This yellow is what I think of when I think "Spring in Germany." It makes up a little for the *very frequent* rain. 

Pimpin' Our Photo Albums Online

This is mostly a redirect to our online albums. We made a quick outing yesterday to the town of Eberbach; we walked around town and climbed up to the castle ruins.

I put a few pictures with comments up on my Flickr account.

I loaded the whole shebang (without comments) on John's yahoo account.

Enjoy the photos for now. More comment later.

Out of Sight, Out of My Mind

There hasn't been any room construction to report on this week. It's been too cold and wet for them to be outside on the roof. Plus today is Good Friday, so everything is closed anyway, even if it were dry enough to do anything. Then we have Easter Monday (these Germans are almost as good as the Swedes at milking their religious holidays for days off), so I have to make sure to lay in enough groceries on Saturday to get through all the store closings.

I must extend my apologies to Mr. DeLillo. I am afraid we got off on the wrong foot, and I would like to publicly retract that "literary wanking" crack. I guess the bus stop is not the right milieu for starting a new novel. Plus I get really obstinate about not liking a book when the cover and first two pages are covered with accolades from the likes of Salman Rushdie and Michael Ondaatje. But after 650 pages, I must say I'm mostly enjoying his story. It's a sort of six degrees of separation in American history, roughly following ownership of a baseball. Okay, that's so crudely outlined as to be useless, but I have found over the years that I am good on the understanding things, but not so good on the explaining things. So 2 thumbs up so far, Mr. DeLillo.

How Do I Love School? Let Me Count the Ways

I'm starting to equate school with childbirth, and it totally makes sense. Before the semester starts, I'm all eager and thinking how great it's going to be. Yes, there is the potential for disaster, but I won't think about it right now; it doesn't apply to me. During the semester, my level of discomfort increases steadily, but I can still handle it. When it comes time to labor over exams and papers, I think, "God! How did I ever think I could do this? I'll never make it! I am never doing this again!" Then I get my (mostly good) grades back, and I have totally forgotten about all the aggravation and hard work until the next time.

The summer semester starts in a week-and-a-half, and I have to read 3 novels before then. A professor kindly let me into his already-full class, and now I have to be sure to be thoroughly prepared to repay him. I started Don DeLillo's Underworld right after buying it this morning, and all I have to say is that I hope the other 810 pages are not a lot of literary wanking about baseball.

That is all.

Look at the big brain on Hannah!

Hannah has always had this knack of asking weird questions out of the blue. I have tried to answer them straightforward and without commenting on or questioning why she asked, so she'll continue to feel she can ask me stuff. Sometimes the questions are about making babies and other personal topics, but a couple of nights ago, she wanted me to explain 4-D.

Whuuh?

She followed along pretty well while I was describing 3-D (she'll have a head start in geometry, at least), but when I added the dimension of time, I lost her. Oh, well. I don't think a lot of adults get it either (or think about it at all), so she's in good company. Maybe it will make sense when she reaches junior high.

This is what 0C looks like at 8 am on an otherwise fine Spring morning. (See the chimney smoke at bottom right?) 

Someone's in the Kitchen with Hannah

Hannah has been very domestic lately. First she was on an apple sauce-making kick. She made raw apple sauce mostly by herself (I helped a little with peeling and coring the apples, but she did all the chopping) *twice* last weekend, and it made a tasty dessert. But not very much, because she pooped out after chopping 2 apples.

Then she got the idea from a crafts-and-science type magazine (based on a tv show for kids) to make her own soap. John bought her a bar of non-creamy soap (which is surprisingly hard to find, since Germans seem to use only liquid soaps) and a lemon, and she set to work with a grater and some cookie cutters. (I got to take over with the grating when she started to flag, which added an element of danger to the whole process.) Now I know how the Pilgrims and Pioneers felt, cooking and using homemade soap. She also insisted on keeping some of the soapy water from where I was soaking the pot she melted the soap shavings in, so we poured it in a recycled squeeze ketchup bottle. Her bathroom is now littered in bits of homemade soap, either from the bits that made it into the soap water, or from the bits that have broken off the bars.

I just wish she would be half so energetic and helpful when it came time for her to put away her laundry, clear away her toys, or empty the dishwasher.

Brain, Brain, Go Away...

I am having one of those manic days where I am basically on the verge of running around in circles gibbering. I’m pretty sure John thinks I’ve already crossed that boundary, but trust me, there’s still a ways to go before I am in full-fledged freak-out mode. I just. can. not. sit. still. Or quietly.

Gah!

In other news, our landlord says it may take 4 weeks or more to complete the winter garden (it’s not quite a sunroom...), because it will take around three weeks just for the windows to be made to order. Look at us with the special-order windows. La-di-da!

More Construction-Related Stuff

I wanted to sneak a picture of the guys doing the construction work, but Germany (and basically all of Europe under the EU) has pretty strict privacy laws, so I wouldn’t want to get myself in trouble by putting their pictures up on the Internet. So instead I found a photo or two to direct you all to.

There is a long tradition here of the apprentice system, and carpenters (“hand workers” in general, I guess) have their own traditional clothing even. So here’s a photo of their pants, which I find very interesting with all the handy pockets and loops and zippers and things. Not all carpenters wear the full get-up to every job, but they all wear the super-handy pants.

(By the way, click on the earlier photo to biggify it.)

Some Old-School Bitchin' and Moanin'

I am going to be co-teaching a couple of translation/interpreting classes this coming up semester, and so far I have no contract and have not heard from my teaching partner, who is actually in charge of the classes. So I contacted the person who asked me to do the job, and she told me who I needed to see in the department about the contract.

You have to understand the German office system—and this applies to private businesses, public offices, and even doctors—there is no 8-5 availability. The people may be there, but they hold office hours (like university profs in the US), and that is the only time they are open to people who do not work in their direct office environment. (Actually, for my doctor’s office at least, this means that they have “walk-in” office hours in the morning, but to see the doctor in the afternoon you have to have an appointment.) For university employees this can be as little as *1 hour per week*. I shit you not. This person is officially only available on Wednesdays 10:30-11:30. So yesterday when I got the reply from my contact person, I thought, “Hey, good timing, Nee,” and trotted on over this morning.

And the chick is out sick. The secretary in that office is... not very friendly. The secretary’s office is actually open to the public every morning, so I popped my head in to ask a question about the missing person, and you’d think I had interrupted her in the middle of open-heart surgery the way she looked at me. I’m sorry to interrupt your web-surfing, beeyotch, but I’ve got a problem that *falls within the scope of your job duties*. Aaarrgh!

So there was an hour-and-a-half down the toilet when I could have been proofreading (or blogging *g*). But I feel better now for bitching about it, so maybe I can settle down to work.

The Construction Begins!

It's really happening--we're having a "winter garden" put in. Yesterday they started putting up scaffolding in the front of our house so they can go over the roof to access our terrace (instead of barging into the apartment--and hopefully disturbing our turdy little teenaged neighbor "Matthew", heh). But Spring graced them with heavy rain and a little hail, so they had to stop and finish that this morning. Then Spring rained on them a little more today, but they bravely came back in the afternoon and started tearing down the terrace. Woot! Pictures of the construction to follow.

Even though the garbage men are still officially on strike in our state, they took pity on us and came around one day last week to clear out some of the mountains of plastic bags that were threatening to topple over and kill passersby in an avalanche of garbage. I am telling you, that was a stroke of PR genius. To me, it made it seem like the garbage men were totally willing to work, if only the *state* would be reasonable.

The recycling is still there, but tin cans and plastic packaging won't raise the stink that food scraps would.

John and I have been busily translating, just digging ourselves out to accompany Hannah to and from school and to take care of the bare necessities (food and the occasional school supplies for Hannah). But we will have to work to the sounds of construction directly over our heads starting next week, because our landlord is finally getting around to building on a "winter garden" where our terrace currently resides, which he has been talking about since we moved in 2-1/2 years ago. The carpenters came Thursday bright and early to take measurements, and they are supposed to be back early next week to start work. I will photo-blog the work, just for my own amusement. You have been forewarned.

John = Jesus

Run, do not walk, to Sluggo's Flickr site to see John as Jesus. (Sluggo = Sharon's John, for those in the know.) John has finally reached his life's goal!

Snippets

I hope my sucking fixed the computer shutting itself off, because I am sick of hearing Hannah in the computer room, "Shee-ot!"

