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Essen

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017We were running late getting to school this morning. We were late getting out of the house, and then, with lots of new, fresh snow on the ground, B wanted to take his time, walking in the untouched patches and climbing on the piles of plowed and shovelled snow. Even though I generally hate to be late, I let him take his time. It’s the middle of February, and who knows how many more snowy mornings we’ll have this year where we can play in the snow on the way to school? So, we were a bit late — just a few minutes, nothing major.

The kindergartens here serve breakfast to the students, and that’s one of the first things the kids do upon their arrival to school each morning. They take turns, 3-4 kids from each class go to “essen” at a time. Since we were late, and B wanted to eat (for him, it’s really just a snack, since we have breakfast at home), as soon as I got him into his classroom, he turned around and headed back out to eat. It was a nice surprise to see him in the hallway as I was checking the notice board for any new information. And then, I got to watch him have his snack.

It’s the first time I’ve been able to observe him eating at school. He usually does it after I’ve gone. I was amazed to see how well he’s doing, how well he’s adjusted, and what a great job he does of taking care of himself. He found a spot, sat down, and promptly dropped his spoon. No problem — he got up, took it to the dirty dish area, got another one, and sat back down. One of the teachers came by to serve him tea, and he very politely (and in German) said that he preferred water. Then another teacher came by to serve him some bread, which he took, and thanked her for. Then, as he was all settled in and happily starting his snack, I left and headed home. But I was so impressed by my guy. It was so great to see him behaving so well, being so polite and still making sure he got what he wanted. And to see him do it all, in German, like it was no big deal, was a very big deal to me. I’m so happy to have been able to witness a little moment like this, and to see how well he’s doing.

I love the snow!

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015I feel like I never know what the weather is going to be like here.  The forecasts that I get on my phone are notoriously inaccurate, and relatively lacking in detail.  So, although I saw that we were supposed to get some snow here this week, I expected a dusting, or rain (because that’s what’s been happening lately when the forecast has called for snow).  Instead, we woke up yesterday morning to several inches of snow on the ground, and it’s pretty much been falling since.

I think this is a great thing.  I love the snow.  And, having no car and nothing to shovel, there’s very little downside to getting inundated with snow.  So, I say, bring it on.  My kids agree.  Benjamin loves walking in fresh snow.  He loves looking back and seeing that his footprints are the only 019ones through a smooth, otherwise unbroken area of fluffy whiteness.  He loves throwing snowballs, making snowmen and catching snowflakes on his tongue.  At his preschool, they play and sled outside on snowy days, and that has made snowy days some of his favorites at school.  Liam loves the snow, too.  He loves to go for walks in the snow (well, he loves to go for walks anytime) and he treks from one slushy puddle to the next, jumping up and down and making himself an icy mess.  And he loves to throw snowballs, squish snowmen and eat snow.

030Right now, I’m sitting in my living room and watching the snow fall outside.  By the time we went out yesterday to play on our terrace (which is open to the sky, but warmer and more sheltered than a real “outdoors” area, so we often don’t get any snow accumulation out there, even when there are several inches elsewhere), we already had 5.5″ on the ground.  And, since it’s pretty much been falling since then, and is supposed to fall through tonight, I don’t think the estimates of up to 10″ that I’ve seen seem unreasonable.  (Of course, they do a pretty good job of clearing the snow around Vienna, so I haven’t seen any one place with nearly that much accumulated.)

Yesterday, B & I walked out the front door to go to school, and there were already about 4″ of snow on the ground.  He exclaimed, “I love the snow!  My heart thinks it’s great!”  I agree.  My heart thinks so, too.040044

I would like to rent some ice skates to you!

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Most of the time, I conduct my retail transactions here in German.  It’s something I do a lot, and the variations are relatively minimal, so I’ve gotten a lot of practice.  You walk up, present your item for purchase, you’re given a price, sometimes they ask if you want a bag, I ask if they take bank card (if that’s how I’m paying), I present my payment, receive my change (if applicable), they ask if I want a receipt, they thank me, I say goodbye.  I can do that, MOST of the time, without resorting to English.

Every so often I get a curve ball.  The other day, I was paying for the alterations to my dress for the ball, and in between telling them I wanted to pay with my bank card and the part where they give me my receipt, they asked me a question.  Not a typical question for that scenario, and I couldn’t make heads or tails of it.  It turns out that they were taking a survey and asking for everyone’s home town.  It wasn’t the usual “Woher kommen Sie?” (“Where do you come from?”) that I know how to answer, so I asked them to repeat it, twice, until they resorted to the standard question, which I knew how to answer.  But, most of the time, I do ok.

