy stores. At least, that seems to be what's happening here, although I did spot Rainbow Bright at a WalMart in Texas.

Who cares about Care Bears, though? Why aren't the Muppets back on the air?! At least I have my Muppet dolls and 3 VHS tapes (3 episodes to a tape). The episode I'm watching as I write is the perfect fusion of my 2 childhood obsessions—Muppets and Star Wars. Ah, Luke Skywalker!

***

Well, I've managed to do dick today. Ok, I made popcorn and have run 3 loads of wash through, but I keep walking past the pile of Latin books and pretending they aren't there. Considering that my finals start in less than 3 weeks, that's not a very good attitude to take.

Beware that most of my posts between now and then with contain some amount of moaning and groaning about school, but I will try to make it clear that is what's coming up so you can feel free to skip to the end. Then I can get it off my chest, you don't have to read it, and everyone's happy.

Weather-bitching level: 1.5
I guess I'm acclimated to the cold and wet these days, but today there's been sleet added to the mix in lieu of the promised snow, so I felt the need to mention it. At least I was thrown a bone and got a little sunshine this afternoon, but just enough to make me manic instead of cheerful. Poor family.

More bus craziness

I saw a chick on the bus wearing a mildly bizarre hat. I think it was supposed to be a crocheted beret or tam-o-shanter, but it looked like a slightly squashed cauliflower with a golf ball on top for easy removal of said hat. The guy next to her was wearing what was obviously a beret made in the normal way, which only made her head gear seem more sad and strange.

---

I give L.H. a lot of hell for making fun of total strangers--the size of their ears, the shape of their heads, the perceived correlation between the redness of their hair and their aggressiveness/drunkenness/Irishness.

After reading some of my posts (like above), he may think I'm in some kind of pot-kettle denial, but note that I do not denigrate anyone's physical characteristics *that they do not have any control over*. But if someone chooses, of her own free will, to wear a squashed cauliflower or a dead badger in public, then she is obviously fair game. (I wouldn't be above commenting on a bad boob job, either, but I leave that for the pros at the bad plastic surgery sites.)

The Rest of the Story

So, for the two people who didn't get to hear about this over the holidays...

Christmas morning, my middle sister and her family come over to my grandmother's for more gift-opening and lunch a bit later. We get to comparing presents, and realized that they say a lot about our personalities. MS got diamond-y earrings from her husband, and was thrilled. I got a Swedish Chef Muppet from my husband, and was thrilled.

This just confirmed what the family already knew about us. (Draw your own conclusions.)

Check out my xmas gift from my middle sister. I totally wear it, too. I like it *warm* when I sleep, and neck-to-toe flannel is the perfect addition to the double-knit quilt (aka asbestos) and the alpaca-wool blanket that are our arsenal against cold nights. I unzip the neck of my children's size XL sleeper so it looks a little more womanly, then I entomb myself in the blankets, and voila! Instant combustion and a good night's sleep! 

Thanks to my lovely husband and also lovely in-laws, I've gotten a good start on my Muppet shrine. I'm afraid I have to draw the line at adding photos of Jim Henson and Frank Oz, though. That would be just creepy.


 

News Flash!

I pre-ordered Harry Potter number 6!!!

We now return you to your regular programming.

Home Safe and Sound

We survived our trip, although it'll take us a few days to get out of jetlag mode. Over the course of 3 weeks, we visited people in 7 cities in 2 states; we managed to see all of our parents, siblings, grandparents, and nieces and nephews, and a few friends to boot. It was quite an undertaking, but everything went surprisingly smoothly, in large part due to the generosity of our loved ones.

And much to our delight, we had 2 days of sunny and relatively warm days since we got back. Of course, it's cloudy with sporadic showers today, but at least we got in a little sunshine first.

I got my exams back yesterday, and I got an A in linguistics and a B in Latin. Go me!

Here are my jottings (as promised) since my last post:

Wednesday, Dec. 15
I am going to throttle my husband. He thinks that just because a real mini-xmas tree has candles on it, they should be lit. We now have a blackened tree on our balcony and a lingering scorched smell throughout the house, especially upstairs (our bedroom). And it's freezing, so no airing out. Aaargh!

L.H. begged me not to tell everyone as soon as we get off the plane, so I'm doing it here. *evil grin*

***

Great. I've just started my period, and I have a 10-hour international flight coming up in 2 days. It never fails.

---

Thursday, Dec. 16

I should be freaking out and compulsively list-making only 47 hours before our flight, but I haven't added anything to my lists in at least 2 hours, and I managed to read for class this morning without jumping up to do little tasks around the house. [Note: Even with all the lists, I managed to forget my driver's license in Germany.]

On Tuesday I had exam preparation to avoid, so I got a lot of trip- and household-related stuff done then.

