Category Archives: Adventure in Vienna

Playing tent

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A long time ago (in relative terms) Benjamin started playing “tent” with his Grandma.  They would climb into “her” bed (the guest bed at our house) and pull the covers over their heads.  They’d bring a flashlight, and lots of toys, and sometimes books to read, too.  Benjamin LOVES this game — it’s one of the first games he ever played, and he plays it enthusiastically with anyone who will participate.

He hasn’t gotten much chance to play for a while.  He played it when my mom came to visit, and when Dan’s parents came (they’ve been trained to play, too).  Dan and I will play with him from time to time, but it’s a tough game to play with one parent and two children in a bed — too much chance of someone toppling out onto the wood floor.  So, it’s most often reserved for when one of the grandparents visits, or when we have some one on one play time with B (which doesn’t happen as often as I wish it would — and when it does, it is usually spent on trips to the park or other outdoor endeavors).

Today, Benjamin was pretty heartbroken at the idea of going to school.  On the way, I was trying to think of something for him to look forward to in the afternoon — something to think about other than the two hours of school ahead of him.  It’s rainy and cold today in Vienna, and all the fun activities I could think of are outside things:  going to the park, blowing bubbles on the terrace, coloring with sidewalk chalk . . . I was stuck.  But then, I thought of playing tent!  So, I propsed the idea to him.  He was delighted.  He was still pretty sad about having to go to school, but every time I reminded him that after school, we’d go home, make a tent on the couch, get a flashlight and some books and play in the tent, he’d brighten up a bit.

It turned out that he had a great day at school:  he played, he did arts and crafts, he had a snack (lots of grapes and lots of cake).  After school, we came home, had a “snack” (otherwise known as lunch, but if I call it lunch, he won’t eat it), took a nap.  And after nap time, we got out a sheet and built a tent in our living room.  We got the flashlight, collected some books and toys, rounded up Liam, and all climbed into our couch tent (which is much more manageable than the tent in the bed).  Benjamin and Liam had a wonderful time, and so did I.  It was my favorite part of my whole day.

Getting better?

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008I think we’re all nearly better.  I think so.  We had one of those days today where you kind of almost feel ok, and then you go out to walk the dog and come back sweating, with your pulse pounding, breathing hard and completely exhausted.  So, most of the symptoms are gone, but your body is obviously still working on something.

We spent our weekend on half-speed, trying to take good care of ourselves but starting to go a bit stir crazy and getting a little impatient with the state of the house.  Living at half-speed is actually a pretty nice way to spend a weekend.  We got some basic things done around the house:  some of the vacuuming, a little bit of laundry, straightened a little.  I made some chili, Dan went to the grocery store.  We all took naps at the same time (more or less) and tried to recuperate a little.  It wasn’t a very remarkable weekend, but it was really nice and quiet.

Hopefully, we will all sleep well tonight and wake up rested and ready to go in the morning.  I’m really ready to get back to “normal” (whatever that is).  I’m ready to get B back to school (for more than the hour he went for on Friday), to get Dan back to work and for Liam and I to start figuring out what it means to have B at school and Dan at work.  If there’s one good thing about being sick, it’s the appreciation it gives you for how nice things are when you’re not.

Selling the house

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Our house was sold yesterday.  I’d say, “We sold our house yesterday”, but the truth is, my mom handled all of it — preparing it for sale, dealing with the details of selling it and getting it finally done.  She’s the best mom (and realtor) ever.  She saw us through 4 contract negotiations, and just when we were about to give up and rent it, we finally found a serious buyer . . . and one who was in a hurry, which was an extra bonus.

It’s strange.  For the first time in 17 years, nothing is tying me to Virginia.  My family is in Maryland, our “official” US address right now is in Florida, with Dan’s parents.  I am, truly, no longer a resident of Virginia.  It makes me a little sad, because Virginia is home to some of my most favorite places on Earth, and has been my home for a long time.

It’s further strange, because I’m no longer a property owner.  I don’t own a home or a car.  The bulk of my “stuff” (in both a physical and financial sense) has been removed from my life.  I’m back to being part of the proletariat, after years amongst the bourgeoisie.

It’s strange, too, because what has been our home for so long now belongs to someone else.  We bought this condo nearly 10 years ago.  It was the first home either Dan or I owned, and the first home we set up together (the apartment we lived in before that was the apartment Dan chose and set up after finishing with college in 1997 — I joined him there, but it wasn’t ever really “our” place).  It’s the home where we built our family.  It’s where we brought our babies home from the hospital, where Benjamin took is first steps and had his first birthday party.  Liam won’t even remember this house, but Benjamin might, a little.