More signs of spring:
* dry skin that makes my hands look like chicken feet
* allergy nosebleeds for me and John (John hardly ever even gets a cold, so this is a big deal)
* narcissus
* alternating bouts of exhaustion, energy, and insanity
* rain and high winds
* lows above freezing and highs nearing 60

John tricked Hannah into watching the Swedish movie, and then I got pulled into it, too. It's really cute.

Hannah told me this morning, while I was trying to get her out of bed, "You sound awful. And you look like the Devil." I had a picture in my head of a tiny Professor Higgings.

John's final Flickr update

John finally went through the last 2 stages of shaving; check the Foto link on the right.

Hannah didn't finish her homework until almost 9, so I'm too tired to think of anything else to add. Sorry.

Time Change!

Psyche! Europe changes to daylight savings time a week earlier than in the US this year, so we will be *8* hours ahead of our Central Time Zone homies for a week.

If you are planning to take your child to see "Eight Below", be forewarned

*spoiler*

that there is one scary scene where a seal jumps out of (or maybe from behind?) a whale carcass. Hannah went to go see this movie (titled "Antarctica" here in Germany) with a friend and her family, then spent the night with them, and the next morning she was still horribly worked up about how that scene had almost given her a heart attack. So it's your typical, good, clean Disney fun.

I don't think we woke up in a particularly bad mood this morning, but by the time John and Hannah left at about 1 to go swimming with friends, we were on the verge of a three-way, Homer-esque choke-athon. We have been watching DVDs on our laptop since we didn't want to buy a DVD player when we weren't planning on living here permanently. But recently the DVD drive has been crapping out on us, sometimes working, but often not. I had checked out a Swedish Astrid Lindgren video (Ronja Rövardotter) at the library bus, and John wanted to watch it this morning. But this was one of the crappy mornings, and he was in a *foul* mood after screwing around with the computer, trying to make it work. So after they left, I got to work with my superhuman problem-solving skills.

Oh, yeah. We've also been having the problem that sometimes the computer will shut itself off with no warning. This usually happens when Hannah is playing a game online. Arthur's ice cream game has had this effect several times.

Yesterday I had already run the system check and defragmented the hard drive, so that wasn't it. This afternoon I ran the full virus-check, but it shut down halfway through. Now, I had already seen the suggestion in an online forum that this shut-down problem is often due to overheating, so I opened the window to let in some brisk, cool springtime air. Started the computer back up, the virus check ran all the way through with no problems. So then I shut everything back down and got out the vacuum cleaner. That was the solution offered on the online source. There was a *lot* more dust and gunk than you *ever* want to see come out of your computer, trust me. I couldn't get the section over the fans open because I didn't have a special screwdriver (a 6-pointed star instead of a Philips-head like the others, pff), but I was able to get the fuzz out by sticking my teeny, tiniest crochet hook through the holes over the fans and pulling the dust bunnies (which were pretty nasty and menacing) out. Sewing nerds will win out over techno nerds every time!

So then I pulled out the DVD drive, vacuumed a little more, and started 'er up. And it decided to play along, letting me put in movie and actually playing it. While it was still working, I wanted to start backing things up, because it had been a while. But the damn CD burning function didn't seem to be working. So I put in a DVD that seemed to be for troubleshooting DVD/CD problems, but in reality it reinstalled some DVD movie-playing software. Urgh.

FINALLY, I figured out that the CD I was putting in wasn't ready for burning (I don't know computer terminology), but I found a simple check-box to enable CD writing, and ka-zaam! We are backed up!

John says I am the best computer sucker he knows. ha ha, I forgot how to laugh. But we have both noticed a *huge* drop in the amount of time the fans are spinning, to the point that I have feared the computer turning itself off several times when it is just the fans switching off. Hell, right now, I have *5* Explorer windows open, including the dreaded Arthur game, and the fan just switched off as I am typing. Before that, it was running on the lowest setting. So go me!

Happy 300 to me!

According to Blogger, this is my 300th post since starting in October 2004. I know for a fact that John thought I'd never make it this long. *nya nya nya*

But this really is an actual post, with actual content, not just patting myself on the back, so keep reading.

The last couple of weeks have been really odd. The kind of odd that gets you invited to the "Very Jerry Springer Easter Special", if you know what I mean. First, my paternal grandfather proposed to my mother. Marriage. (My folks are divorced.) My dad had moved Grandpa a few months back so he was living closer to him because Grandpa was getting forgetful--stuff like meals and taking his meds; not good. But Grandpa wanted to move back to his own house 4 hours away, and he was lonely, so he popped the question to my mom when she took him some dinner one night. (He didn't always remember that she was his ex-daughter-in-law.)

Grandpa finally talked Dad into moving him back, but before he could talk my mom into joining him, he died. Two days after moving. Of a heart attack.

Some of my family made the comment that at least he was back where he wanted to be, in his own home, but maybe all the stress and excitement of moving was a contributing factor. Who can say?

Then there was the question of what to do with all his stuff. The man was a merchant marine and had 30 years of traveling in which to fill up his house with oddities from all over the world. John couldn't talk me into asking for the African figures and masks carved out of teak?ebony? or the "adult" bar-ware, and I couldn't talk him into the velvet matador painting or the Japanese collage made out of iridescent butterly wings, so I guess we are at an impasse. And under no condition whatsoever do we want the *giant, scary monkey* from the attic. (Picture one of those wind-up monkeys--with or without cymbals--and enlarge it to 3-feet tall. *shudder*) That damn thing gave every child in the family nightmares. Trust me, you do *not* want to wake up in the middle of the night and see it sitting next to the bed.

Bon voyage, Gramps, and happy sailing.

Spring, etc.

We’ve had the computer pretty well tied up with work, so even though I had jotted down a bit here and there to post, I haven’t had much chance to do it. And when I finally did, it wasn’t relevant anymore. *sigh* The life of a blogger.

Spring limped in over the weekend, giving us enough sunshine to warm up the house a bit—just enough to take off my sweater and open a few windows, anyhow. But my suspicions that Winter had just gone off for a quick nap might actually prove to be correct. The temps dropped down again Monday (John thought it was close to freezing when he walked Hannah to school at 7:30), and it started raining yesterday, but not too heavily. A friend said he heard we might get another snow. Heaven forefend! I’ll take the cold rain, thankyouverymuch.

But there are other signs of Spring that give me hope, like the lengthening days; it’s easier to get out of bed at 6:45 when it’s already getting light out. And the *craziness*. Have you ever seen someone chug 4 espressos? That’s me, minus the espresso. It’s kind of hard to stay on task when you’re channeling Cornholio.

Last night we watched Super Size Me. I am never going to McD again. Ever. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I had actually been there yesterday morning. Fried apple pies are my secret shame—that’s right! They still *fry* them babies here in Europe. Ka-ching!—well, they would be if I went there more than 3 or 4 times a year. John had confessed a side-trip to the Indian take-away when he was in town last week, and I had just missed the bus, so I decided to kill 20 minutes (and unfortunately, all of the skin in my mouth) by partaking of the fried deliciousness. I’m surprised my body didn’t go into shock, seeing how I’ve been in one of my “food is gross” phases lately, and therefore trying to avoid it as much as possible. John bought a metric ton of fruit last weekend, though, so I’ve been having to eat that just to keep it from the fruit flies. But a diet of fruit and fried apple pie just doesn’t work. Anyhow, the point of this paragraph was to say, “Watch Super Size Me.” (The DVD extras were way cool.) It’s like The Jungle for the 21st century.

John's New Look

Facial hair style #2 going up on Flickr. Note the picture of Hannah passed out on the floor after seeing her dad with a handle-bar moustache for the first time.

Sad spring flowers. Pitiful. 

I was going to do this whole photo blogging extravaganza on the fight to the death between Winter and Spring, but frankly, Spring really is just not trying. A few bulb flowers (crocuses) have braved the cold since the snow-drops emerged from under the results of the early-March snowfall (hence the name-get it?), but they are pitifully few and far between. I�ll post my sad, sad picture of them after this.

Then when I got home with Hannah after school, IT DARED TO SNOW! Only a few flakes, but still! The nerve! That is on top of the recalcitrant piles of snow in every shady spot, including in front of our house. (But it is even worse as you go up the hill north of us to the next village; there is still a 2-foot high pile of snow where the snow plows deposited it earlier.) So you get a photo of a neighbor's glaciated driveway. And to the dog who took a crap on it: my sentiment exactly.
 

