My New (Old) Blogging Gig

Hi everyone,

I wanted to say that I appreciate the folows and continued visits over the last years.

I stopped posting here a couple of years back as work just got too hectic.  Then as my kids got older (and learned to read) it felt funny to write about them.

However, I am still blogging and writing on HR and workplace topics over working girl if you'd like to continue reading and connecting.  This post about leadership and taekwondo includes previously unseen footage of me breaking a board!

If you take the time to comment I also promise to respond and also leave a comment over at your blog.

Take care and be well,
Laura

When You Don't Have Time to Write...

With three kids it feels like a full-time job just keeping passports and vaccinations up to date... so just pictures.

Nicknames

Since we haven't yet decided how to pronounce our son's name (i.e., Jonas or Yonas), we avoid using his name and refer to him with a variety of nicknames, including:

Sweet Ness Monster

Stinky

Bobble Head

Mr. Happy Pants

Sweet Poo (OK, Ralf doesn't actually call him this)

Blow Out Boy

Sir

Spring is officially on its way! Since I already wrote the definitive post on Spring I have nothing more to say.

I Love You but You're Annoying

He looks so sweet, doesn't he?

And so he is... when he's sleeping.  The rest of the time he's a bit of a disgruntled customer.  Not to mention stubborn, opinionated and anal retentive. 

(He'll be a fine German man.)

Boys and their digestive systems!  Sheesh!

But we love him dearly.  Good thing for him he's so cute.

Since this is my third child his cries don't send me into transports of panic.  I cuddle him, kiss his silky little head and breath in his musky scent and wait patiently for the crying to stop.  And occasionally I just let him cry for a bit while I throw in a load of laundry.

With my girls I'm a bit less patient: Over the weekend K wrote a note saying how desperately bored she felt so I made her clean her room for an hour.

She hasn't been bored since.  ;-)

They've been wonderful, though.  L gives J his bottle and K reads to L and teaches her math.  Whoever invented big sisters was a genius.

Oh, hey, the baby's crying again.  Gotta run!

House Project - Pictures

We still need to hang a picture and real lights but you get the idea:

What is Down with Our Bad Selves?

I thought K was a big eater with her fierce feeds every two hours on the hour but J makes her look like a lightweight. I've never had a baby that eats so much! Mind you, I've also never had a baby that can pee on its own head so even a mother of three can learn something new.

Have I mentioned he's lovely?

Naturally we've chosen this time to do some major home construction in the living and dining rooms, including re-plastering the walls and hanging molding.

To make matters more hectic, we decided to go with a cheaper contractor, who announced he didn't feel comfortable hanging real clay molding after he'd already torn up the living room. So we had to go crawling back to the expensive guy and beg him to come while all our furniture was still under plastic.

He was actually quite nice about it, in a sardonic way. When Ralf poked his head in the shop he was greeted with: 'Your guy can't hang it, can he?'

Ralf admitted this was the case. He also expressed some doubts about the molding we'd chosen, as it looked awfully big for the room when we held it up.

'Scared of a little molding, huh?' the interior designer asked amiably.

'Actually, I'm scared of my wife,' retorted Ralf with dignity.

'Aren't we all?' (This, of course, was a reflexive question and didn't require an answer.)

Then he offered to divert two of his workmen to hang the molding, which was very decent of him, and the final painting is happening right now. . . only the first guy's doing that so it's been a crazy week of rotating workmen.

But it's almost done...

I'll try to post pictures next week.

It's Nature, Not Nurture

Now that I have three kids I feel entitled to say that their personalities come fully baked.

J, my baby, is up for anything as long as he is fed every hour.  I predict he will remain easy going and be a good eater.

L, my 5-year-old, is the same sweet mama's girl she's always been.  She's a little jealous of J but not one to carry a grudge.  The other day she walked to the store with me, 20 minutes both ways without a word of complaint.  When we got home she announced, 'I would never have let you go alone, mommy.  It's too cold!'