But every time we’ve been over to the Rathaus to go ice skating, we’ve failed at renting skates.  We do fine with purchasing our tickets and getting a locker key, but we’ve failed each time when we’ve tried to rent skates.  Several times, we had to resort to English, and the one time we thought we’d managed in German it turned out we had accidentally purchased a pass to have our (non-existent) skates sharpened.  We had to go back and fix it, in English.

I couldn’t understand it.  I was reading the German right off of the sign!  Why wasn’t it working?  Why, in this one instance, were we having so much trouble?

So, I asked my German teacher last night, and now I know.  I assumed that what I was reading off of the sign translated to “skate rental” . . . because the sign *has* an English translation, and that’s what it said underneath.  So I was saying, “We would like skate rental”, which, although maybe not perfect, was close enough.  Or so I thought.  A more accurate translation of what I was saying was, “We would like to rent you skates.”  And, because my German pronunciation is pretty good, I was very confusing.  If I’d been butchering the pronunciation, they probably would have huffed at me and rolled their eyes and figured it out.  But I was very confidently and correctly saying, “I’d like to rent you some skates, please!”, and then, I would repeat it when asked.

It turns out, “I would like to rent some skates” is a whole different sentence with a whole different verb.  I think next time will go a lot better.

Faschingsfest

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Today was the Faschingsfest celebration at B’s school — an Austrian version of Carnival or Mardi Gras.  It’s basically a big pre-lent party.  Last year, B was sick and missed out on Faschingsfest, so this was our first, and we weren’t sure what it would be like.

022We knew that Faschingsfest is the big costume dress holiday here, similar, in that way, to Halloween in the US, except with an emphasis on cute and funny costumes, rather than scary ones.  Still, we didn’t know quite what it would be like, and it’s a little stressful to get your kid dressed for an almost-but-not-quite Halloween dress up party for school when you’re not at all sure what he should be wearing.  We had to make an educated guess on costumes, and we decided to choose from what we already have (because, if you’re equally likely to get it wrong either way, better to not invest the money in a new costume).  B considered his options and elected to go as an Ewok.  When we arrived at school this morning, he was very much in keeping with the correct spirit of the costumes — there was a princess, two kings, a knight, two Spidermen, two Batmen, a clown, a penguin, several pirates, a fireman and a Pippi Longstocking.  I think he chose perfectly.

They celebrated with games, hot dogs, candy, a puppet theater and balloons.  According to B, it was a “great day”.  Our first Faschingsfest was a success!

Preparing for the ball (again)

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Getting ready to attend the IAEA ball last year was not fun.  I was shocked by the prices of the dresses, seriously disappointed by the selection in my size and discouraged by the terrible customer service in the shops.  After several weeks of frustration and failure, I decided to have a dress made . . . which ended up being more expensive and less satisfying than the other options would have been.  My visions of feeling like an elegant princess, all fancied up for the ball, dissolved into a reality of having to convince myself that I would have a wonderful time regardless of what I was wearing.  I did ultimately enjoy myself, but having to settle in terms of attire certainly detracted from the experience.

This year, I was better informed and more prepared.  To start, I ordered a dress online from the US.  When it arrived, which took longer than I expected,  I was pleased — it fit relatively well and is at least as nice as the dresses I saw in most of the shops here (for 1/3 the price).  I was still a bit daunted by the process of having the dress altered, though, particularly because of last year’s debacle.  Dan asked around at work, but we didn’t come up with any resounding recommendations that were likely to have the dress finished in time for next weekend’s ball.  One friend had some success at a department store, but it was far away, so I borrowed that idea and stopped by a department store (Peek & Cloppenburg on Karntnerstrasse) in the center of Vienna to ask if they would do the necessary alterations.

Success!  They do alterations, even of clothes bought elsewhere, and they can have it done by Friday.  I took it in on Saturday, and she seemed to know what she was doing (and spoke a little English, too).  I don’t know yet how it will turn out, but I’m miles ahead of where I was this time last year.  I’m feeling much more hopeful about my chances for a magical evening this time around.

Library train

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Naturally, there are many cultural differences between Americans and Austrians.  Austrians are generally more orderly than Americans.  They are more careful about disposing of their garbage (and recycling, all of which is separated at the point of disposal here — i.e., there are separate bins for trash, paper, plastic and glass, even in the subway stations).  The bus and train systems here operate on nearly an honor system, which is rarely checked (although highly fined for violators).  On the other hand, Austrians hate to wait in lines and they almost never form an organized queue for anything.  Customer service here is nothing like what we’re used to in the US.  And although Austrians greet people in shops by habit and always stop to talk to neighbors and people they know, they almost never smile at or speak to strangers.

