Note the hand-lettering: "I *heart* Mom and Dad + Family. Other People Not." You can tell she's a real people person. 

Behold our table-top sweatshop! Hannah's Gwamma gave her a teeny-weeny sewing machine (hand-cranked, for accident reduction) and a stash of notions and fabric, and she and her friend Sinya have been cranking out embellished clothing by the yard since last night. They are actually taking turns with the machine and doing lots of hand-sewing as well. Gwamma will be proud. 

Happy Mother's Day to Me! 

Catchin' Up Is Hard to Do (But I'll Try)

To simplify things, I just put a link to our Yahoo photo albums over on the right. New are an album of Hannah opening a b-day package from Gwamma (titled "Gwamma's Gifts") and one titled "1 Late Spring/Early Summer." Hannah's after-school teacher tried to claim it was high summer today just because it was warmish. We had almost a week of warmness, all day long, then a cold front came through, so now we're back to cool/cold mornings and warm afternoons. Which means "Spring" in my book.

Anyhow, the daffodils are gone, the tulips are on their way out, and the tree pollen is finally subsiding, but other flowers and blooming trees are coming into their own, so we're not yet without Beautiful Nature all around.

I've been stupid busy with my classes (because I'm *gasp* actually trying to keep on top of them for once) and with my term paper, therefore the dearth of posting.

Highlights of the week:
Hannah dreams in German.

A boy in Hannah's class was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of an elephant on it and the logo "Don't forget--when I grow up, I'm going to the London School of Economics!" Wha?

I made gazpacho (mmmmmm).

Hannah stopped barfing at about 2 on Monday, just in time for John to relieve me so I could go to class. So I got to enjoy all that barf by myself.

Life in the Sick Lane

Hannah is sick. She barfed after dinner last night, but went through her bedtime routine as usual. Then at 4 am the marathon barfing began, and she still can’t keep anything down now at noon. She was in our bed until around 6, but every time she rolled over—snap! I was wide awake. Cleared her throat—snap! Sighed, yawned—snap! snap!

Finally at 6ish she decided she was awake and went downstairs. John and I tried to catch a few more zzzz, but soon enough we heard more barfing from her room. Trust me, cleaning barf off a play bed is tedious and gross. So I bundled her off to the living room and turned the tv on real low. We cat-napped on the couch between bouts of barfing, and finally at 9 I was forced to get up by the arrival of the chimney sweep. I started cleaning all the areas we were only able to give a quick pass to in our sleep-deprived state. Then the handy-man showed up to clean our water heater before it has to be inspected in a week or so. If Hannah hadn’t been sick, I wouldn’t have been home to let all this traffic in. Now I just need the building crew to come traipsing through, and my collection of service people will be complete.

The weather is still wonderfully warm and sunny and clear, but now yellow pollen is coating every surface inside and outside our house. It’s not even worth wiping off because it will just be back in an hour (I’ve tried). The puffs haven’t managed to start colonizing our home yet, so that’s a plus, but right after I vacuumed and mopped, a whole fleet of winged seeds floated in the open windows and crash-landed on my spotless floors. *sigh* I just can’t win in the fight against filth.

Hannah got her Barbie tent all set up the way she wants it, and is now on her way to realizing her week-long dream of being a therapist. But she's closed on Monday and Wednesday. 

Music Soothes the Savage Breast?

Or not. I’ve had a series of earworms the last few days that have not been annoying so much as inexplicable. Usually, I walk around humming the theme from the Beverly Hillbillies or Mahler’s 1st Symphony. Since yesterday, I’ve had stuck in my head, at various times:

* the background music to Eminem’s “Stan” (which on checking is Dido’s “Thank You”)

* Spongebob’s “Campfire Song” (C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E, sing it!)

* “Do You Really Want It?” by that irascible duo, Soul Control

B-O-M-B-Y has been useless in the face of this musical onslaught. I wonder if this is my brain’s way of telling me, “All circuits are busy. Enjoy some music while you’re on hold.”

Speaking of music, I have a bone to pick with John. Back when Hannah was little (*sob*), we looked at the music on our computer and decided some of it was inappropriate if she should come across it. Yet, I see that King Missile is still on here. If John gets to keep his “Detachable Penis,” I want my “Chocolate Salty Balls” back!

After years and years of denial, I have finally accepted that I cannot wear shoes with any kind of heel. There’s some kind of tendon (? I’m not a medical professional) that runs across my ankle and the top of my foot that gets sore/irritated even when wearing square-ish shoes with relatively low, wide heels. John doesn’t like these shoes anyway, but my rule of thumb when shopping goes like this:
1. comfort
2. fits *my* sense of aesthetics
3. fits other people’s sense of aesthetics

If someone tries to force #3 into the #2 or even the #1 spot, I feel compelled to invoke the “Bite Me” rule. (See sock post.)

As much as I like to pretend that I hate the expression “stupid cow,” I must say that it is perfect in certain situations. Say, when 2 girls are sitting on the stairs chatting and people are trying to get past in a space big enough for just 1 person.

