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!

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!

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.

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:

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.

It's probably time to mention...

I recently posted a picture of me in my new dirndl. A few people correctly pointed out that you don't see much of the dirndl in the picture.

This was intentional. The dirndl picture camoflaged something I haven't felt ready to announce until now:

I'm pregnant!

Yes, it is true. Sorry, Kristina, I know this will upset you.

Although I thought I was done having children - and in fact swore never to be pregnant again last time around - a passing moment of baby notalgia changed my mind for about 5 minutes and that was apparently enough.

There are numerous reasons not to have a baby but there are even more reasons to have one, such as:

1. Maternity fashion has come a long way since I was pregnant with L. Back then you had a choice between a too-short baby doll top with unflattering stretch pants or a floral mu-mu dress. Today, long empire-waisted tunics are in, praise the Lord.
2. I have absolute power. I can yell, 'GET ME SOME FOOD!' day or night and I will be obeyed by total strangers.
3. I somehow never threw away any of our baby stuff. . . it felt too wasteful to give away stuff before it was worn to threads.
4. Actually, scratch number three, because IT'S A BOY!!!
5. I'd never had an amnio before and I was always curious.

An amnio is where they stick a needle through your stomach into your womb to gather genetic materia in order to screen for down's syndrome. It's about as much fun as it sounds.

I don't know how it is in the US but in Germany they give you a brochure with a graphical cartoon of a baby floating in a disembodied womb with a big needle sticking in from the outside.

I found the picture distressing but received a disapproving frown when I cheeped in dismay and inquired if it had to be so. . . graphic.
"That's what happens," I was informed sternly by the medical assistant. "What else would the picture show?"

Ohhhh kaaaaay.

The doctor who did the procedure (recommended because the baby's small intestine echoed funny and was 'too pale' in the ultrasound, whatever that means) patted my hand kindly and informed me that although the procedure isn't fun, at least in Germany they use 'thin' needles.

It felt a bit like being congratulated for not having my baby in a barbarian country like the US where they still use railroad spikes but I appreciated the thought.

I was warned I would feel a prick and some pressure but it was way more than pressure. It starts with a prick sure enough but right as you're thinking now would be a good time to stop the needle continues to punch through your stomach muscles.

I had sore muscles for two days but the procedure only lasted 40 second. And we had our results the next day so I really can't complain, especially since our baby has the normal number of chromosomes.

Let me mention here that my regular doctor was on summer vacation when I was refered for ultrasound because the baby's kidneys looked a bit irregular. When my doctor returned after all the excitement (ours, not his) he raised a perplexed eyebrow and inquired mildly why we did an amnio in the first place.

We told him the whole kidney ultrasound story, whereupon he informed us that swollen kidneys are pretty common in boys. Then he rolled his eyes. 'Geneticists!'

We're actually still waiting on one more test for cystic fibrosis, not because anyone thinks our baby will have it but because - according to my doctor - as long as they have all that nice genetic material they like to test it for stuff.

Or they could be cloning me to introduce more American genes into the German genepool, but somehow I don't they are.

So... I'm about 6 months pregnant and still trying to pretend my life isn't about to completely change. I even went to my kick boxing class about 3 weeks ago but decided to give it up when I saw how nervous my high kicks made everyone.

K and L are thrilled to have a baby brother. L drew me this picture showing the baby growing in my tummy:

Anatomy of a Birthday

• A batch of pink cupcakes for K's birthday.
• A batch of chocolate chip cupcakes and a chocolate cake to take to school.
• A sour cream chocolate cake with chocolate icing and smarties and a batch of pink and blue cupcakes for the birthday party.
• A cheesecake and chocolate chip cupcakes for Sunday coffee with friends.
• A flourless chocolate cake for the parent's association.

That's pretty much been my week. Oh, and the birthday party itself, which was yesterday.

The invited kids were a mixed bunch of different ages and genders, so we needed a variety of program points.

Ralf was worried that the children would not follow the program.

I shrugged. 'So we'll crank up the music and toss in a bag of chips.'

I never worry about stuff like that. My worries are much more abstract.

We started with snacks and music, which the girls danced to on the table while the boys hid behind the book shelf.

Then, for the little ones we played 'bang the pot', which is where you blindfold a child, give them a spoon and send them tapping around on the floor while the other kids yell, 'Warm! Cold!' until they bang the pot. They get to eat the sweet that is under the pot.

The big girls sat in the corner during this, nonplussed, while the boys ran up and down the stairs.

Then we set up a 'beauty corner' and the big girls were roped in to put make up on the little girls. At the same time, we gave everyone a new t-shirt and invited the to decorate them with specially ordered iron on decals.

This won over big and small girls alike but the boys were still bored.

