Monthly Archives: October 2011

Breaking a sweat

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I’ve recently started to make more of a point to get regular exercise.  I’d love to lose the rest of the “baby weight” (from being pregnant with Liam, but also still from being pregnant with Benjamin) but even more just because I feel better when I move around — it’s good for my body and my brain.  After years of being active regularly without having to think too much about it (riding, dancing) it’s amazing how crappy it can feel to basically stop moving except when you need to.  (Even that’s an exaggeration — we don’t own a car, so I walk a lot, and I chase two kids around all the time, so that’s a lot of activity, but it just isn’t the same as moving for the purpose of moving.)

Not wanting to end up injuring myself right away, I’ve started slowly — I’m walking and doing a little bit of yoga.  I felt better almost immediately, and now, after just a week, I’m really starting to notice a difference — I walk for time, not distance, and I go significantly further each time.  So, that feels good.  It just feels good to move.

I usually walk with Liam in the mornings (don’t worry — I don’t make Liam walk, he gets to ride in the stroller) when B is at school, but I don’t always make that work, so then I try to go in the afternoons.  Today, I went in the afternoon with both Liam and Benjamin.  Liam rode in the stroller and Benjamin rode his “pushing bike”.  We had a blast.  It was so fun to be outside, making my body move, and spending time with my kids — we all really, really enjoyed it (even Dan met up with us after he got home from work).  It was a beautiful day, and I got a pretty good workout in — Benjamin can get going pretty fast on his bike!

I’ve often wondered how the Viennese manage to walk everywhere and still look perfect.  They are beautifully done up (in general) and seem to maintain that throughout the day — even though use of public transportation, and walking, are so common.  On all my walks over the past week or so, I’ve been noticing something — in part, at least, it’s because they walk pretty slowly.  Even I, relatively out of shape (and with pretty short legs), manage to speed past even tall men walking to the train station.  If they’re out just strolling around, they go even slower.  I doubt they usually break a sweat.  It’s a novel concept for me — maybe I’m an impatient person, but I almost always walk quickly.  No wonder they manage to look the same at 6:00 in the evening as they do at 8:00 in the morning!  It also helps to explain why they’re always so bundled up (I am easily the most lightly dressed person I encounter when I go out for my brisk walks).

That isn’t to say they don’t exercise — they definitely do.  It’s a very active and relatively fit culture, as far as I can tell.  But when they’re about their daily tasks, they seem to take their time . . . although they ALSO manage to be on time to everything (a paradox I have yet to figure out).

There’s a measured pace, coupled with an efficiency and promptness, that I find really nice in the people here.  They manage to be on time without being rushed, fit without being obsessed.  I still haven’t figured out how they do it, but I like it, and I hope I learn a little.

Being American

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Living abroad, I thought I’d be a lot more embarrassed about being American (and more reluctant to admit it).  It turns out that (to my face, anyway) I haven’t encountered a lot of anti-American sentiment.  People are much more likely to react with interest, rather than derision, when they hear where I’m from.  (So far, the only people I’ve met who make me embarrassed to admit that I’m American are other Americans who are behaving badly — but that is the exception, rather than the rule, as well.)

At home, we’re all from someplace else.  As you are getting to know someone, it’s very common for them to identify themselves with another country/culture:  Italian, Irish, French, Puerto Rican, Indian, Chinese, etc., etc., etc.  Even people born in the US — even people whose parents and grandparents were born in the US — will identify themselves by their country/countries of heritage.  People have a lot of pride about where their family is from.  I’ve heard (and been involved in) arguments about how much of your family has to be from somewhere for it to “count”, and heard cultural/nationalistic stereotyping used both negatively and inclusively.  It’s part of the “mixing pot” mentality, I suppose — since we’re all from somewhere else, we find and share our common bonds.  There’s strength and tradition in identifying with our culture of origin, but it also creates divisions and can create discord and dislike.

At home, I’m Irish.  (Well, mostly.  More or less.  More than anything else.)  Dan is Colombian (that’s legit, though, as he was born there — but his family likes to point out that they’re really Spanish, by way of Colombia).  Our kids are Colombian/Irish/???.

When we first arrived here, we’d find ourselves equivocating, the way people do at home, about where we’re “from”.  Living in Austria, that just confuses people.  If you say you’re Irish, they expect you to have an Irish passport, to have been born there . . . or at least to have BEEN there sometime in your life.