I walked most of the way home from town this afternoon so I could TAKE MORE PHOTOS! Bwa ha ha! If you can’t stand the photos, stay out of the album! Or something. I had 120 photos when I walked in the door, but I pared them down and sorted them out, so there are now just under half up at yahoo. (I wasn’t going to inflict more Spring on you all, but a little bird told me that at least one of you likes them.)

Today was the first hot day this year. 30C! (86F) My grandmother mentioned they finally had a day *below* 90 a week or so ago in West Texas. But for us it was wonderfully hot and sunny. Walking around, I noticed all the smells of Spring/Early Summer that you don’t notice are missing: the river, cut grass, cow manure (near a small dairy), a faint scent of flowers. Lovely!

Attack of the Yahoo Photo Albums!

We had a lovely time on our Labor Day outing today, culminating in a billion photos for your perusal. About 20 minutes into our hike, Hannah admitted that she was "gradually starting to have fun." Well, I wouldn't want it to be a waste of our time.

On the way home, we shot more Spring photos. Really, I should just call these albums "Other People's Yards", because that's basically what they are. We live in an apartment, so I plant the seeds out of my fruit into pots for fun (they're sprouting!), try to keep the few houseplants I've bought alive, and enjoy the bounty of other people's gardening efforts and expense.

Where Did I Go Wrong as a Mother?

Last night, Hannah told me, "Mom! Smell my finger!" and stuck her hand in my face.

Whoa, kid. That is something you never, ever, ever do to someone. It ranks right up there with putting your toothbrush in the toilet.

"Or telling someone to pull your finger," she helpfully added.

Now you're getting the idea.

I think John has male pms, because he is not being his usual cheerful self, and I may have to kill him. (See sock photo below.) His back is much better, though. He hasn't had to use his hot wattle bottle in several days and even managed to ride his bike into work a couple of days.

Tomorrow is Labor Day in lots of Europe, so we're going to celebrate the German way by going on a Wanderung (hiking). Hannah is protesting vociferously since we went 2 years ago with friends. Oh, no! Doing the same thing as 2 years ago! It's a rut!

It's the start of asparagus season, but fortunately, we are blessed with the gift of not being able to perceive the stinky pee, so we'll be enjoying lots of it. German asparagus is white, which means it grows covered with dirt so it doesn't develop chlorophyll properly (and may not be as nutritious as the green, but we're not sure). Asparagus is a big deal in a neighboring town, where they grow it and even crown an "asparagus queen".

Only one week into the new semester, and I am already studiously avoiding work. Pitiful. I guess I'll go make my famous homemade pot pie instead.

My collection of fancy socks has dwindled down to a few xmas-themed pairs, but I still like to wear them. John was in some kind of mood yesterday, and was haranguing me for wearing these in public. WTF?! But I'll show him--I'll get a pair for every day of the week! 

More bullet-dodging

Spring photos by yours truly, take 2.

Now with 50% less smart-ass

Here's Hannah's recent phone conversation with a school-mate (translated into English):

Hello. This is Hannah.
pause
Hannah!
pause
Han! Nah!
longer pause
I'm calling to tell you I can come to your birthday party on Saturday.
pause
I can come to your party on Saturday!
pause
On Saturday! Your party! I can come!
pause
Okay. See you Saturday.
pause
Saturday! Bye!

It seems there was a lot of background noise on the other end.

I like reading other people's blogs, but it feels kind of weird talking about them on my own blog. I mean, slightly voyeuristic or something. Usually I just plop them onto my blog roll and let people find them as they will. But today I am making a special case for Julia. She has been blogging (in addition to other things) her infertility problems, and although my heart breaks for her, you have to admire how honest and straightforward she is about her experience. So a little background on her for anyone who wants to click the link: She just had her 10th miscarriage after finding out through CVS that her baby had genetic abnormalities. She has a little boy who I think is 3 or 4, but she had miscarriages before and after she had him, I believe.

You guys dodged a bullet this time

Rather than subject you all to more of my photo-worshipping of Spring, I high-jacked John's yahoo photo album. So browse if you like.

Back in the Saddle Again

I was talking to John over breakfast about buying M-Day cards for our "mom-people" (my words; aren't I an elegant wielder of the English language?), and Hannah chimed in "people-heads." Apparently, "mom-people" is not generic enough for her.

On the bus, I sat across from a woman wearing the ugliest argyle sweater EVER. I couldn't even find anything through the power of Google to compare it to, so just imagine: argyle. hot pink. baby pink. acid green lines. I am afraid looking at it might have melted my brain just a little.

Now that the semester has started back up, I can entertain you all with my endless people-watching.

I was walking between 2 classes, and I saw a guy wearing one of those nylon caps? hats? that I guess are supposed to look gangsta. (Pardon me—it's a du-rag; how did I not know?) All I could think was, "Boy, you've got a panty on your head!" Then I stepped off the curb weird because I was looking at his head instead of the sidewalk and almost broke my ankle. Stupid panty-wearing stupid-head.

Le Marriage Royale had a really rockin' dress in their window for a while. Hannah and I both totally dug it. It was off-white with gold lace, and the over-skirt was artfully pulled up and tucked here and there, leaving bits of net sticking out. I can just picture Cyndi Lauper getting married in it.