---

Friday, Dec. 17

L.H.'s sore back has turned into a full-fledged crippling. He's walking with one hip cocked way out to the side, because that's the only position that doesn't hurt his back. He has an appointment with an orthopedist this morning, and I hope he can fix it, or at least make L.H. more comfortable.

---

Saturday, Dec. 18

We're sitting on the plane, waiting to take off. It was a close thing, too. We checked in our luggage, then found out that D.D. and L.H. were on STAND-BY. The disemboweling urge was strong, let me tell you.

We bought our tickets 2 months ago, and now only I had an actual seat. United Airlines and Lufthansa are now officially on the shit list with American Airlines. They did manage to come up with 2 more seats, but not next to the original seat. So I'm sitting with D.D. and L.H. is about 8 rows back.

I hope L.H. isn't crippled with back pain by the time we land. The orthopedist gave him a shot in the butt yesterday, but today L.H. insisted on schlepping around our luggage, and I'm afraid his back will pay for it after sitting still for so many hours.

I have to mention L.H.'s super-cool coworker, Eric, who insisted on driving us to the airport. There were so many new security measures implemented, we might not have got the 2 seats if we hadn't got to the airport early. And he insists he'll be there when we get back. He's a hell of a guy.

---

Tuesday, Dec. 21

Everyone's heard the details of our trip and itinerary by now, so no use writing a travelogue at this point. I do have to say that we have had it proved to us yet again what wonderfully generous friends and family we have. We're lucky ducks.

L.H.'s brother loaned us his truck to drive all over the state of Texas. What a mensch. And if anyone needs to start a humor blog, it's him. Here's an excerpt from the note he left us in the truck when we picked it up: "Eat mints, use buttwipes at your leisure. ... Drive it like you stole it, I DO :)" He's a little bit like Uncle Bob, without all the gratuitous mention of fellatio.

---

Thursday, Dec. 23

There are indications that I am metamorphosing into my husband's grandmother. *Please kill me now.*

---

I ran out of steam at this point. There was a lot of driving interspersed with a lot of lying around going on, so you can see that I had a lot to occupy me.

Going on hiatus

Although I could probably scrape together something interesting with what's left of my brain (after mid-terms in Latin and Intro to Linguistics this week), it would be a disservice to my loyal readership of 4 (plus or minus). So I'm officially going on hiatus until we get back from Texas on Jan. 9.

I will not be able to go that long without composing anything, though, so check back around the 10th for a blog chock-full of our adventures in travelling and family.

Happy Holidays!

The Horror!

There's a woman in our neighborhood who creeps me out. Every time I see her, she's wearing animal skins and furs head to foot. The word "slaughter" pops into my head immediately. I mean, I'm not PETA-rabid about fur, and I can totally see the need to wear it in, say, Siberia, but the temperature has just hit freezing during the day here. It really bothers me to see a person in leather pants, a long fur coat, and a fur hat decorated with a big spray of feathers. Shudder. It would seem that no animal is safe from her depredations. Soon you'll hear that I'm running amok with cans of paint, yelling, "Fur is murder!"

To top it off, she takes this pug with her everywhere, even on the bus, and I have the nasty feeling that she's keeping it so well groomed so she can make a muff out of it to go with the rest of her ensemble.

***

[Composed en route to school]
Courtney Love clone update:

Someone must have clued that girl in, because she was make-up free for a couple of weeks, and now (literally—she's sitting across the aisle from me on the bus) she has on some light-colored, tastefully applied make-up. Without the spackle, she looks a bit like my middle sister.

***

[Later that day...]
The fur horror continues:

On the bus this evening, darling daughter and I saw a woman wearing a fur hat that appeared to be made of Tina Turner's hair, dyed black. I hope that woman is watching her back, because T.T. is going to be pissed when she realizes. Anyhow, D.D. thought it looked like a black cake.

Not dead yet

We're busier than one-legged men in a butt-kicking contest around here, but I just had to share this:

Amidst the shopping bustle in town today, I saw a woman wearing a coat that appeared to be the leftover upholstery of a black Lexus, with fur-covered sleeves (only elbow to shoulder) and collar. Not any fur, either. It appeared to be badger fur. I could just see it: after defeating the beast bare-handed, she let out a triumphant roar, then draped his shredded remains over her shoulders until she could get to a seamstress.

(I think I need a job as a stringer for the Fug Blog, no?)

'Tis the Season to be Panicked, tra la la

Oh My God! We are flying to Texas in less than 3 weeks, and panic is about to erase all coherent thought from my brain. In the next 3 weeks:

* I have 2 mid-term exams.
* I have to do ALL of my xmas shopping.
* I have more than 15 pages to translate by the 5th.
* We have to pack for a 3-week stay in Texas, plus xmas gifts for the extended family.
* The regular daily grind of homework, reading, cooking, cleaning, laundry, attending classes, grocery shopping, and child-toting.