From the Mind of Nee

John said I should start collecting all my „unique utterances“, meaning things that no one in the world has ever said before, in all likelihood. That’s a polite way of saying “all the crazy crap that comes out of my mouth” (although there’s not enough paper in the world for that). So here are the few we could remember (going back 10 years), but that have become the stuff of legend around Chez Nee:

To John: “Baby David Crosby can kiss my butt!”

To Hannah: “Quit kissing Lenin and eat your dinner!”

To John: “Quit rolling my shit up!” [shit=car window, in this case]

Running on Half a Brain

My Palm PDA is not just a personal organizer, it is like a portable second brain. In the time I've had it, it has become the second half of my soul.

So I was crushed to discover that it had completely crapped out on me and all my data was wiped out. Fortunately, I had backed it up recently, so it wasn't a complete loss (except my copious scribblings in NotePad, *sob*); I could reload most everything from the desktop software, but I still feel betrayed. It was like waking up to find a stranger in bed with you (unless that stranger is Johnny Depp, rrowrrr!).

On the other hand, finding my PDA blank was also somewhat liberating. No lists of things to do and vocabulary to learn hanging around my neck anymore! (Until I reloaded, of course.) I'm *so* tempted to go back and dump them on purpose. And also a bunch of the email I've been hoarding that I mean to "do something" with, "someday."

A person needs a little madness, or else they never dare cut the rope and be free. (Nikos Kazantzakis)

See, Nikos Kazantzakis gets it!

John's new hobby: shaving

Since we are currently between semesters, and John has put a note on his door that students who need to reach him should just email him, he felt it was time for one of his hair purges. So this morning, he shaved off just a bit of his beard. Click on the link under "Fotos" on the right to see the initial results. You vote: David Crosby or Lemmy Kilmister?

He plans on altering the beard every couple of days, so check early, check often.

THAT IS IT! I am sick of your crap, Mother Nature! We are through! I mean it! This is war!

The dark patch among the snow in the neighbor's yard is where the water table has risen so high that the springs in the area are backing up, so to speak. It's not visible in the picture, but water is gushing out of the ground in several spots in the green area.

And in other news, dinner with friends was a success. John made chicken enchiladas. Yum!
 

Introspection is catching

Each fall, I start mentally preparing myself for two things: the new date on January 1, and my new age in February. Somehow, I managed to give them both a miss this year. So 33 kind of snuck up on me. I don’t feel any different, and birthdays don’t generally bother me, but this year, it occurred to me that I’ve entered the second third of my life.

You see, I have decided that I will live to be as old as my great-grandmother on my father’s side. I think there is some kind of pact with the devil on that side, because until she died last xmas, there were 5 generations of us alive. 5! So anyway I have until 96 (I think she was a month shy of either 96 or 97 when she died) to make my mark on the world.

And up until 32, I was still in the first third of my life. I guess when you reach a milestone like that, it affects you, even if you are normally too indifferent or too lazy to care, like me.

A couple of weeks before my birthday, I took stock of my life. It was actually too boring to put here, but let’s just say that I’ve made my peace with it.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a Nobel Prize-winning scientist, or the president. Not because I was *so* enamored of science, or was *really* interested in politics, but because I thought those things proved you were “the best.” Needless to say, I didn’t have a very precise idea then of what it means to be the best at something.

Nowadays, I know what I am good at—I am good at editing, but not necessarily fiction; I can help other people’s writing look good.

I know what I care about enough to make the effort to improve it—my own writing.

And I know what is important to me—time for my husband and daughter, my family and friends.

At the end of the day, anything I do has to further one of these ideals, or it’s not worth my time or energy.

I keep going back and forth on whether school fits into this list of priorities anymore. Part of it is because I am scared shitless of my exams (in German) next semester. John has pointed out *multiple times* that I wanted to go back to school, and I’m already 5 semesters in. Ok, he’s got a point, but I *wanted* a 2-year Master’s Degree, and now I’m stuck for 4; I can’t do just English, I also have to do German, and it is taking the most work. Yes, we live in Germany, but I doubt my German skills will ever be good enough to teach or edit it, so what’s the point? I guess that’s what’s got me so torqued up about the whole school thing.

I sound at peace, eh? I would just like to take this chance to blame WesTexGirl for this entry. *grin*

I have found my new hobby!

Oh. My. God. The perfect hobby for people like me who think they might have been engineers in another life (not the one where I was a drag queen, I don't think).

Thank you, Mother Nature, for this snippet of clear sky and sunshine before smothering us with rainclouds and whipping us with high winds. I'm reconsidering that kneecap thing. Except I'm not, because it hailed a couple of hours after I took this. Bitch. 

Here is Hannah's petition to God to get rid of the wet weather. She made John and I sign it, and she signed for the cats. Then this morning she attached a string and pen to it ("like at the bank!" she said) to take to school for more signatures. She asked God for a letter of receipt, too. I'll keep you posted on that.

Speaking of wet weather, no sooner had I lambasted Mother Nature yesterday than the snow falling turned gradually into rain. It rained all night, and there is a noticeable decrease in the amount of snow lying around this morning. According to the news last night, this should be our big spring thaw. Which means flooding. We just can't win against Mother Nature, you know?

Tomorrow I will probably bitch about how it is impossible to keep the house warm at this time of year, etc.
 

Bitchin' and Moanin'

You know, for the last few days, I've been all, "Ha ha--look, it's snowing, and I'm going crazy." Funny stuff, eh?

But now, as the Germans say, "Schluss mit Lustig!"--"That's IT!" If I ever see Mother Nature in person, I'm breaking her knee-caps with a lead pipe.

This is just fucking ridiculous. My anniversary is this weekend, and I was just remembering that we had an outdoor reception. Outdoors! In March! That's what I love about Texas. *sigh*

When it started snowing here a week-and-a-half ago (!), I told John that at least it wasn't our turn to shovel snow in front of our house. Apparently, I spoke too soon, because our turn starts Saturday, and there's no end to the snow in sight. And I heard on the news this afternoon that Germany can expect a heavy snow overnight. Goddammit.

We have taken winter's intractableness as a sign to use up the last of the wood in our cellar, so at least we've been able to enjoy our wood-burning oven twice this winter.

Neither is this. 

This is not funny any more 

Warning: Complaining about Hannah

I will be the most ardent follower of whichever wish-granting being that brings back my daughter and takes away the monster-in-training that has somehow taken her place. I am so sick of the whining, crying, complaining, obnoxious behavior, and outright rudeness that I told John we probably should have eaten her whil she was still small and tender.

Yes, I know she has not been 100% well for several weeks.

Yes, I know she turned down several offers for playdates over the school holiday, dooming herself to boredom.

Yes, I know she had to forego several perqs--tv, a movie, candy--until her room was clean. You could view her behavior somewhat more forgivingly by taking these things into consideration, but I choose not to.

By her reaction, we were certain that she had fatally wounded herself multiple times over the last week, but these injuries turned out to be nothing more than

a stubbed toe

a cut on her ankle inflicted by *her own toenail*

a fingernail she pulled off to the quick

a canker-sore on her mouth (okay, ouch! on that one)

her teeth.

She has handled a burn on her leg (from spilled raviolis) and having most of the skin grated off her elbow (tripping at the playground) with much more grace and aplomb and much less whining than the above-mentioned "wounds."

In the back of my mind, I know that she will be 9 in a couple of months, and then puberty will be right around the corner. Hell, her best friend is only 11 months older, and she already has acne and a training bra. So some of these problems may be hormonal in origin. I guess it doesn't help that I am somewhat hormonal myslef at the moment, and so may not have such a large supply of patience to buffer my response with. But at least she has gone back to school today, so maybe being in a routine again will help. If nothing else, she can pester someone else for 6 or 7 hours a day. Woot!

I am boring

John read one of my recent posts and was all, "Oh my God. You blogged about *vacuuming*." I think he was implying that I am boring, but he seems to have missed the point, about how one simple task (cleaning up a coffee spill) can snowball into full-blown housecleaning, and suddenly 30 minutes or an hour or a day have been sucked into the black hole of chores. Right?!