Here, we’re just American — no further explanation required.  I find it ironic that I didn’t really identify myself that way until I left.

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire

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It was cold and rainy this morning in Vienna.  I quite liked it.  My weekly Sunday trip to Starbucks was ill-effected, though, because since it was rainy and cold, everyone wanted to drink hot coffee, everyone wanted to sit inside and drink their hot coffee, and (literally) I think a tour bus dropped off an entire load of people while I was there.  Which is all fine, but made for a rather loud and crowded Starbucks visit (I got the last seat at a table when I arrived, and then people started cramming into small, odd spaces — I had one woman standing over me for a significant portion of my white mocha).

It still served my purposes — an hour out, on my own, not worrying about the kids — but I decided to leave a bit early and go on a stroll.

On my way back home, I came upon a chestnut vendor.  Chestnuts roasting on an open fire — for real — served in a little paper cup.  So, I got some (12, to be exact).  Oh, so yummy.  And warm.  And happy in my tummy.  Just the thing for a cold, rainy, autumn day.

I brought them home to share with Dan and the boys.  Benjamin did not care for them.  Liam thinks they’re fantastic (or so I interpret his persistent toddling up to me, pointing at the paper cup and shouting, “Da!”).

Score another point for Vienna:  chestnuts roasting on an open fire.  There are things I really love about this place.

Big boy bed

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Last night, Benjamin asked if we could change his crib into a “big boy bed”.  I was surprised to hear it — it’s not something we’ve advocated for and I wasn’t sure he’d even been paying attention the couple of times we had explained to him, months ago, that his bed converts into a “big boy” bed and that he should tell us when he wants us to do it.  (When will I learn?  This kid is ALWAYS listening.)

Also, Benjamin has not been in a hurry to grow up — especially since Liam’s arrival.  After a brief initial interest in potty training, he doesn’t want to have anything to do with it.  We’ve cut him back to 2-3 bottles a day, and he will drink milk from a cup, but we haven’t made many strides in moving away from bottles, either.  And he’s been reluctant to embrace the separation of school (although this week he did seem happier about going and less enthusiastic to leave).  So, I figured that moving out of his crib would go in the same category, and that it would be a while until he decided it was time.

I should have figured, though.  During our move and transition here, he slept in several “big” beds — a twin bed at my mom’s house before we left, another in our first apartment here, the couch at the second apartment we had here, and a twin bed mattress on the floor when we first moved in here.  And, we’ve had a few “sleep overs” on the futon in the living room.  So, the concept isn’t foreign to him.

Our plan is to change it tomorrow.  For now, a “big boy” bed means changing his crib into a toddler bed.  It’ll still be small, but he’ll be able to get in and out on his own.  It’ll be easier to give him a pre-bed snuggle, and I won’t miss lifting him in and out of the crib twice a day, every day.

I’m also a little sad, though, and a little anxious.  It’s been comforting to know, when I put him down for the night, that he’ll be there in the morning.  I haven’t had to worry about him getting up and playing in the middle of the night, wandering through the house, getting in to stuff while we’re sleeping, waking Liam up, or any other variety of nocturnal mayhem.  Yikes.

I used to say that I’d leave the video monitor in his room hooked up until he was in his “big boy” bed and could come and get us when he needs us.  Not a chance.  I’m keeping that thing set up for the time being.

I wonder how long it’ll take him to figure out he can unplug it.  Yet again, life as I know it, is over.

The elements

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I’ve always considered myself to be an outdoorsy person.  I like to be outside.  I’m a horseback rider, and have been for over 25 years.  I’ve taught riding, on and off for years, too.  I like to walk outside, go camping and swim, too.  So, it has come as a bit of a shock to me that now, with no outdoor hobbies, I am more in touch with the weather and it’s slight permutations than I ever have been before.

Part of it is our apartment.  At home, we lived in a north-facing apartment with windows on only one wall.  At both of my last two jobs, before leaving the workforce when Benjamin was born, I rarely even saw outside, and was only out in the weather on my way to or from work.  On the other hand, our apartment here has windows on all 4 sides, and a terrace in the middle.  I can go outside without leaving my apartment.  We don’t have central air, and (ironically) our heat is somewhat centrally controlled by the City of Vienna (I’m still learning about how this works, as it’s just starting to get cold).  I’m much more aware of the amount of cloud cover, precipitation and temperature than I ever have been before while indoors, to be sure.  Now that Benjamin is in school, I also have an hour long commute to pick him up and bring him home every day.