Plus, we will be losing 2 days due to outings:

* A day trip to a museum in Schweinfurt and then on to Rothenburg, home of a famous xmas market.
* A traditional Swedish smorgasbord and xmas event, where D.D. will be performing in the Lucia procession.

As you can see, I have gone into list-making mode, a sure sign that I feel overwhelmed. This is about the 4th list I've made since yesterday. L.H. has joined in the gift-planning, so that helps to alleviate one worry, but there are still plenty to take its place.

(Evil?) Twins and Happy Holidays

When we lived in Sweden, I often ran into doppelgangers of random people from back home. To me, that suggested Scandinavian heritage.

Now it's started in Germany. On several occasions, I've seen my dead grandmother. Even L.H. has spotted her and remarked on the resemblance. It's not surprising since my GM was 2nd or 3rd generation German-American.

Just yesterday I saw my MIL's young adult self. It turns out she's in 2 of my classes. She looks just like photos of my MIL in her early 20s. I would chalk up the resemblance to MIL's German heritage, except this girl is in German as a Foreign Language classes, so she can't be German. Weird!

***

Happy Belated Thanksgiving!

***

According to my recent blood-work, I'm severely anemic. Signs of anemia include: "fatigue, shortness of breath, pale skin colour, irritability, weakness, sore tongue, brittle nails, frontal headaches, low blood pressure, and decreased appetite". So when I get caught up on my iron, I'll be a whole new person!

I am a bit worried about losing my edge if the symptom "irritability" clears up, but don't expect me to be Little Susie Sunshine, in any case. I think bitchiness is more of a habit--a state of mind, if you will--for me, and it will take more than 6 iron pills a day to change that.

A Trip to the Doctor

[composed ~2 this afternoon]

To anyone of my acquaintence who has had a bladder or kidney infection, I offer my sincere apologies if I ever secretly thought you were being a wuss.

I woke up this morning with the urgent need to pee, which is nothing new, except that the feeling didn't go away and was later joined by a constant, cramp-like feeling on the left front side. By 10, I was on the phone to L.H., crying, because I was in quite a lot of pain (that had moved to the back) and couldn't find the doctor's phone number. (Normally I only cry in jags and over stupid stuff like L.H. stealing my blanket. Sensible crying is totally outside my realm of experience.) Once again earning the "lovely" in his moniker, L.H. biked home and accompanied me to the doctor's office.

I was impressed with the service. We didn't have to wait too long, and as soon as the doctor heard me say "back pain" and "frequent urination", she hurried to draw blood before the lab tech left the building. Then I got a sonogram; I'm still gooped up from that.

The two doctors who took turns on the sonogram think it's a kidney infection, plus muscle spasms that are squeezing the kidney. Fun, eh? So I get to spend today and tomorrow at home in bed, hopped up on muscle relaxants and antibiotics. I thought I'd get some reading in, but I haven't been able to stay awake that long. D.D. went to a friend's house after school, so after I woke up I put in my favorite kid-less, sick-day movie: The South Park Movie. Delightfully irreverent. I always end up humming the Terrance and Philip song for days afterwards.

Brownian motion in my brain

I hate having a bony butt. Don't get me wrong, my butt is big, but the bones hidden within are enormous, and pointy. After sitting on a wooden chair for 4 hours straight (2 back-to-back class), my ass is killing me. Luckily, I have a 10-minute walk to my third class, but then it's another 1-1/2 hours on yet another wooden chair. I think I'm developing a bruise on my right side.

***

There's a girl in one of my classes who could give Courtney Love a run for her money, make-up wise. Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but either this girl is under the mistaken impression that C.L. is pretty (shudder), or she has some kind of degenerative eye disease and has to apply more and brighter make-up just to be able to see it. That or a stroke would explain the outside-the-lines lipstick.

***

Poor D.D. still had a fat lip this morning. It looks like she cut the inside of it up near the gums when she bonked heads with her friend yesterday.

At least she had a little fun today. She got a big kick out of the holiday advertising scheme at the restaurant where we had dinner tonight. Every few minutes, she'd laugh and say, "Merry Fishmas!" Maybe you had to be there.

'Tis the Season to be Greedy

Poor D.D. got her lip and nose smashed during a birthday party this afternoon and was brought home by the birthday mom. D.D.'s upper lip now makes her look a bit like Cindy Lou Who. We have our fingers crossed that she doesn't end up with a black eye, but we'll see in the morning.

Now that I've manage to segue into xmas via the Grinch: D.D. has declard that she is sick of wearing pink, and she wants no more pink clothes. Just a heads up for anyone considering the gift of clothes this year.

As for myself, I am still bereft after using up the very last bit of my Burt's Bees carrot lotion, which I got for xmas last year from my lovely MIL. Even L.H. likes the scent of it. Hint, hint.

L.H. has put up an amazon wish list here. He had accidentally put it on the UK site, so it has been a bit hard to find up to now.

That's all the pre-xmas wish-list-making I can manage for now without my head exploding. I might add more later.