Blaaaaargh!

We had a lovely, sunny, clear day. The snow started to melt. The sun started to go down. It started snowing heavily. I will now start drinking heavily. -Later.

Life is a Comedy of Errors

Hannah is not as floppy as when she was a toddler, but she still has the uncanny knack of knocking over my coffee cup, no matter where I've placed it. Yesterday was on the dining room table, which, normally, would have been the perfect place for a spill, except we were putting together the Simpsons puzzle from Jooge and family. The tablecloth that we had placed over the puzzle overnight managed to soak up most of the coffee, and we whisked that off before more than one or two pieces got a little wet. It could have been worse, we said.

So I go in the kitchen for another tablecloth, since the table is my workspace and I need to recover the puzzle. I thought, hey, the plastic red-gingham picnic tablecloth would be perfect in case of more spills. Except it must have been damp the last time it was put away, because the felt backing was *molded*. blech! That meant dragging it into the bathroom to try to kill the mold with bleach.

Then John suggested that maybe the table wasn't the best place to work right now; what about the coffee table? O-kay... I make Hannah finish clearing her stuff off the coffee table and run the vacuum cleaner because our carpet was waaaay too hairy to even think about sitting on . Then I noticed more crumbs and blobs of hair on the tile in the dining room. Then the hallway. Then the kitchen.

And finally it occurred to me that we still had one more tablecloth, and viola, I didn't have to move my 20-pound pile of books and papers and dictionaries and music (to drown out the tv) into the living room. After all that faffing about, I was finally about to get to work. Which wasn't all that inviting of a prospect, let me tell you.

Then in the afternoon we all played hooky to go to the movies and then do our weekly grocery shopping. But now it's back to the mines!

Last of the snow-blogging for today. Consider it a service to my friends and family in the South who may only have a passing acquaintance with water in this particular frozen form. 

Our terrace patio sometime today. Yes, the snow is getting close to a foot deep on the table. It has been snowing for FOUR DAYS STRAIGHT. I am handling it pretty well, only feeling a little frayed around the edges. Coffee helps. 

The neighbor's yard this afternoon. (It's on a slope--it's not really 10-feet deep in snow, as might appear.) 

See the view out Hannah's bathroom window? No? That's because it is SNOWED OVER. 

Mid-snow today. Compare to the photo from yesterday. You can't see the bottom of the valley. 

It's War!

Hannah and John have had a battle of wills going over the state of her room for a couple of days. So far, to get out of cleaning up, Hannah has:

1. thrown a giant tantrum and locked herself in her room.

2. taken a 2+ hour bath.

3. read a Swedish book, because she knows that her dad would NEVER make her stop doing anything she willingly chose to do in Swedish. Closely related to this is 'learning': "Dad, I can't stop using the computer--I'm learning!" Yes, PBS is supposed to be educational, but playing games with Arthur and Buster may be a borderline case.

But John finally pulled out the big guns and told her no tv and no newest installment of her favorite film series if she doesn't get busy. So at least we can see the living room floor again. The movie may have come out on video by the time she finishes her room, though.

It's been snowing for THREE DAYS. If you don't hear from me for another week, assume I've gone insane. 

That's My Girl!

Despite having a friend over, Hannah was a bit bored yesterday afternoon (it was snowing), so she entertained herself for a few minutes by flipping through my unabridged dictionary. The pea doesn't fall far from the pod, eh?

Too Much of a Good Thing

We recently received a couple of belated Xmas presents in the mail, so we are now overflowing with love and macaroni and cheese. And garbage, because if you haven't heard, the garbage-men in Germany are on strike. But at least it snowed again, so the rats can't come out until it warms up a little.

But, the point of this post was to beg our loved ones not to send anything to us by mail anymore. We love all of the gifts, and they show that you obviously know us well and love us enough to choose them, but we have had a series of small cows on seeing how much people have had to cough up to the USPS to send them. Save your money and our blood pressure!

Thank you for your attention.

Strife at Chez Nee

On Sunday, John accidentally leaned on the shirt Hannah had just decorated with glitter glue and macaroni and had draped over the back of the couch to dry, smudging said glue and sending Hannah into an incoherent rage. She packed up her suitcase and declared her intention to run away to her friend's house a few doors down. Fortunately, it was already around 9 pm, so she decided to wait until the following day. She still hasn't completely made up her mind, but she's still here. Then again, I think the suitcase is still packed, ready and waiting to be called into action. So if you don't hear about Hannah for a while, it's because she has chosen to live with a new family, one that will not ruin her artistic endeavors.

It Never Fails

I posted the picture of the snowdrops last week, and we've had brief flurries of snow *twice* since then, including as I type. Un-believable! Well, not really, but a bit depressing nonetheless. Come on, Spring!

The Everyday at Chez Nee

Hannah's after-school program needs eggs for their East craft projects (blown-out, like for making cascarones). Even though I've mentioned it to him a few times, John keeps forgetting and cracking the eggs in half. So I asked if it would help him remember if I wrote on the egg carton: "BLOW ME!"

So I Lied

Ok, apparently I cannot give up my blog so easily. Not that I am filling it with enlightenment or anything...

It doesn't help that John is totally an enabler. When I told him I was going on hiatus, he basically said I don't need to give up my blog just to *work*. I love his priorities!

Anyhow, I'm not leaving, but I must warn you up front that most posts will be drive-bys and photoblogging. Speaking of which, new photos on Flickr (see under Fotos on right).

Nee at work. Or as I like to say after a break, "Back to the mines!" 

Merry spring! The first snow drops. Of course, their appearance does not preclude more snow, but it's still nice to see that spring is around the corner. Sort of. Maybe. 

Happy Birthday to me. A jewelry box/key holder/piggy bank made just for me by Hannah. Sure, to you it might look like a couple of empty chocolate boxes and a paper towel tube, but to me it looks like love! 

Trying out the email feature

Just a quick note to let you know that, yes, I am
basically dead. I have a HUGE translating job to
finish before the next semester starts in mid-April,
and I am pretty sure it will have eaten both mine and
John's sack lunches by the time everything is said and
done. I'll be home if anyone needs me, and
occasionally checking email, but blogging? Don't hold
your breath.

See you in April!

What Is Up With Youth Today?

I know I mentioned back in the day that Hannah and I had made a theater out of a laundry detergent box and puppets out of toilet paper tubes. I was also drafted into wig-making for the puppets, so there are homemade pom-poms in a variety of sizes and colors floating around the house these days. Hannah and her friend decided that the pom-poms make perfect pretend-bombs, so they spent the afternoon of their playdate tormenting John with stealth pom-pom attacks.

Once they had bombs, it was obvious that they also needed a bomb shelter, so the recently re-erected Barbie tent got to serve double duty. Hannah has slept the last 2 nights in the bomb shelter, which is well-supplied with a sleeping bag and blankets, a flashlight, and lidded Tupperware cups, one holding dry cereal and the other water. She’s ready for the big one!

When not preparing for mayhem and destruction, she’s been playing with her Barbies. She was quite methodical about it this last time. She lined up a bunch of them, numbered them off, then assigned them names on a numbered list. The Shelly dolls (and a baby shanghaied from the Loving Family) are assigned to a Mom-Barbie and get that Barbie’s number + 10 (e.g., Barbie #3 is the mom to Shelly #13). She didn’t have as many Kens as Barbies (and one Ken had to be put down because his legs snapped off), but they are also lined up, although on the opposite end of the couch (which means that there is now approximately one foot of clear space on our L-shaped couch that normally seats 5). Hannah asked me if I knew who the guys were. “Back Street Boys?” “Mo-om! They’re a band of robbers.” I think she means highwaymen. I told those guys right up front that the first time I caught them robbing in this house, out they go. Hannah assured me that they do their robbing in town. Whew!

Walking home with Hannah can be quite fun—until she decides that she has some internal injury or that her spine is snapping under the weight of my backpack, while my spine really is snapping under the weight of hers. But up until that point, it is all fun and games for us. For example, I started whistling Jingle Bells, which turned into both of us raspberry-ing Jingle Bells, which morphed into us quacking Jingle Bells. John would not have gone along with this; I have trained my daughter well. Good times.

At the doctor’s office last week, I found out that Hannah is now 1.31 meters tall (about 4 feet, 3-1/2 inches) and weighs 27.2 kilograms (right at 60 pounds). She’s getting to be a loaf!