And K, my 7-year-old, is the same clever, opinionated being she ever was.  When I asked her if she wanted to walk with me to the store, her answer was short and to the point: 'No way. Too boring.'  It's exactly the sort of thing she would have said as a newborn if she could have talked.

Ah, I'm a lucky woman.

Love, Love, Love

The Big Unveiling

His name is.... Jonas!

Thank you everyone for your kind wishes. More pictures to follow.

Are You a Snort?

Our baby is here!  And we finally settled on a name, although we still haven't decided how to pronounce it. 

They say pride goeth before a fall.  And sure enough, after telling everyone who asked that of course I planned to have an epidural - how idiotic not to in this day and age - there turned out not to be enough time.

Yeah. Not fun.

He's a cute little guy, not that I'm biased or anything, although I have to say that changing girls is a bit easier...

The day he was born he looked right at me and got a very doubtful expression on his face, as if he wanted to say: "You are not my mother.  You are a snort!"

That's when I fell in love.

The Final Countdown

My son will be born in 3 weeks.

I've been reflecting on my many blessings this holiday season and as you can imagine, this unexpected little boy* figures pretty largely in them.

*Yes, I know how babies are made, I mean that I expected another girl. Girls are what I know.

And although I heartily dislike being pregnant and babies are disruptive to one's professional aspirations and other activities one might prefer to engage in, I am able to find comfort in the reflection that:

1. It's only for 3 more weeks.
2. His head will smell deliciously musky for the first several years.
3. He will probably become a rich and famous soccer player, who will not forget his mum.
4. He may not marry someone I thoroughly disapprove of.
5. My cleavage will never be this good again.

But as many of you know, theoretical future good and fabulous cleavage are cold comfort in the final weeks of pregnancy.  I'm uncomfortable and it would be quicker to tell you what parts of me don't ache than what parts of me do.

Sitting at my computer is also painful, which is why I haven't been around much lately.  I apologize for that.

I probably will not write again until after the baby is born and may not be able to give your blogs the attention they deserve in the meantime but I sincerely wish you all the best in this new year.

We totally deserve it.

Happy Holidays!

Happy holidays to all you wonderful bloggers who generously share my life while working, raising families and finding your way in the world. Together we are stronger.

Happy holidays to Renee, who has successfully lived without a roof over her head for years. I hope the new laptop will be useful in the new year and inspire you to new great things.

Happy holidays to my wonderful Grandma, who had such fun visiting Munich several Christmases ago and could still sing the Hansel and Gretal opera in German and (for some reason) the French national anthem.

Happy holidays to Laura, Emmanuelle and Abu, our three sponsored children in Africa and Bolivia. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas season and continue to do well in school next year.

Happy holidays to the amazing working moms I know and am proud to be friends with. (And all moms are working.)

Happy holidays to my two little girls, whose names mean 'Clarity of Purpose' and 'Enduring Light.' You are both perfectly named.

Happy holidays to my little man, who I can't wait to meet. Your name (after we considered hundreds of names, such as Dave, Gerhard, Logan, Hasso, etc.) means either 'Bringer of Peace' or 'Destroyer,' depending on whether one is feeling more Yiddish or Hebrew. I imagine there will be days when either name suits you, my darling boy.

Happy holidays to my fabulous husband, whose eyes light up with admiration and love when he looks at my perfectly round tummy and who makes up such amazing children's stories. He even liked his Land's End pajamas, although he fears the extreme softness of the flannel will make him weak.

(We finished our children's book and if anyone would like a copy leave a comment with an email address.)

Happy holidays!

No Dublin for Me This Year...

I'm fond of the Irish.  I mean, sure, I know some irritating Irish people but in general I like the way they talk, I like how they always bring a book of gloomy poetry as a housewarming gift and I appreciate the seriousness with which they regard breakfast.

I've liked people for far less.

That's why I'm rather bummed to miss the European office party in Dublin this year - I'm too big to fly - so Ralf will be partying, breakfasting, chatting up Rory and Fergus and touring the Guinness factory on his own this year.

It's not that I don't love having kids but next time I call dibs on being the dad...!