Next Ralf took all the kids outside for relay races and ran them mercilessly for about an hour while I ironed on the fiddly decals. I hated to miss the games but could hear how much fun they were having. Ralf may have missed his calling as a camp councilor or little league coach.

The girls kicked the boys' butts.

After this we had cake and presents and then the parents came to collect their worn out, t-shirt sporting offspring.

Whew - one birthday down, the next one in less than two months...

I've Been a Mom for 7 Years

Hello! We're back from vacation. I had some work to catch up on and it took a few days to download the pictures but now I have my ducks in a row.

But first, happy birthday to my wonderful 7-year-old daughter K. I felt deeply connected to her the minute she was born and she is exactly the child I expected to have with Ralf - tall, smart, competent, impatient and determined. She's all alpha and we couldn't be more proud.

Happy birthday, baby girl!

In contrast, the constant senseless joy and playfulness radiated by our youngest child raises certain genetic questions. We adore L heart and soul but neither of us is sure how we got her.

And now some vacation pictures from the Italian alps and Lanzarote in the Canary Islands.

Birthday Playlist

Today is my 37th birthday. Well, somewhere on the time continuum.

Last night Ralf and I had a date night, which has been months in the organizing given our (mainly his) work schedules. Unfortunately it was about 100 degrees in the restaurant but still good.

This morning my children woke me with about twenty rousing rounds of Happy Birthday while Ralf was out buying cake and flowers. Then we had my 2nd favorite breakfast, which is cake - my 1st favorite breakfast is chicken curry.

Then I got my presents: pictures from the girls, a check from my grandma and a spa gift certificate and CD from Ralf.

I get a home-burned CD every year for my birthday, which should tell you how easy to please and low maintenance I am. All year when I hear a song I like on the radio I write it down in an email to myself, then I send Ralf the list and he procurs the songs and burns them on a CD for me.

Sometimes he tries to put his foot down:

Ralf: Maneater? No way! That's Nelly Furtado's lamest song.

Me: It's her BEST song. I want it.

Ralf: OK, but I'm not listening to it in the car.

Or:

Ralf: If you really want The Unforgiven we should get the Metallica version. It's way better.

Me: No way, Jose - I want the chick version. Metallica's stupid.

Offended silence.

In the end I got everything I wanted except Lady Gaga, which I'm sure is an oversight.

Next we played the CD while spring cleaning in preparation for friends visiting from the US this week. One thing this family knows how to do is party!

Then Ralf took the girls to Baumarkt so I could catch up on my blogging.

A fine birthday.

Some favorite lines from my birthday playlist - see if you can name the song:

Control yourself, take only what you need.
This power needs some room to grow.
Believe me when I say, today's your lucky day.
If you like it why don't you put a ring on it?
You don't know anything 'bout me.
I'm bringing sexy back.
Viva Las Vegas!
Dance, F#!*er, dance!

And here's the playlist:

On Family

Some of you may recall that K got a couple of hermit crabs for her last birthday: Lily and Emma. Lily was the smaller, intrepid one, Emma mostly just sulked. And a few weeks later, Emma dropped dead out of her shell, which was kind of sad and icky.

Lily toughed it out alone for a couple of months, burying herself for longer and longer periods, no longer her usual cheerful self. K largely ignored her but I worried because hermit crabs are social creatures. Finally I badgered Ralf into ordering two new crabs, which K named Bruno and Manuel.

Don't ask, I have no idea where these names came from.

Manuel has a long, thin shell and we rarely see him. Bruno is the easiest to find because he's gigantic. In the beginning I feared he'd eaten Lily, although hermit crabs aren't supposed to be cannibals, but she re-appears from time to time.

Because Bruno is too big to hide and fairly active (he bangs on the glass with his big claw when he wants something) I have grown unexpectedly fond of him. Not quite love, more like active good will.

Which is why when I saw his shell-less body lying lifeless I nearly cried.

But wait! It wasn't his body, it was just his skin, which he'd somehow peeled off entirely, eye stalks and all. The rest of him had crawled back into his shell to grow new skin. Apparently they do this periodically.

Because we have a personal connection, I felt interested and proud instead of completely grossed out, a bit like when one's child blows it's nose properly for the first time.

You'll be happy to know he's doing quite well.

The crabs are not our only pets. We also have a cheesecake-eating cat and the neighbor's bunnies are bunking with us for a couple of weeks. And I discovered yesterday that both of my children possess an impressive fur collection, i.e., a pile of cast-off fur from our own and various neighbor's pets.

My aunt started the trend when we visited her last year. As a parting gift to the girls she presented them each with a small tuft of fur from her angora cat.

You should have Ralf's face. . . it was glorious. I took the proud lead in the strange family competition that day, mwa ha ha ha ha!!!

You can't buy memories like that.

So that's our little nuclear family: mama, papa, kids, crabs, cat, various visiting animals and a growing pile of fur that will one day destroy our vacuum cleaner.