Both of my boys are currently of an age where they get lots of (thankfully minor, so far) injuries. Liam is great at walking, so now he’s trying more ambitious things, like running, jumping and climbing on the furniture. Benjamin has entered the phase of maleness where he believes he is invincible (which, as I understand it, will last until he’s nearly 40, at least). Consequently, they get their share of bumps, bruises and bonks. Just a few weeks ago, B had to go to the Emergency Room (the Accident Department here) for an x-ray to rule out a broken nose, and today, Liam fell and got a bad bonk to the head.
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It’s supposed to be hard
I remember the first few days and weeks (and even maybe months) after the birth of each of my boys. I remember being overwhelmed, emotional and stressed (and a lot of good things too). I felt like I’d never be able to manage everything. After Liam was born, I posted to Facebook something like, “I have no idea how you other moms all do this with more than one child. This is so hard!” and the first response I got back was a friend of mine from college who has two kids: “It’s supposed to be hard!”
The cold and the warm
Reply
It’s cold here now. Really cold. (I’ve heard, though, that it gets colder. I know, what was I expecting? I moved to Vienna.) This is the kind of cold I’ve only had a passing acquaintance with — as in, once every few years of my life I’ve experienced cold like this, only for a few moments, on the way from my house to my car or my car to wherever I was going, and on very few occasions, for longer — when I would have to do something for one of the horses at the barn (but I usually avoided the barn when it was this cold).
On the other hand
I love sharing the fun, adventurous experiences we have here, like going to Innsbruck and sledding down a mountain. I share all of this in part to document the experience, and in part to encourage others to do this kind of thing — to travel with your children, to push the envelope of what you think is possible, to explore the world. But, it isn’t all sweetness and light, and I want to share that part, too. I was so euphoric from our trip to Innsbruck when I wrote about it the other day that I didn’t include the other side of the trip, and I think it’s only fair to capture that part, too. Travel with kids is challenging. There are going to be moments where you think, “Why did we do this again? Wasn’t this supposed to be fun?” But those moments will pass, and it is fun, and you’ll be glad you did it (I am).
Dirndl
I thought about it over the weekend, and decided that my best bet (for my sanity, if not for my bank balance) in dealing with all of my current dress drama was just to go out and buy another dress. That way, if the first shop surprises me and makes the dress like I wanted it, I’ll end up with the good problem of having two nice things to choose between, rather than having to scramble at the true last minute if it doesn’t work out well. It took me a while to make up my mind about what to get — I didn’t want to go out and get something similar to what I’m having made: then I could, potentially, end up with two dresses, neither of which I like very much. This would pretty much defeat the purpose of having a “plan B dress”.
Just go
Innsbruck was wonderful. We had a good time, we played in the snow, we explored, we saw the Alpine part of Austria. I now feel comfortable saying “I like Austria”, rather than just “I like Vienna” (I’ve been saying, “I like Austria” but I really didn’t have much data beyond Vienna). We’re already planning for the next time we go to Innsbruck — what we’ll see again, what we’ll do differently. I want to go again in the winter and also in the summer, but I also have a long list of other places we want to explore, so we’ll have to see exactly how it works out.
Happy, happy, happy, happy, happy
We had another great day in Innsbruck. We took the funicular, and then two cable cars, up the Nordkette — the massive mountain to the north of Innsbruck. It was snowing today, and while that was fun and very seasonal, it obscured what would have been a breathtaking view with clouds and fog.
Toboganning in the Alps
One of two things I wanted to be sure to do while in Innsbruck was to go sledding. I had inquired about it at the hotel before we came, but when we stopped by the front desk to get more information this morning, the receptionist was only kind of helpful, and when we got to the bus stop she directed us to, we found that the route number she gave us didn’t go to the right place. So, we took a gamble and picked another bus. We asked the driver, who was very patient with our Germenglish, about sledding (“rodeln” in German — my new word for today) and he assured us he could get us there and then helped us load the stroller in the bus. Off we went.
To Innsbruck
First off, I’m going to brag a little: I think I may be the world’s best packer. When we laid out all of the things we needed to bring with us on this trip, I thought there was no way we were going to get away with only packing two suitcases and a backpack . . . but we did. It’s impossible to really pack light with kids, and winter weather makes it harder (snow pants, wool socks, long underwear, hats, gloves, mittens, etc., times two) but we got away with only a little luggage.
Adventures, and failures, in dress making
Earlier this evening, I had my first (of two) fittings for the dress I’m having made for the ball. It’s a pretty color. The skirt is quite full, so I shouldn’t have any trouble dancing comfortably. My arms will be covered. I’m sure it will fit me quite well. I am confident that it is of a style appropriate to attending a ball.
Those are the only nice things I have to say about it.
It seems that nearly everything, from the silhouette of the dress to the length of the arms to the cut of the back — even the time of the appointment — was miscommunicated in the great game of multi-language telephone played between myself, the shop clerk and the seamstress. The shop assistant kept saying things like, “I thought she was going to . . . ” and I kept saying, “Me too”. I think that I understood the shop assistant just fine — it seems that most of the breakdown of communication was between her and the seamstress, who did not, it seems, understand what I was going for. In many ways, the dress is the complete opposite of what I asked for, and I think several of my “not”s must have been lost in translation (as in, “I would NOT like it to have an empire waist, and I would NOT like there to be a horizontal seam across the middle of the dress”).
Sigh. I’m frustrated, disappointed, and I feel pretty dumb. I’ve just invested a great deal of money in a dress that will be much less flattering than several of the less expensive options I tried on at the dress shops. It’s hard, because I don’t feel good about my current weight, or how I look these days, so putting on a dress that I was hoping would be lovely, and is instead frumpy and unflattering, is no fun. It dims my enthusiasm about going to the ball, which, although understandable, is really kind of silly. Yes, it would be great to have a gorgeous dress and feel beautiful, but I’m going to a *ball* at the *palace*, and what I’m wearing need not be the focus of the evening. I’m trying to keep myself focused on the wonderful time we’re going to have, and on being grateful for the fact that I even have this problem to worry about in the first place.
Both the seamstress and the shop assistant seemed confident that they’ll be able to rectify my issues at the next fitting. I am not holding my breath. But maybe they will pull off a miracle. Maybe. If not, my options are to reject the dress (I have no idea how that would go over in Vienna, but I may try it anyway, although I do accept partial responsibility for the failure of communication — I’m the one in a German speaking country without the ability to speak the language) but then I’d have to scurry around to try and find something else that will work (and which would probably need to be altered), or I can accept it in whatever state it’s in at the next fitting next week and make the most of it.
At this point, perhaps I’ve now mentally set the bar so low that when I see it again next week, I’ll be pleasantly surprised. I doubt it, but I’ll hope.