I also got a recipe from the doctor for a “cold drink”, which tastes very similar to orange Gatorade. It only requires 4 ingredients; recipe on request. Of course, Hannah wouldn’t drink it, because she won’t drink anything without a crust of sugar on top. Boy is she going to get thirsty!

Sorry to add this non-Hannah-related bit, but it is starting to snow, not much, but the flakes are the size of cotton balls! Southern Germany is literally covered in snow—I saw on the news that people in parts of Bavaria have to shovel *the roofs of their houses EVERY DAY* just to avoid having their roofs collapse. One guy on his roof was chest-deep in snow. Christ! They even had to call in the military to help with clearing away all the snow. We can definitely afford the snow more than they can, so I hope this was originally intended for them but made a detour on the way south.

Back in the Game, Maybe

Do you ever have the feeling that no matter what you do, Fate is going to take a big ole dump on you? After a couple of weeks *cough* of non-blogging, I sat down to start my next Internet masterpiece... and promptly splashed hot cocoa on my paper, over the one paragraph I’d managed to squeeze out of my brain. AAARRGH! And when I got home that day and tried to jot off a quickie post, Blogger was undergoing some updates, so it wasn’t until the next day that I was able to post it. And John has been grading end-of-term papers almost non-stop, so computer time has also been an issue. But he’s off teaching this morning, so I have a crack at getting something up.

I figure that rather than trying to break down the last couple of weeks into easily-digestible, thematically related chunks, I’ll just give you everything now, in no particular order. Hope you’re wearing your blog-reading Depends!

Both of our American neighbors are now working on base, so they offered to take me to the commissary. John and I sat down to make up a list and were both amazed at the sheer amount of CRAP we were longing for. Well, more him and Hannah than me. My list did not include Wolf Brand Chili and marshmallows, although I had to put peanut-buttery snack foods on it. Mmmmm... Nutter Butter. Needless to say, my cart did not resemble that of your typical shopper getting real groceries. But I did manage not to go over the amount of US dollars I’d exchanged, so there was a silver lining on the fat- and salt-laden cloud. I was hoping we could really stretch out our consumption of these items, since no one needs to eat 2 bags of Doritos, 4 boxes of macaroni and cheese, or a couple of cans of Spaghetti-Os close together, but it seems that we’ve hit more on the holiday-type eating style: eat it up and get it out of the way. Blech.

A week ago we all chopped off our hair. Relatively speaking, of course. No one would call any of us “short-haired”, but I’m sure we got rid of more than a foot of hair between the three of us. Even though I lost the most inches, Hannah had the most impressive pile of hair on the floor afterwards. (1) She’s lucky that she takes after her dad in that respect, because I’ve got fine, thin, useless hair. The slightly shorter style (photographic evidence here) makes her look older and compelled me to ask her if I could put a brick on her head (to stop her growing up, see?). To which she responded, “Mo-om!”

(1) I did take photos of the piles of hair, but John was adamant that posting them on the Internet would just be too much.

Afterwards, we went to a little informal get-together at Hannah’s friend’s parents’ (look at me with the triple genitive—woo hoo!). The dad is a business consultant, so even at an “informal dinner”, they were able to set out matching china, silver, and stemware for *14*. Despite being somewhat in awe of their housekeeping, John and I really enjoyed getting to chat with other grown-ups while the kids kept each other entertained. We all stayed up too late, though, and Hannah was weeping with exhaustion on the 5-minute walk home.

Looking back, I can hardly even remember what has been going on. It seems like I’ve been non-stop busy, but everything has just been sucked into some kind of black hole of memory. I think a few more things have just been coughed back up, so to speak, so I will forge on.

Hannah has been sick (just the cough) since I first mentioned it several posts ago. The doctor gave us a liquid extract of thyme (yes, the herb) to help thin the phlegm and noted that she had a slight wheeze. She did a breathing test, which indicated her bronchioles were constricted, so we’re supposed to be keeping an eye on that in case she’s developing asthma. On the other hand, it could just be her personal response to the cold, he said. I’ll be glad when she stops coughing, although I’ve already noticed a decrease since the visit.

We drove to a nearby town over the weekend to hear some Swedish folk songs and discovered en route that they have a KFC, which meant we had to stop on the way home for Hannah and John. I admit I also ate one of their chicken strips, and it was just like I remembered: salty and indigestion-inducing. I’m afraid I’m going to have to give up fast food, based on my recent experiences with it. I’ve either managed to wean myself off it to the point that it throws my system off on the rare occasions when I eat it, or my stomach is getting elderly and sensitive on me. It’s less of a tragedy in my case than it would be in John’s, since his idea of delicious (Sonic frito pie and Taco Bell anything) and mine don’t quite align.

The furry boot trend is driving me mad. I have seen *1* pair out of hundreds that didn’t make me want to rip them off the person’s feet and beat her with them—a mom at Hannah’s ballet studio had some with beading that made them look very moccasin-y and cool, as opposed to road-kill-y and bad. A girl in one of my classes was wearing a pair of boots last week that would have been totally wicked without the fur, kind of a high-gloss, brown leather pirate boot. But then some deranged person decided to pair them with *fur legwarmers*, and this girl paid money for them! The mind boggles.

I spotted the most laughable car parked right outside my department recently. It was a tricked-out, red Ford Fiesta, at least 10 years old. The windows were tinted and everything. And on the back window, beautiful script lettering declared it the “Pussy Deluxe.” Sounds like one of the Bond girls. [At first I misremembered it as “Pussy Maximum”, but it’s the same difference, no?]

The Sponge showed up again, this time with a friend in tow, and we were so spineless that we let them stay with us for one day on their way to Paris. They were backpacking from Hamburg, where he had some kind of photo exhibit, using a combination of ride-sharing and regional trains. In case you were wondering, backpacking + young Austinite hipsters = STINKY. We are just too white-bread for that shit, I guess. Next time she calls, we’re just going to grow a pair and tell her no.

I’m sure there’s been more going on, but like I said, it’s now lost in the mists of time. At least it stopped snowing before our turn at snow-shoveling and hall-cleaning started this weekend. Woot!

Hannah Writes Her First Play

There is a collapsible puppet theater at Hannah's after-school care. Today she started her first play to be staged there at a future date. Here's our conversation about the play as we walked home from school in the snow:

H: It starts with this devil--
N: *gasp* A devil!?
H: No, no! He's a good devil.
N: Ok. Go on.
H: So the devil tells everyone that the play is set during World War Two. There are two main characters, a man and a woman. The woman is secretly the Queen of England. Her name is Maria Theodora. The man is very poor. His name is Marcus Melvin. I made up those names. That's as much as I have so far.

Bravo! We have a budding writer on our hands!

Yahtzee Champ-to-be

Hannah was playing with some dice she found stashed among her other games. She shook 6 dice in her hand, and then rolled 5 sixes and 1 five. She's a natural! Of course, she whipped her dad and uncle like red-headed stepchildren the first time they played Clue together, so maybe she has some kind of gaming gene enabled.

I'm beginning to think Hannah has somehow become a tool of the latex industry. Once again, she has spent her allowance on balloons. And not just any balloons, but enormous balloons larger than her torso that she is taping to the ceiling to make a disco in her room. Necessity is the mother of invention, they say. 

Fashion and Hormones Equals Fun With Nee

Have you ever seen those ugly jeans (tell us how you really feel, Nee) made out of really dark blue denim—dark enough you can’t see the weave of the fabric—and “enhanced” with iridescent glitter? The wedding shop is apparently now offering evening gowns made of this “wonder fabric.”

But that wasn’t even the worst crime against fashion I spotted yesterday. Remember those tiered skirts that were so popular last year? (I still love mine!) Now imagine tiered *pants.* The top two tiers were a striped fabric, maybe denim, and the bottom tier—with a *ruffle*--appeared to be velvet. I think she may be attending the clown college across the river. With a major in rodeo clowning.

