When we lived in the US, we were Christmas tree purists. We would drive out into the country, cut down a tree by ourselves (from a tree farm, though, not on the side of the road or anything), attach it to the top of our 2 door Honda Civic (with twine), and drive an hour back home, fingers crossed that it didn’t go flying off. (At least, most years, that’s what we did. I think we twice bought a tree from a tree lot and, maybe also twice, got a tree from a farm a little closer to our home.) It was kind of a point of pride, and also a fun tradition. We were so stuck in our tradition that we made the trip even on a horribly cold and fiercely windy day when Benjamin was only 4 months old (not a choice I would make again).

Here, without a car, and not wanting to try to find out how Austrians would react to someone putting a freshly cut pine tree on a train, we’ve gone the simple route. Tree lots here don’t pop up until mid-December (yesterday was the first day of business for most of them) but when they do, there’s one in front of a church less than a block from our front door. So, that’s where we search for our tree.

Christmas trees in Vienna are less full than what we’re used to at home. Last year, I was a little sad about it — I thought, “This doesn’t look right!” but then, after bringing it home and decorating it, I was very pleasantly surprised. Fewer branches mean fewer lights are required, and there are a lot of great spots to hang ornaments. I loved our tree last year, and I wanted to find one just like it this year.

We set out on our search. In all, the tree lot was only about the size of our living room, and once you eliminate the ones that are super small or way too big, we only really had a few to choose from. After a few minutes of debate, and some building grumpiness between Dan & I (if anyone knows how to select a Christmas tree with your spouse without anyone getting irritable, PLEASE share your secret), we selected the perfect Christmas tree. It was the one that both Dan & Benjamin voted for (Liam mostly wanted to try to run into the road, and didn’t seem to have a strong opinion otherwise). I love it, too. Of course, Christmas trees are like Halloween pumpkins — whichever one you pick ends up being great. It’s at least as beautiful as the one we had last year and is *exactly* the same height as our ceiling (particularly impressive because we forgot . . . again . . . to measure it).

It’s currently standing in the corner, absorbing water (hopefully). I was going to put lights on it, but the boys are napping, and Benjamin asked me not to do the lights without him. But here we are, with another perfect Christmas tree. The tree, and the method of acquisition, are quite different than what we used to do at home, but the result is pleasantly familiar. Christmastime is here!

I’ve committed to writing and posting every day.  It’s a promise I made to myself (more than to my readers) because I know that it’s so easy to decide NOT to write on the days when things are hard and to only highlight the successes and the funny challenges, leaving the frustrating, overwhelming or dark days undocumented.

Some days are harder than others.

Today, I’m really struggling to write.  Things were generally fine here in Vienna today.  We had a pretty normal “preparing for Christmas” Saturday with a grocery store trip, laundry folded, toys cleaned up, some gifts wrapped and a trip to a Christmas market.  Life was actually wonderfully good and normal and very pleasant.

I could write about some of that.  But every time I try to start, all I can think about is what happened in Connecticut yesterday.  While I was happily enjoying Benjamin’s successful return from a field trip with his class, tragedy was unfolding across the Atlantic.

I don’t want to think about it.  I don’t know how to process it.  I can’t really think about it.  Whenever I hear about someone losing a child, I kind of shut down a little.  I have a friend who lost a child to cancer over the summer, and although I shared the story on my blog back in the spring, I couldn’t bring myself to mention it — to anyone — when he passed away in August.  I understand that this is avoidance and denial and not at all the best of me as a person, but I just don’t know how to deal with it.

At the same time, I can’t think about much else, and I certainly can’t write about anything else.  So, if I’m going to hold myself to writing every day, and I’m going to be honest about what’s going on with me, I guess this is what I’m going to write about today.

I don’t have any profound words or deep reflections to share.  I don’t know.  I don’t know anything.  This kind of loss, this kind of violence, is inconceivable, heartbreaking and overwhelming.  It is terrifying.

I want to snuggle my babies and never let them go.  Anywhere.  Ever.  I want to keep them home.  No school.  No outings.  Nothing.  Just home, with me.  Home, where they are safe, where I can hold them and do my best to protect them from everything.