Homunculus Domesticus Americanus

Nothing says Christmas like online shopping so while Ralf was in California I ordered him some soft shearling slippers and a pair of monogrammed PJs from Land's End. 

Then I had a dilemma - you have 14 days to return items but it was more than 14 days to Christmas. 

I had no choice: I had to get him to try it all on.

First the PJs, which he stared at silently before observing glumly, 'It's monogrammed.  You can't send it back anyway.'

Good point.  I re-wrapped the PJs and pulled out the slippers, which he stared at even more silently.

'You don't like them?' I prompted.

'I, ah, wouldn't have picked them out for myself,' he admitted.  His eyes tracked longingly to his beloved tatty old house shoes.

'Why not?' I demanded.  'They're nice!'

'I'll look like a domesticated American man in those things,' he muttered. 

Well, he had a point.  A girl can dream, can't she?  I mean, if I can wear a Dirndl, he can suck it up and wear Land's End liesure wear.

But... long story short, I kept the PJs and sent the slippers back.  Baby steps.

While in California he received an iPad from our CEO in recognition of his hard work.  K and L were highly excited about this, since the iPad games include a farting cat.  They usually resent his long hours, but as soon as they understood that the iPad was his reward for said long hours L (5) shoved him toward his office and K (7) told him to try and earn us a Wii next time.

Oh, and a belated Happy Thanksgiving - heading into 9 months and my tummy's bigger than the turkey!

On Family

Sorry I've been quiet but what with being 8 months pregnant, working and getting ready for Christmas I've been kind of busy.  Oh, and being a single mom this week while Ralf's in California. 

I'm looking forward to a quiet family Christmas this year. I  have three stories to write up before the children's book I'm writing is finished and I have great plans for sewing extremely simple doll clothes over the next few weeks. 

Next weekend we'll procure and decorate the tree, listen to Nat King Cole and bake gingerbread cookies - and I can eat as many Christmas cookies as I want because let's face it, I'm not getting any thinner until at least February. 

I can even look out at the snow with a charitable eye because this morning my neighbor shoveled snow out of my driveway.  I tell you, once you've known them for about ten years, Germans turn into wonderful, loyal friends!

Little Beauregard is doing well, although I hope I'm not about to change that with the slightly past its prime chicken I'm baking right now.  Ralf read about how some woman had her baby at the Vienna Opera house and got a lifetime membership so now he wants me to start hanging at the Allianz arena.  Just in case.

K is acting in a Christmas production and needs an angel costume, a requirement that caused me some anxiety since the child has no white clothes except t-shirts.  And I'm not one of those moms that can sew a white dress and make glittery wings out of cardboard.

Yesterday she was absolutely frantic to knock next door and ask to borrow an angel dress.  When I asked her why she was in such a rush she turned haunted eyes to me and said: 'Last night I dreamed I had to perform in a white t-shirt and polka dot leggings!'

Which, to be fair, was an option I had been considering.  I congratulated her with a straight face on figuring out her own costume while chuckling to myself that she definitely knows her mum.

I guess family are the people who know you well and love you anyway.

Last Week's Search Key Words

Last week's search key words - I'm delighted to be a resource for questions on Israeli men, cleavage and having a stuffed nostril while pregnant.

This is what I've accomplished today

After a crazy work week - I haven't yet mentioned to my new boss that I'm part-time - I'm between projects, i.e., several big projects are either wrapped up, haven't started yet or are finished but awaiting input.

So... I'm working on a collection of short stories. The stories were invented by Ralf as bedtime stories. The girls each get to choose two story elements, which he then has to weave in. I apply my amazing writing skills and scan in pictures my girls have drawn that fit each story. In the end we will hopefully have a book, which the girls will get for Christmas.

Some of you may recall The Adventures of Tom, Pin Pin and Suzi, which also appears in the collection.