But now they have a couple of dull dresses with ruffles. *yawn*

At some point in my work and school career, I became *that* audience member. While most of my classmates are staring and drooling (even on the first day!), I'm smiling and nodding in encouragement. I hope I don't come across as deranged. Oh, well; it wouldn't be the first time.

The girl who sat directly across from me in my American novel class has the exact same zombie smile as the infamous H. R. from high school. (Big hint if you need it: she was our valedictorian.) Scary!

I "taught" my first class (meaning I was along for the ride), and attended 5 of my first 6, and my head hasn't even exploded yet. Go me!

I *heart* Spring! 

Spring! Glorious Spring! 

Wallowing

So how did I manage to fuck away the last week? Huh? Really. I can't think of anything in particular that required a whole lot of my time, and yet I have very little to show for it. (Don't worry—I always get this foul-mouthed and foul-tempered right before school starts, and I never think I accomplished enough during the break. Which I didn't, but too late to cry over spilled milk now.)

John's back is doing much better, thanks. I knew he was feeling better when he started asking me to do things for him while giving me that woe-is-me look. When he was actually in pain, he didn't have enough extra energy to actually ask for help, so I had to practice John-omancy. I guess that's where part of my time went, since he's been out of commission for chores and such. But I've got a rain check to cash in for during my exams. Woo hoo!

Hannah has said some funny things lately. First, she was explaining something (I don't remember what, now) to us while we were walking around Eberbach, and when one of us expressed some doubt about how true it was, she shut us down by saying she had learned it at school, therefore it must be true. She's obviously well-indoctrinated.

Then tonight at dinner she was explaining the difference between speech bubbles and thought bubbles, because I said it wrong.

There was something else, but I can't seem to dig it out of my brain. That means it's time for more photo-blogging!

Happy Easter! Grrr!

Happy Easter! Grrr!
Originally uploaded by NeeS.

We've hardly seen Hannah this week. During the day, she's been at the play program I mentioned before, magic stuff and scary stuff and whatnot; in the afternoons and on into the evening, including one sleepover, she's been at the house of the friend she's been going with to the play program. Pretty soon they'll be Siamese best friends. I was able to snap this photo in the 2 minutes she ran home to get a change of clothes yesterday. (I like the sense of ennui you get from it: ah, the endless sameness of being a monster.) So far, all we've been able to get out of her about the day camp is that her group is called the Magic Wands, and that they took turns wrapping each other up like mummies one day. This would explain why Halloween hasn't been imported wholesale into Germany; they already have it at Easter.

Retraction

John has asked me to rescind my claim from yesterday that he farted. He categorically denies farting, yesterday or ever, and would further like to take this chance to quash any rumors of his having any bodily functions at all.

Thank you.

(Plus, he claims I am a dooce wannabe with all the fart-talk. What-ever.)

John's Doctor is a Quack

I took John to the orthopedic doctor this morning, and he gave him a small shot, and told him that it was all probably psychosomatic (John corrected me: stress-induced). He didn't even take an x-ray or try any wrenching, like John was hoping for. Quackery!

We would have gone back to the original doctor, bu his office was closed this week. John will probably try to see him next week about physical therapy. And if he doesn't...

John is finally starting to feel a little better tonight. He's managed to stand up a couple of times without his left leg wobbling dangerously, and I swear I heard him fart for the first time in two days, so you know it had to have been bad before if it hurt too much to pass gas.

Bumming Around

It's really hard to work for some reason, so I am trying to find things to do that seem at least as important to me, like blogging and washing laundry. yippee

John's back has gone out on him again. He has an appointment with the orthopedist tomorrow, so today I talked him into staying on the couch with a hot wattle bottle and some Aleve and the Dan Brown novel he's been reading. The last time this happened was just days before we flew to the States at Xmas 2004, but at least this time we have some idea what to do for it until he can get in to see the doctor. And he doesn't have to start teaching until Monday, so that gives us a couple of days to get him back on his feet. Poor baby. He couldn't even tie his shoes this morning when I took him to the GP for the referral. And if he has to stand up, he has to hold onto something for support until his spine can handle being vertical. I've already told him, repeatedly, that there is no way he is skipping out on physical therapy this time. There are at least 3 physical therapists in our village, so there's no excuse for not going.

Hannah is at the play program; she was a bit concerned this morning that it would be like school, but I reassured her that no learning is required there. Whew! John was quite disturbed by our conversation, I think.

I finished novel number 2, Toni Morrison's Paradise. It was an excellent read. The only other work of hers I have read was Beloved, and it is also wonderful. I must make an effort to get my mitts on more of her work, but I still have Philip Roth's American Pastoral to get through, plus a butt-load of school stuff. So no pleasure reading until summer.

We have reserved a cabin in Sweden for a week-long vacation in August, and we have decided that it will strictly be off-the-clock time for all of us. I already told John that my suitcase will be half full of the Terry Pratchett collection I still haven't read from Xmas. We're planning on taking plenty of rowboat rides, bike rides, and maybe a little walking around, but otherwise plenty of not-doing-anything-in-particular time. I can't wait!

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!