I don’t have a car, so when I do go out, into the weather, it’s not just a quick dash from door to car, and then from car to school and back.  I’m out, walking in the weather (whatever it may be) at least every weekday.

Today was a rainy, cold day in Vienna.  It was a major reminder of something I’ve been slowly realizing:  I can’t just grit my teeth, “make do” and get through the weather in Vienna (especially the upcoming winter).  Today was rough, and it’s October.  We just don’t have the equipment.  My boys have rain coats, but not enough layering pieces to put underneath when it’s cold and rainy but not so inclement as to pull out the winter parkas.  And, their legs are mostly unprotected from the elements (particularly an issue for Liam, who is in the stroller, legs out).  Neither of them have rain boots (or, for that matter, snow boots) right now.  I don’t own a functional umbrella.

When I first got here, I was surprised by all the “weather gear” I saw.  The Viennese seem to have about 12 different kinds of coats, twice that many kinds of footwear, scarves for use in all types of weather (literally — they wear them in July), plus hats, gloves, mittens, balaclavas.  They have rain covers as well as snow buntings for their strollers.  Their strollers even have holsters for their umbrellas.

Today was a good lesson in outerwear.  I wore my raincoat and boots — I was fine.  Benjamin wore his raincoat and sneakers — he was ok, but was worried about getting his light-up shoes in the rain puddles, lest it short them out (not something I had thought of?).  Poor Liam.  I put him in fleece pajamas, to make sure he was snug and covered, and then put his raincoat on top.  His clothes got pretty wet, but he stayed dry.  Of course, once we went inside the trains and the school, he got overheated in about a second.

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It’s only October.  I need to get myself equipped.

Six months, part two

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Yesterday, I wrote about having been here for six months, and the homesickness I’m feeling.  It’s hard to be away from everyone, to be sure.

But, at the same time, it’s a major accomplishment.  Six months ago today, we arrived in Vienna.  We had rented a place for 10 days, but had no way to pay for it.  We had no Euros, spoke no German and had no phones that would work here.  I don’t think I will ever forget the moment we wheeled ourselves, and our stuff, out of the airport and stood on the curb, waiting for Dan’s friend to come and pick us up.  It was cold, it was gray.  We had ourselves, one stroller, 5 suitcases, 3 backpacks, two kids and a dog.

Damn.

And here we are.  We now have a beautiful place, in a wonderful part of the city.  We go grocery shopping, we ride the train, we go to the bank.  Benjamin goes to school.  We all understand a little German, and we’re learning to speak some, too.  We’re learning a lot about the culture and customs of Vienna.  We’re finding our way, and our place, here in Vienna.  We have a really pleasant life here.  We’re doing great.

We will probably be here for two years.  That means one quarter of our time here has passed.  That really motivates me to get out more, to do more, to get us in gear and travel more.  No matter how strongly we still often feel like we’ve just arrived (and in many ways, that’s true) marking this milestone reminds me that before I know it, we’ll be packing up and planning to move home.  We still have so much to do and see here, and I don’t want to leave Vienna with any regrets.

Living abroad gives you new perspective on the way things can be done, and it gives you true appreciation for great things that you’ve always taken for granted.  Whatever the future holds, however long (or short) we stay here, we have been here long enough to be changed by this experience.  We are all citizens of the world in a way that we weren’t very recently.

Six months

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Six months ago today, just about now, actually, we were on our way to the airport.  Most of my family escorted us — everyone helped us prepare for our trip in some way.

We miss everyone, terribly.  We Skype, we email, we text, we call (occasionally), we even write real, actual cards and letters (on paper!) from time to time.  But it isn’t the same as being together.  It’s really hard being apart.  I’ve already started to plan our summer trip home next year — it’ll be the first time we’ll be able to see some of our family, and the first time we’ll all have been together since we left.  Liam has spent half of his life in Austria, away from the rest of our family.

I have a truly amazing family.  Even though my parents have been divorced for over 20 years, we all get together regularly.  For either Thanksgiving or Christmas, just about every year, we manage to get everyone together in the same place.  This will be the first time I’ve missed that in a long time.  And it’s not just me missing it — it’s painful for me that my boys are missing it, and I know Dan is going to miss being there (he loves holidays with my family).