Unfortunately, I have writer's block. This is what I've accomplished so far today:

Life Goes On

My Grandma died last week.  She was a splendid grandma who lived to a ripe old age and invariably impressed my friends meeting her for the first time by waving her cane around and being up for anything.  When I was young she read to me by the hour, baked with me, sewed for me, drew pictures with me, played endless games with me and taught me the chapters of the Bible, which I can still recite. 

She was one of the most live and let live people I have ever known and after living almost a century had an incredibly balanced view of life.  Although she wasn't much for talking about her own younger days, she would occassionally chime into a gloomy conversation about the state of the world with upbeat comments about how she grew up with coal ovens, asbestos, polio, etc., and lived through both world wars. 

Life goes on, she would say.

She loved nothing so much as conversation, which made her final stroke especially sad.  She was a talented musician and pianist and trained as an opera singer at Vasser before she married her father's top seminary student and started a family.  She kept her voice well into her late 80s and her mental faculties until the very end.

 

She donated money to environment organizations and charities around the world and was a deeply spiritual person, although she never criticized me for concluding that organized religion is a load of hooey.

She was a fine looking carrot top in her younger years and bequeathed me my redhead complexion, my robust peasant girl build and certain angles in my face.

She was so pleased about Gerhard.  Or Rocco.  Or James Tiberius.  I wish she could have met him. 

Here are my grandparents.  These pictures were taken when they were younger than Ralf and me, which kind of makes you go, hmmmn.  But you can see where I get my good looks.

Good bye, Grandma.  Thank you for taking such good care of me all my life.  I'll miss you and will never forget you.  Part of you will still be with us every day.

Love,
Laura

I'm NOT living through my children... exactly

K has been enrolled in gymnastics class since she was three years old so I was getting worried when she turned 7 and still couldn't do a cartwheel.

I'm a fairly easy going mother.  I mean, I'm strict about a few things, but I don't expect to live vicariously through my children. 

Except for one thing: the cartwheel.  I require that all of my children can do a perfect cartwheel by the age of 8. 

Why?  Because I never could, dammit.  I practiced all summer when I was 8 and I totally sucked.  I never got over it.

I reckon some people just aren't at their best when flying through the air. 

Recently we found a new hard core gymnastics class that meets 2 hours twice a week.  And after only 4 classes K can execute a flawless cartwheel.

She has now satisfied all of my vicarious ambitions for her.

Of course, I would also like see to see her happy, productive, self-confident and married to a good man with three kids and a satisfying career but I don't insist on it.  I'm just the mom here, not the puppet master.

Mind you, I'm not done yet messing with my children's lives.  L already do a fine handstand but we still have to nail that cartwheel.  And little Gerhard won't be able to do a cartwheel for quite a while.

You want to call him WHAT???

Me: Honey, I have the perfect name!

Ralf leans back in his chair and regards me warily across seven years of blissful matrimony.

Me: Gerhardt! Isn’t that a great name?

A pause during which several expressions cross his face, followed by no expression at all.

Ralf: You want to name our son Gerhard?

I nod.

Ralf: Gerhard Schroeder.

Me: Uh huh. I like that name.

Ralf: As in the former German Chancellor?

Me (frowning): Well…. yeah. Why not? He was a good Chancellor.

Ralf: Why don’t you just name him Elvis Presley?

Me (primly): It’s not at all the same thing. People have heard of Elvis.

Ralf: Or Barrack Obama?

Me (rolling my eyes): Way more people have heard of him, too.

Ralf: Yeah, in… He struggles to come up with a suitably obscure location. Texas! THIS IS GERMANY!!!

Me: Hey, what about Tex?

No response besides a slight widening of the nostrils.

Me (regrouping): Anyway, I want to spell it with a ‘t’ at the end, so it’s not even the same name.

Ralf: I refuse to discuss this.

That means he feels strongly about it.

Me (in a wheedling voice): We could call him Gary. Or Hardy. No one would need to know.

Ralf: Go now. Buy a fish. Name it Gerhard or Geronimo or whatever you need to get out of your system.

Me (parting shot): It’s not like I want to name him George Bush!

Sheesh. I guess we’ll have to call him Deke or Garbanzo after all.