Hannah occasionally decides to sleep on the made-out couch, so she hasn’t slept in her own bed for a while. That affects our sleep-related routines, of course. I can easily snuggle up to her on the couch, something I can’t quite manage in the 2-story play bed. But that also means that she can reach me. So my usual method of waking her up, tickling, has been turned against me. And for some reason, yesterday morning she insisted on trying to *lick my thumb.* She’s getting so big, I couldn’t fight her off! So my thumb got licked, and I burst into tears. (You’d think it’d be no big deal by now; my sister used to lick my face all the time. Maybe you had to be there.) The crying was her cue to run off to the bathroom while I sobbed all over her blankets. “Are you feeling a bit, um, emotional?” John asked. I bit back my first impulse to tell him to fuck off and answered, “I don’t know.” And wouldn’t you know it: that afternoon—POOF!—I started my period. So at least I wasn’t permanently sliding into insanity.

I have shocking news for you. You might want to sit down. If you have a bad heart, you might want to pop the top off the nitroglycerin. I am actually *enjoying this winter*. There, I've said it. I know that in this photo the sun is smothered by the clouds/fog/Old Man Winter, but the trees look so magical in their mantle of frost. It's different from the look of snow, which has occasionally sent me into a murderous rage, but not today. I wish I had a camera with me yesterday evening, because Hannah and I watched a RAINBOW SUNSET outside the door to her ballet studio. It was more beautiful than I could describe with pitiful words. 

Hannah, the Hoff, and Wasted Time

Hannah was still coughing on Monday, so she got to stay home one more day. It occurred to us that her class’s field trip meant she’d be walking around outside in near-freezing temps, so she’d be better off at home. It was hard to concentrate on translating, though, so I didn’t get nearly as much done as I’d hoped to.

Hannah’s getting so big. If John’s measurements over the weekend were correct, she had grown 2 centimeters in one month, bringing her up to 52 inches or so. That means she’s within 9 inches of my height (I’m *almost* 5’1).

We were playing Pictionary the other day, and she drew a really good picture of a horse wearing blinders—well, it was good once it was done; while she was drawing, my guesses included a rabbit being eaten by a crocodile and a giraffe. Unfortunately, her word was *blEnder*, not blInder. It was a heroic effort, though.

Hannah and her best friend take turns sleeping over on Friday nights, and we usually let them watch tv if there’s something appropriate on, and a movie if there’s not. One Friday, while flipping through the channels for them, I found Knight Rider. Yep, the original. (Turns out there’s a newer version with a whole fleet of talking vehicles. urg) “Ooh, ooh!” said the friend. She *totally* dug it. I believe it was the first time she had seen it. I think Germans must have some kind of genetic predisposition to like David Hasselhoff. (Of course, even the Fug Girls can’t get enough of the Hoff.) And here’s the link again to the Hasselhoffian Recursion for your viewing... uh, pleasure might be too strong a word; let’s just leave it at “viewing.”

My mom sent us about 10 boxes of Girl Scout cookies around Thanksgiving, providing us with a running start into the holiday bloat. She’s lovely, but evil. Anyhow, I was talking to her the other day, and she offered to send some more this season. I flat out refused her. We are trying to wean Hannah off the sweets, and a 20-lb. care package of cookies is not going to help. I prefer her to make her body out of chicken and noodles and apples (some of the few things she will actually eat) instead of out of Thin Mints and Peanut-Butter Patties.

Apparently I’m not the only one around here to enjoy the winter sunshine. John’s plumbago has put out a bloom. Sadly, Hannah’s fire bean plant didn’t survive to make it all the way to the ceiling, but since its beans are poisonous, I’m not too sad that it didn’t get the chance to make any.

One of John’s students gave him a novel to read and pass on, Colony Girl. I wasn’t too impressed with it. (John doesn’t really read novels. He is currently immersed in a scientific book on the Indo-Europeans.) The story is about a teenaged girl living in a religious colony, and she sees through everyone’s foibles and wants to get away. I read the first 5 and the last 70 pages, and I knew everything that happened in the 200pages in between. And the protagonist didn’t make me care enough about her to want to go back and read the middle. So...not too impressed. (Apparently some The Library Journal wasn’t either, looking at their review on amazon.)

One day I will be so far ahead on my classwork, etc., that I will be able to read my pile o' Pratchett waiting for me. Until then...

Ps. New Flickr photos of Hannah. See link on right.

Return of the...Whatever

King of the Jungle?
Originally uploaded by NeeS.

This, uh, statuary stands at the entrance to [Name of City] College, which I was under the impression was some kind of prep school. It now appears that this school has been bought out by the circus and turned into a clown college. You just know that the posh lions guarding, like, the New York Public Library are laughing up their sleeves at this poor guy.

Good, Bad, and Indifferent

You know, I could adopt the “I (don’t) like...” format, and blog entries would practically write themselves! To wit:

I don’t like static. I usually wear my hair up, but poor Hannah has the “fork-in-light-socket” look every time she sits on the couch. And I am SICK of shocking myself on the tv, vcr, computer, Hannah, cat, kitchen faucet, and tile wall. I’m not kidding; I’ve started grounding myself before touching electronics.

Despite my previous declarations of hatred, I am completely neutral toward winter this year. I attribute this to the greater-than-usual amount of sunshine. As I have mentioned before, ad nauseum, I can handle most anything served to me with a side of sunshine.

We let Hannah play hooky today, and, by extension, ourselves (to a lesser degree). John had one class to teach this morning, so I got to miss both my classes to watch Hannah. He got home five minutes after my second class started. Woot! She actually does have a cold; if she laughs, she starts this gurgly coughing that sounds really gross. But since she only ran a slight fever yesterday evening and none today, she goes back to school tomorrow. Lucky thing: they are going on a field trip, so she really will have only half her classes.

Since I worked on a translation gig over the weekend, I gave myself the day off (mostly) to watch tv and play with Hannah and to chat with John. It’s nice to be able to have a conversation with my husband once in a while that is not about making dinner or doing the dishes. Of course, those conversations could also be interesting to the outside observer since John always accuses me of “treacherously” doing the dishes so it is his turn, even if the dishes have been piling up for 2 or 3 days. (Why yes, we are firm believers in the piling system of kitchen organization, why do you ask?)

To make the day seem like less of a blow-off, I folded the last of the laundry from the weekend and worked on some creative writing projects. Little did I know that as soon as dinner was over and I wanted to blog, the damn sink would seal itself closed, forcing me to everything short of voodoo to get the damn thing unblocked again. In the process, the dishwasher overflowed (just a little this time), so I had to mop, making Hannah unhappy with me because *she* wanted to mop. She is finally getting into chores, even bartering hanging up her clean clothes (she usually puts away folded stuff) to be allowed to sleep in our bed last night. But tonight really wasn’t the night for her to take up mopping. Tomorrow, though...

We bought a faceted crystal sphere so we could enjoy the occasional sunshine on more than one level, and here are the results in the downstairs hallway. (It was too bright to get a photo upstairs.) But even with the sunshine, it only got up to about 37F today. So tiny rainbows was about it for big events at Casa Nee. And Hannah is coming down with a bad cold, probably the same one that kept her friend out of school two days last week.  

I do not like...

...my daughter waking me up in the night 3 times in one week. I thought she had outgrown that.

...my husband tricking me into getting up at 8 am on Sunday. He refused to believe that “cotton on to” (1) was a legitimate usage, and being too much of a reference-nerd to let that pass, I was forced to get up and prove him wrong.

...discovering our cats lounging on the dining-room table when I went to look in the dictionary.

...the tree at the bus stop in town. It is covered in enormous spikes that could be really dangerous if I were a foot taller. And the equally enormous pods it drops (as long as my forearm) look like they could be incubators for alien beings.

...clouds. True, it is officially -1C (about 30F), but it feels colder than when it was officially -5C (about 23F). I hate you, clouds.

(1) from Merriam-Webster online:

cotton
Function: intransitive verb
1 : to take a liking -- used with to <cottons to people easily>
2 : to come to understand -- used with to or on to <cottoned on to the fact that our children work furiously -- H. M. McLuhan>

I like...

...the neighbor’s yard. It is full of garden gnomes, including 2 sets of Snow White and the 7 dwarfs.

...the little carvings on buildings around town, like the faces and shields above the doors to a bookstore.

...the record store near the English Department. Any shop that makes me want to run out and buy a turntable so I can buy Born to Add and Pet Sounds from them is all right by me.

...one of the dresses at the infamous Marriage Royale. It’s white with gold, lacy trim. It looks like something Björk would wear if her swan were at the cleaners. It makes me happy.