One of the most striking differences has to do with personal volume.  When in a public space in Austria, tourists and new arrivals stick out because they’re loud.  Really loud.  Obnoxiously loud.  Even speaking at what we consider to be normal conversational volume, we’re likely to be the loudest people around, in almost any setting.  I’ve gotten used to this, but it’s still a striking enough contrast to catch my attention.  Sitting at Starbucks, having a German lesson, I sometimes have to strain to hear my teacher.  She’s not unusually quiet, she’s just Austrian, and they have a cultural habit of keeping the noise down.

Yesterday morning, on the train with Benjamin, I was reminded of this again.  We were on the train, packed — standing room only — with morning commuters.  Benjamin and I were lucky enough to get a seat, and he was sitting on my lap and playing with a new toy.  His new toy is a little robotic fish that flaps its tail fin if you push a button.  It’s a quiet, mechanical noise, quieter than clicking the tip of a pen in and out.  It was, by far, the loudest sound on the train.  People who were talking were doing it in a near whisper, and headphones were quiet enough to be heard only by the wearer.  No one was bothered by Benjamin (kids are generally given a lot of allowances here for that kind of thing) but I was reminded of how different things are here.  The volume on this crowded morning train was more like that of a library than of a segment of public transportation.  That’s just what it’s like here.  That’s just Vienna.

Language barriers

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I think that living in a new culture is hard for nearly everyone who tries it, and it’s an extra challenge when the local language is different from yours . . . even worse if it’s entirely new to you. Even now, nearly 2 years in to our adventure here, I struggle with the language. I haven’t practiced enough, and English is fairly commonly spoken here, so I get away with it.

I resist learning German. Much more than I ought to. Part of that is because I find it challenging (although easier and more intuitive than other languages). But mostly, I stick to English because I love it. I love English — not because it’s English, but because I’m such a fanatic for knowing it well. I express myself in English, so my identity is wrapped up in the words I use to define and describe myself. I love to write, and I only know how to write in English. Whatever I need or want to use words for — to be friendly, kind, helpful, clever, interesting, disinterested, warm or distant — I know which to choose and how to use them. Without English, I have no tools. I have no way to place myself into the world, except by just being (and that’s hard, awkward and uncomfortable).

The English language is my medium, like paint or musical composition might be for someone else. I use it to give myself context in social interactions, the way other people use their clothes, hair and makeup. I weigh and evaluate words to feel out the social landscape the way a more savvy person might use body language or social cues. It is how I make sense of my life and express my inner self to the world. Every day, I have to use another medium, one in which I’m a novice. It’s frustrating. It’s isolating. I can’t express ME in German.

So, when I have the option, I use English. It’s a bad habit that I have so much trouble getting over. Most importantly because, in using English, I put those I interact with in the same awkward position that I’m trying to avoid — they can’t really express themselves, either.

Ben-ja-min

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001Just recently, Liam’s verbal ability has exploded.  In a single 24 hour period, about 2 weeks ago, he went from stringing short phrases together, often requiring a lot of translation by me, to speaking rather clearly in complete sentences.  Whatever quantum of knowledge and skill is required to communicate in a more advanced manner, he achieved it, and he hasn’t looked back.  It is amazing, wonderful, and a little bittersweet to see him take this major step.  (But, mostly, it’s really cool to be able to understand him so well.)

Liam’s first word was “no”.  Early on, he naturally added “mommy” and “daddy” to his repertoire, but he came up with his own interpretation of B’s name — something that sounded a little like “Meh”.  I kept expecting it to evolve into something that sounded more like Benjamin, but it never changed.  He started with “Meh”, and that’s where he stayed.

And then, on Tuesday, folded right into these past two weeks of language revolution, Liam said, “Ben-ja-min.”  Just like that.  No middle step, no gradual transformation.  Just “Ben-ja-min”, just like that, and then he repeated it when I asked him to.  And he smiled and laughed.

He still uses “Meh” most of the time.  But I know he’s got “Ben-ja-min” in there.  Hearing B say, “I love you, Liam”, and then getting to hear Liam say back, “I love you, too, Benjamin”, may just be the most fantastic thing I’ve heard, ever.  I can’t wait to hear what he’s going to say next.