But that is not what children are destined for.  They aren’t meant to live in a perfectly protected bubble with me.  They have to go out, into the world, to learn and grow and explore and meet other amazing people and, together, make the world an even better place.

And right now, it just hurts too much to think about what happened in Connecticut, or what happened to my classmate’s child, or the loss of any parent ever who has to live through a single moment of that kind of pain.  I’m embarrassed to admit it, and honestly surprised at myself, but it hurts too much to even open myself up to feel empathy for what they’re experiencing.  I cannot face it.  I cannot look at it.  Even squinting at it sideways, the horror of it is so vast that I have to turn away.

I feel sick.  I feel broken.  I am so shocked and sad, and I am so sorry that I am not up to feeling the empathy and facing the darkness of it.

I guess it’s inevitable.  I’m constantly comparing our current experience with what we were going through this same time a year ago.  It can be hard to recognize our progress here — almost every day can pose a new challenge, and often leaves us feeling deflated or discouraged.  But, looking at how much things have changed gives me better perspective.  Today, Benjamin went on a field trip to a Christmas market with his class, and I keep thinking about how differently things went this year.  I can see how much more acclimated we’ve become.

Last year, when his class went on the trip to the Christmas market, it came as a complete surprise to us.  It was really unsettling, kind of stressful and relatively worrisome (even though it all turned out just fine).  I remember debating with Dan whether we should continue to send B to school at all, in light of the fact that we obviously didn’t know what was going on and weren’t kept informed.  This year, we knew it was coming.  Our German is MUCH better, and we have taken it as our sole responsibility (which, of course, it is) to keep ourselves informed about what’s going on with his class.  It’s pretty unlikely that anything like that could take us by surprise again.

Last year, we were kind of overwhelmed about the idea of our little guy going out without us, and we were shocked by the fact that there weren’t any permission slips or liability releases to sign.  This year, we know how it works.  He’s been out with his class quite a few times, and the sight of a kindergarten class walking down the sidewalk, following, hand in hand, in the wake of a teacher, is commonplace to us.  I always smile and imagine how cute B is, along with his class, when they’re all out together.

Like last year, he had a wonderful time, but unlike last year, we expected that to be the case.  I bundled him up in a warm hat (the wolf hat, of course), fuzzy mittens, cozy fleece-lined pants, wool socks and his winter jacket.  Last year, we were just acclimating to a Vienna winter and we didn’t really know how to prepare to be out in it.  Now we’ve got it covered.

He had a great day today, and it was no big deal for him.  For me, he’s still 4 and I’m still his mom, so I still worry.  But we’re all getting the hang of this.

The Christmas songs Benjamin learns and sings at school are different than the ones I know.  I don’t recognize many of the songs he comes home singing, and he often doesn’t absorb enough of the words to teach me.  (We sing one about St. Nicholas that — in our house — goes, “Niko, Niko, Nikolaus, something something am der Haus!”)

But even the ones that I know, and that I’ve taught him, take on some new flavors when put through a four year old’s auditory filter.

“Deck the Halls” begins with, “Deck the halls with fallen jolly!” and “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” is now the rather more colorful, “What the hell the angels singing!  Glory to the hew horn king!  He fought Earth, and mercy mild, God and Santa, Christmas style.”

I absolutely love the Benjamin versions of these songs, and I honestly hope it takes him a long while to figure out the “right” words.

This is our second time around with St. Nicholas’ Day, and I feel like I’m starting to get it.  If you’re bad, Krampus comes to get you on the night of the 5th.  If you’re good, St. Nicholas visits your house while you sleep (on the night of the 5th) and you wake up on the 6th to shoes with toys and sweets in them.

Since we live in Vienna, we have seen very little of the Krampus-related festivities, because, from what I understand, that’s a much bigger deal out in the countryside.  (Which is probably good, because I think it’s the scariest and creepiest Christmas tradition I’ve ever heard of.)  But Benjamin had a lovely visit from St. Nicholas at school yesterday — the kids went out for a walk and when they came back, St. Nicholas had visited and left behind sweets, nuts and oranges for all of the children.

Then, St. Nicholas visited our house, too!  Looks like everyone in our house was good.  Well, almost!