...sunshine on a cold day. And it has been COLD. The high pressure front that had Russia locked in ice is now hovering over the rest of Europe. Today was a balmy 30F, but when I left the house yesterday morning, it was about 23F. As long as Mr. Sunshine is there, though, I am happy as a clam wrapped in a balaclava.

Hannah Breaks Hearts

Hannah told John last week that she didn’t want him to read to her at bedtime anymore because she is too big for that now. *crack*

Tonight she was doing her division problems like a champ. I asked if she had been practicing her multiplication, and she said, “Yeah, with Dad.” She never wants to with me. *crack*

We’re sobbing on the inside.

Where's my mohawk?

You know how strict teetotalers are supposed to basically be repressed alcoholics? Well, I think uptight people like myself are probably repressed anarchists. I say this because I frequently find myself stamping down anti-social and violent urges, like head-butting the jackass sitting back-to-back with me on the bus, or kicking saggy-panted teens into the street (after yanking said pants down), or stabbing annoying classmates in the head with my pen. If I actually acted on any of these urges, I would be so punk rock. *heh heh*

Racy!

I was riding the bus last week, and I had noticed this, um, interesting looking couple at the bus stop. Apparently they were sitting in the seat right behind me, because I suddenly heard the woman moaning, "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" Four times "Oh!", that's right. The girl I was sharing the seat with and I both whipped our heads around (so we were turning toward each other), but then turned right back to face the front. It was so hilarious, because usually the Germans on the bus are totally unflappable. I guess they make a special exception for orgasmic old ladies on the bus. hee hee!

And in that vein...
Hannah always asks us if it is ok if she plays with her Barbies. Why wouldn't it be? Then she goes in her room and closes the door and *closes all the blinds*. John almost slayed me when he said she'll go blind if she doesn't quit playing with the Barbies so much. Please don't ever show her this post.

Dance, Dance, Dance

Am I a mean mother (1) for making Hannah go to ballet? If she had her druthers, she’d lie on the couch watching tv every day after school. John and I have talked about it, and we agree she needs some kind of extra-curricular activity.

Today she was quite the Chatty Cathy after school, but as soon as we got home, she made a pitifully transparent attempt at crying and claiming she had a headache. While I was making my world-famous headache cure (hot cocoa), she was using the kitchen counter as a barre to do a jump they have been practicing in ballet class. Doesn’t like ballet, my butt. She was as happy as a clam once she got to class. Sheesh.

Her teacher wants to split up the class because it is getting too large and unwieldy (14 kids barely fit in the room, much less at the barre), so Hannah will probably move into the group that meets an hour later. That means she’ll have an extra hour after school on Wednesdays to be a slug before we have to leave for class, but that also means I’ll have to drive in the dark. Oh, well, the days are starting to get longer again, so it won’t be dark forever.

(1) I’m already a mean mutha’. I was just wondering about the other kind.

Apparently I'm much more vain than many of you might have guessed, because I am obsessing (again) over the encroaching white in my hair, which is not so much creeping as making a kamikaze attack. I recently replaced my long-dead hair clip thingie, and the contrast between the end of my hair (which is almost waist-length since I'm too lazy/cheap to get it cut) and the top became suddenly, horrifyingly obvious, as captured here for your viewing enjoyment and sympathy.
 

Bleebity, Blah, Bloo

I realized that it was probably time to put something up here or I’d lose all 3 of my readers. Unfortunately, not a lot has been going on that is particularly bloggable.

Since xmas, we’ve had snow, rain, a smidge more snow, and a hard freeze, so now there’s half-an-inch of snow frozen on to everything. That sure beats the 6 inches we had to scrape off the car over the holidays just to go to the store. And we haven’t gotten anything like the amount they had further south.

I finally broke out my sexy, blue pajamas and have had to endure ridicule from my loving family, but at least I’m warm.

I am on the brink of conquest in what shall evermore be known as “The Battle of the Plantar Warts.” Poor Hannah had one on each foot, but I guess we weren’t treating them aggressively enough, because one of them added 3 offspring, so after New Year’s I really got after them, applying salicylic acid 3-4 times a day and scraping off the dead skin with a cuticle trimmer at least once a day. It was gross but satisfying. I’m still treating 2 small spots that look like they still have the tell-tale black bits in them, but the other 2 warts are completely gone, all without the dreaded doctor’s visit. (I don’t know what Hannah had against the doctor; he is just the sweetest, gentlest man.)

Hannah’s teacher has made notes on her math homework more than once that she needs to practice her mental reckoning, but she is horribly resistant to the idea. I tried to get her to do some word problems on the way home from school on Friday (“if there are 7 cages at the zoo, and 6 animals in each cage...”), but she flat out refused to learn anything (her formulation). And she doesn’t even have the excuse that the boy behind her and his non-stop stream of dirty jokes are more interesting than multiplication (that was my problem in the third grade).

In the next 8 days, I have 1 final exam and 1 presentation, so I will in all likeliness be absent again for a while. See you on the flip side!

A Little John, A Little Nee

I can't believe Hannah likes home video shows so much. For the most part, I find myself cringing and empathizing with the poor people getting maimed and embarrassed. She just laughs. Of course, her dad's favorite scene in My Cousin Vinny is when the cocky defense lawyer addresses the court with a bad stutter, which is when I get up and go to the bathroom or get a drink of water; it's terrible.

So tonight she is laughing at the misfortunes of others, recorded for posterity on video, and last night she was crying almost hysterically at the calf-roping event while we were watching some rodeo documentary on tv. She was afraid the calves might strangle themselves (to death!) on the ropes. She also won't watch nature shows; too many animals eating other animals. But show a man getting racked or a woman sitting on a chair that breaks under her, and Hannah eats it up. *sigh* Fortunately, she only sees this show once in a blue moon.

Heads up!

I’m fiddling around with the content in the frame to the right, including a link to my Flickr account, so check it out once in a while for new stuff.

I started this as a completely anonymous blog, using nicknames and pseudonyms for my loved ones, but I feel now that I can loosen up a bit. (1) Not completely, understand, as my husband is a bit nervous about us being foreigners, etc. Anyhow, I’d like to introduce my Darling Daughter, Hannah, and my Lovely Husband, John. Of course, with those names, they are still fairly anonymous. I’m still Nee; that’s one of my family nicknames, bestowed by a nephew ages ago.

(1) Commenters can still be as pseudonymous as they choose, but it’s not a requirement, and hopefully dropping the initials will make it easier for people to comment without have to keep a cheat sheet of who’s who.

I’ve only been out of the house to run a few errands since New Year’s, so I haven’t actually observed anything new that I can comment on here. (2) Back to my cozy hole under a rock for a few more days until school starts back and I can stare at my fellow students.

(2) Except this: somehow, Hannah has it in her head that Las Vegas is the best place in the world. She called it “the place where dreams come true” the other day. I have no idea how this has happened.

The Insanity Stops Here

For me, the spirit of the season can be summed up thusly:
Now I have a little time to hurry up and finish all the crap lying around so my end-of-year tally doesn’t look so dismal.

I have managed to step back from the hobby madness, though, and get a little perspective, which means that my sister’s quilt might possibly probably won’t be done in time for her tenth anniversary in August. (This is the quilt I started before her wedding. *cringe*)

But at least I finished the Millenium Falcon 3D puzzle I got as a gift sometime between 2001 and 2003, if I had to narrow it down. I had actually put all the separate sections together; I just hadn’t got the sections into a model of the M. Falcon. (I couldn’t bring myself to call it the “M.F.” on the Internets, which made me laugh.) And although the previously posted photo *looks* like the model, it is actually an M. Falcon falling apart at the seams. Unfortunately, the few flimsical (1) cardboard “supports” provided with the puzzle were not sufficient in number or strength to actually hold together the surprisingly heavy sections. And a couple of pieces turned out to be missing (2), so there were a couple of holes. At the time I was working on it, I was cursing a blue streak and threatening to quit or throw it away every 5 minutes; it even got a bit surreal there for a bit: I was fantasizing about making a time machine so I could go back and sterilize my parents, for some reason (either for creating a child with a 3D puzzle mania or for buying me the puzzle in the first place, it’s not clear to me now). Anyhow, I kept doggedly at it until it was together enough for a photo and a ranting blog post.

(1) D.D. started using “flimsical” again recently, a word that I love and have been using to excess myself. Feel free to adopt it.