Birth order and sick kids

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My life is so glamorous.  Liam has been sick so I’ve spent the past few days cleaning up the liquids that come out of my kid at high rates of speed from both ends.  (So fancy, this life in Europe.  Also, nothing makes me miss my big, fast American washing machine like a couple of days of kid illness.)

I’ve been a mom for 4 1/2 years now, so although no one is happy when the boys are sick, it doesn’t overwhelm me or freak me out like it once did.  In a few days, Liam will feel better.  Then maybe B will get sick, or I will, and then, at some point in the near future, we’ll all be well and we’ll get back to normal life.  Everything we own can be cleaned (or replaced).  And although middle of the night cleaning isn’t my most favorite thing, it doesn’t kill me (or even ruin my day).  So, armed with this knowledge, I face Liam’s illness — sleep deprived, sympathetic, patient, and full of coffee.

But I didn’t always feel this way.  I vividly remember past times, especially when B was little, when a stomach illness in B created panic in me.  Getting him cleaned up and taken care of on top of cleaning up the house and doing it on no sleep made me a little crazy.  I felt like THIS was now my existence.  I lived in a space where I lost all perspective and couldn’t keep myself mindful of the fact that it was temporary and that however unhappy I was, my little one was suffering more than me.  I was reduced to tears more than once — scrubbing carpets, washing sheets and blankets, cleaning the couch for the third time in a single day.  I always managed to keep it together while holding, comforting or cleaning B, but, often, everything else was too much for me.

And I’m just not like that anymore.  Sure, it can still be daunting to deal with the collateral damage from a sick kid, but, the vast majority of the time, I maintain reasonable stress levels and don’t fall apart.

The other night, when I was up at 1:30 a.m., cleaning everything in Liam’s room and not freaking out, I reflected on how lucky Liam is in this way.  His illnesses don’t happen alongside a breakdown from Mommy.  B has that experience now, but for his first few years, he didn’t.  And it’s not just when they’re sick — I take everything more in stride now than I did when I was new at this.

On the other hand, I’m so often aware of how much one-on-one time B had with me when he was little, and how much less of that there is for Liam.  B got more of me, but I was so much less together.  Liam gets less, but I’m probably traumatizing him less, on average.  I guess it works out.  And I really, really hope that B ends up with more memories of the mommy that I am now, rather than the basket case I once was.

Guest post: Reflections on Security in our International School

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And now, for my first ever guest post, submitted by an expat mom who wishes to remain anonymous (for the purposes of not identifying her children or their school, and thus not compromising any of the security measures mentioned here).

Today our international school experienced a scheduled security lockdown drill.  Nothing unheard of in any school… fire drills, tornado drills, security drills.  We’ve all experienced them throughout our school and work careers.

What struck me today as noteworthy, though, was the utter seriousness with which everyone took this drill… most notably, the students.  In my experience in the US, I’ve found students and even adults laughing and acting as though these drills had no meaning.  And perhaps, until one experiences a situation in which what was drilled actually comes in handy, the meaning truly can’t sink in.

When we first visited this school, we noted the campus was fenced and had discretely mounted security cameras.  Not particularly noteworthy, as many schools are fenced and monitored, until closer observation reveals the barbed-wired top on the fence.  Okay… this makes sense considering the student population who attends such schools.  And while many students arrive at school via school bus and public transportation, it is also very common to see students arriving in a private car, with darkened windows and a ‘driver.’  It is yet another subtle reminder of the community which we have become a part of here.

Unlike drills in the US, when the lockdown alert went out this morning, it was not a ‘this is a drill’ announcement.  It was a school-wide announcement of a somewhat innocuous nature.  It wasn’t what I was expecting to hear at all.  But all of the students and teachers who were in the library where I was immediately got up, left everything in place, including personal and school laptops, and quietly filed through a previously unnoticed and unremarkable door.

We found ourselves in a secure room, normally used for storage, but with a low sitting bench built into the storage areas.  I had to reflect on how long we might be in here in other circumstances.  As the students entered, they filed to the far ends of the benches without direction, with no pushing, shoving or joking which might require adult correction.  They were reminded to silence their cell phones.  And then we sat… silently.  There was the occasional very low whisper, but it never lasted for more than a sentence or two and was quickly ended, again without adult intervention.   And not once did the whispers escalate into the dull murmured roar, which seems typical of a group, which is waiting in ‘silence’.

We waited quietly for about ten minutes.  It seemed longer.  You could hear occasional footsteps in the hallways through the walls.  And then the ‘all clear’ announcement came.  The students got up and filed right back out again in an orderly way… and went back about their business as if this was just another day in the life of an international student….