(You can tell I’m homesick, because it’s the first week of October, and I’m already thinking about Christmas — and I’m not the type to not give Halloween it’s due).

It’s been 6 months since we’ve seen our friends — since we’ve been able to have dinner at one of their houses, meet up at a park, or have a play date.

I can’t believe I’ve been out of the US for 6 months.  Prior to coming here, I’d never been out of the US for longer than 4 days at a time.

We are enjoying our Viennese adventure, but that doesn’t make it painless.  I am so grateful for the loving family and friends we’ve left at home, and I miss them terribly.

What are you doing?

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Benjamin came out of the tub, just now, walked up to me sitting at the computer and asked, “What are you doing?”  “I’m writing my blog.”  (He has some sense of what that means — most days I write after he’s in bed, but some days, like today, I write when he’s in the tub and he gets to see me writing when he comes out.)

After nearly six months of religiously daily blog entries, I’ve struggled against writer’s block, I’ve struggled with figuring out which stories to share, where to draw the line at “too much information” and I’ve struggled with divulging some difficult times, in order to make this an honest description of this experience and not an overly optimistic, “everything is great all the time” tale.

I want this to be more than a journal — I try to avoid writing a log or a diary (“today we did this, then this, then this, ate this, went to bed”).  I want to capture the ups and the downs — not just of the huge adventure of moving a family of four, with two very small kids, to Europe — but the struggles and joys which make up daily life.

My hope is that writing this lets everyone at home share our journey with us.  I want everyone to know that this IS possible — travel with children, even moving abroad, isn’t as daunting or insurmountable as it seems.  My children are adaptable, enthusiastic travel companions, and I know their worldview, and mine, is forever broadened for having had this experience.  We miss everyone at home, and this adventure, sometimes, is incredibly hard.  But, we’re writing an exciting chapter in our lives, and for me, sharing it is an important part of the experience.

The return of the pirate ship balloon

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The day before Liam’s birthday, Benjamin and I purchased a pirate ship balloon that, rather than sailing home with us, sailed away, up into the clouds, on our way home.  Benjamin was heartbroken.  I was pretty upset myself.  I walked all the way back to the shop to see if they had another (they didn’t).

But, I didn’t give up.  What to do when you’re trying to find something elusive?  To the internet!  I found it on Amazon (uninflated, of course) and with a little translation, was able to find it on Amazon Germany, as well.  We bought two — just in case.

003They arrived today, and Dan took the boys down to the toy shop to see if they would inflate one of them for us.  They did.  (And now we have another — just in case this one flies out the window, or something, or for some time in the future.)

Benjamin is thrilled.  Liam loves it.  I feel great about being able to fix my mistake (I’m the one who let the balloon go, accidentally).  Dan got to help by getting the new balloon filled.  The whole family is happy.  I am so grateful we were able to do it.

I know it’s just a little thing.  I don’t want my kids growing up thinking that the THING is what’s important.  I hope they see the love behind the actions — the effort we went to in order to fix the mistake, and to help Benjamin give his thoughtful gift to Liam.  I hope they see the love in the pirate ship balloon.  I do.

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Picnic and pumpkin cake

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Another beautiful Sunday here in Vienna.  The last few weekends have been like this, and each time, we think it’ll probably be the last one.

I’m holding out hope for yet one more, because I was sick again today and missed out on enjoying the beautiful autumn weather.  I didn’t leave the house.  I didn’t do anything, except sleep and occasionally attempt to keep my children from meeting an early demise.

Dan did a great job of wrangling everyone, but I’m also incredibly grateful for our downstairs neighbor.  She called up earlier and invited us all to join her family for a picnic in the park and some of the cake she was baking.  I was too sick to go, but Dan and the boys took her up on her offer.  From all accounts, they had a great time (and they even brought some cake back for me — yummy!).  They ate cake, my neighbor’s oldest daugher played endlessly with Benjamin (and a little with Liam) and Dan got to chat with our neighbor.

It’s always a bummer to be sick.  Worse for it to be on the weekend.  Worse for it to be on a beautiful day.  Worse for it to interfere with plans I have with the kids (we were planning to go to the zoo today).  It was really nice that my kids got to get out and enjoy the day, even though I was stuck inside.  With any luck, I’ll be feeling better tomorrow!  And with an extra bit of luck, next weekend will be beautiful, too.