(2) The puzzle company had a form for replacing missing pieces, so I hope to have a complete set if I ever try to do it again. Of course, that would require several years to blur the memory of the first time, and some reengineering and a pot of glue to make it work.

Stop the insanity! Second and last 3D puzzle of the xmas 2005 season. It's the Millenium Falcon, in case you can't tell. Rant on this topic to follow. 

My Daughter Cracks Me Off

At dinner tonight, I was asking D.D. about something on her cheek, which I at first took to be a scratch, but on closer inspection realized was just some of the hair color rubbed off. L.H. then chimed in to ask about her scratch. At that point, he suddenly realized we had covered that. A moment later, he brought up how weird it was that he was so far behind in the conversation.

Which is when D.D. asked, "Should I put you in a home?" (1)

I almost wet myself laughing.

(1) Back story: My dad moved his dad closer to him since Granddad needs some looking after (getting forgetful and paranoid). My LilSis also lives close by, so I'm pretty sure Dad figured he would let her do the bulk of the watching after Granddad. Except now she's moving 3 or 4 hours away. And wouldn't you know, when I talked to my dad yesterday, he immediately brought up putting Granddad in a home. Which is where the topic of nursing homes came up.

Tis the Season to Enable

Right before the holidays, I was able to shake off my early-winter funk and switch into high gear. I got in some required and some extra-curricular (but still school-related) reading. I finished the tree skirt I had moved, unfinished, from house to house for years. I even wrote a bit on a couple of short stories. And by the time we went to bed on xmas eve, I had washed and put away all the laundry, picked up everything but D.D.’s room (because I didn’t have a shovel and safety gear), cleaned my side of the bed and closet, and vacuumed the whole house. I went into xmas at the top of my game.

And then I opened my gifts.

I love my family. They know just what I like, and they got it for me. Unfortunately, what I like can easily become an all-encompassing obsession that takes over my life. L.H. gave me *6* Discworld novels, and my mom gave me the 3D puzzle pictured in the previous post and a Sudoku game. I broke down and put the puzzle together, with L.H.’s reassurance that “It’s the holidays! Have fun!” That was just over 24 hours of my life of fun. I think he started to get an idea of the scope of the problem when dinner was 3 hours later than I had originally planned. Silly man. Doesn’t he remember the photo of me, 20 weeks pregnant, standing in my pjs at the kitchen table until all hours of the night putting together this other 3D puzzle? I just wish I were so diligent with my school work.

D.D. is a lovely little child who did not get us out of bed until 8:30 on xmas morning (unlike my nephew who tried his luck first at *1 AM* and finally succeeded at 3:30, the little turd). She was pleased with all her gifts, although she was somewhat disappointed that she can’t make any explosions with her chemistry set. Damn the luck!

I need to get some more fresh foods in the house. I’ve been living off leftover stuffing, coffee, and the contents of my stocking—chocolate and licorice and blueberry-flavored tea—for 2 days, and I can feel rickets setting in. The grocery list beckons!

Ps. I found a rockin’ recipe for popcorn balls that tastes like slightly chewy Cracker Jacks. Recipe on request.

Here is the 3D puzzle I finished between noon on Xmas Day and 5 pm the next day. I may not be good at originality like my LMIL, but give me something with directions, and I will whip it like a red-headed stepchild. 

I’m Dreaming of a Pink-and-Purple, Polka-Dotted Xmas

So maybe 4 hours before Xmas Day is a little late for the de rigueur pre-xmas post, but I’ve been collecting tidbits for over a week, so it averages out.

Every year, I manage to slide a few more tacky xmas decorations past my husband. This is the man who came into our marriage thinking multi-colored lights were tacky. Oh, silly man. I let D.D. put the ornaments and the silver tinsel on the tree, so everything is lopsided and clumpy. L.H. complained, but he who is too lazy to fix, must endure. Personally, I like it; it reminds me of the fringe on a go-go dancer’s dress. I’ve already bought some red and gold tinsel for next year. My ultimate goal is bubble lights.

I have to draw the line at animatronic xmas decorations, though. I mean, if you want to scare people, why not cut to the chase and hire a clown? A shop in our village has a full-sized Santa outside its door, facing the street. Santa’s head turns left and right, watching you go by. And a pharmacy in town has three little angels in the window, playing trumpets and turning either side to side or bowing. Baby angel musician robots. Eek.

Another mind-boggling decorating misstep I saw in town was in the same window with the headless angels I mentioned previously. Behind the mannequins, some deranged person has hung deer heads—deer heads made of white plaster soaked in iridescent glitter. (Iridescence is another point on which L.H. and I disagree, he being for, and I against.)

But it’s not just the shops getting in on the decorating madness. (But compared to back in Texas, you might not call it mad at all.) One family down the street has a Santa climbing a rope ladder up the size of their house, another lounging on a window ledge, and a third in an old-world style robe standing behind the railing around their terrace, which makes him appear to be trapped in a play pen. Most people (if they put up a Santa at all) would be satisfied with just one Santa.

My sister-in-law’s family has a fun tradition I wish I could participate in: they try to find the ugliest possible wrapping paper. One year her sister skunked the whole family with *Hulk* xmas paper. I thought I might be in the running with Shrek paper I found at the Toys R Us (in this color scheme), but then it occurred to me that “Eat, Stink, and Be Scary” isn’t specifically holiday-themed. And Shrek and Donkey weren’t wearing Santa hats like the Hulk. Rats.

L.H. and I have a typical xmas shopping arrangement: I buy, wrap, and ship all of the presents for the whole family, including D.D., and he shops for me. And as usual, he started about the time I finished. But we were both finished far enough in advance that there was no need to enter a shop at all on xmas eve (which may not even be possible in these parts).

So that was the pre-xmas blather. I wish all my loved ones a happy, healthy (especially LilSis and her brood), restful, and safe holiday.

Nee and Rudolph are Goin’ Down in History

Today, I officially became the last American to set foot in a Starbucks. And I didn’t even burst into flames! But I didn’t drink coffee, so I’ll still be the last person to drink Starbucks coffee if I get around to it before I die.

I had made plans to meet a classmate for tea this morning, and since I didn’t have all afternoon to hang out (her first suggestion was going to her place on the far south side of town; I live on the far north side of town), she suggested Starbucks. It was terribly crowded, but we got the last two seats in the farthest nook.

And that’s about all there was to it. It was ok as far as coffee houses go. I do have to mention that I’d been looking for xmas music for my old man, and after popping into 4 or 5 shops in the shopping district, I found basically what I had been looking for *at the counter at Starbucks.* American commercialism strikes again.

Now that I'm actually doing it, I feel kind of lame blogging a photo of a felt tree skirt. But this is a felt tree skirt that I *made*, and it only took 5 years or so. That might be some kind of record for my entire family. 

The Good, the Bad, and the Pissy

By the time we got to school this morning, I was ready to boot D.D. out of the car as I sped past the building. I would have sold her to the first Gypsy to wander by, but no self-respecting Gypsy would pay good money for her the way she was acting.

Today is the last day of school before the holidays, so I’m hoping she straightens up before we’re trapped at home with her for a couple of weeks. Otherwise I may turn hamster and eat her.

She was in a perfectly good mood yesterday. Of course, what 8-year-old wouldn’t be: she got to eat lunch at McD (blech—it totally tore the ass out of me), go on a toy shopping spree *for herself* at Toys R Us, ride the carousel at the xmas market, and go ice skating. She made me so proud in the department store: “Mom, that scarf is *so* tacky.” The scarf in question was knit in lengthwise stripes in magenta, acid green, turquoise, and brown, and all but the turquoise stripes were garnished with matching fur. That’s my girl!

D.D. has got the German slang down, so L.H. and I are always learning something new from her. In English, if you don’t have a special interest in something, you can say, “It’s all the same to me.” In German, you can add either “fart” (grade-schoolers) or “shit” (everyone else) to that phrase, which gives it a certain flavor not easily translated into English.

Her English is also developing an unusual slant, thanks to the gentle warping from her parents. She often declares that she has to “take a whiz” (1) on the “terlet”; when she’s cold, she needs a “blanklet.” I’m almost positive she got that last one from her younger cousin K.E., although she can’t recall now.

(1) From the game introduced on Ren and Stimpy: Don’t Whiz on the Electric Fence (sample track 13 here).