The fact that it itsn’t ours anymore is a little sad, but not as much as I expected.  It had really stopped serving our purposes.  Although it was huge, the space wasn’t set up particularly well for a family of 4.  The location was fantastic — convenient and beautiful — but that made it so expensive that it put a tremendous burden on our single income (when we first bought it, both Dan & I were working as software engineers, without kids, and money wasn’t much of a concern).

The truth is, we are now more flexible — we can settle anywhere that serves our purposes.  We can focus on a house that serves our needs when we come home, instead of being stuck in a house that we chose back when we had two incomes and no kids (which is a little like wearing shoes that don’t quite fit anymore, just because they’re cute).  Adding the fact that our immediate financial picture just became much better, and there’s very little downside.  I will miss our old home, for sentimental reasons . . . and because Benjamin still tells me from time to time (as he did today) that, “I miss our old house”.  Knowing he won’t be going back there makes me a little sad, but I’m excited to be moving forward, and with less baggage to weigh us down.

First steps

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Liam is now mobile.  Well, he’s been mobile for a while — ever since he could roll over he appeared to have a destination in mind, and once he started crawling, he was off to the races.  I have seriously never seen a child crawl as fast as he does.  Given that we have parquet floors here, his crawling was even at some personal cost:  he’s regularly gotten blisters on his feet and hands ever since he started speeding around our hard floors.

003Of course, first thing this morning, when our backs were turned for 15 seconds, gathering up Benjamin’s stuff for school, he toppled over and gave himself a good bonk on his head (of course, he hit the one part of the edge of the entertainment center that isn’t covered by cushioned foam) and he didn’t make any further attempts at walking today.  I can’t imagine he’ll be discouraged for long, though — that just isn’t in his nature.  (It did put a dent — no pun intended — in his other favorite pastime of banging his head on the floor, though, which he usually does at least a dozen times a day.  Every time he did it today, he burst into tears — poor guy!)  By this evening, our living room/dining room/kitchen had become a race track for Liam with his “push car” and Benjamin with his “push bike”.  (Benjamin is faster, but not for long, I imagine.)

I suspect, now that he’s walking, he won’t look back — he’ll quickly overcome his fear of toppling over, and I imagine it’ll be nice to leave the blistered hands and feet in the past.  It’s astonishing how fast things change.  A year ago, I was eagerly anticipating my due date and Liam’s birth, and now, 355 days later, we are miles from there, in so many ways.

How being sick is supposed to work

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So, I understand it’s supposed to go something like this:  you wake up, you feel crappy, decide you’re sick and the best thing is to rest.  So, you do that.  Your day goes along, you do the stuff you have to do (in my case, watch the kids, make sure no one gets profoundly injured, feed and clean everyone) but other than that, you rest, you take care of yourself, you get better.  Nonessential tasks are put on hold.

At least, that’s my rough understanding — I’ve never been able to manage it.  I wake up, I feel crappy, decide I’m sick and the best thing is to rest.  Then, throughout the rest of the day, I try to do just that.  But as soon as I’m resting, I feel compelled to start doing something — laundry, straightening up, getting online and sending an email I’ve been meaning to . . . anything.  It’s a compulsion.  The thoughts in my head go something like this, “Ok, I’m sick, I should rest.  But I’m not THAT sick, I COULD be getting something done.  What about laundry?  I COULD do laundry, it isn’t hard.”  It’s not about the laundry, it happens all day long, about myriad things.  I get stuck in this idea of what I am physically capable of doing, and lose sight of why I’m resting in the first place.  The problem with that is that there’s a lot of different ways to interpret “what I’m capable of”.  Even sick with the plague, I COULD probably do the laundry if my life depended on it.  I could carry both kids down six flights of stairs if the building was on fire, even if I was really, really sick.  It’s amazing what I COULD do, if I needed to.

But that’s what messes with me.  I intellectually understand that I’m not resting because I’m incapable of doing anything else, I’m resting because it’s a good idea to give my body the chance to divert its energy towards healing rather than laundry.  But somehow, in the middle of “resting”, I get caught up in feeling that I’m lazy if I’m not doing the maximum of what I’m capable of.  Problem is, I’m capable of quite a lot, but that doesn’t always make it a good idea, and it makes it hard to get well.

Grumpy pants

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2 sick kids, 2 sick grown ups, almost no sleep plus a cup of coffee spilled all over the floor, the walls, the end table and the side of our big, comfy living room chair = me as Ms. Grumpy Pants.  (Nice to meet you.)

I haven’t been in a foul mood all day, but it’s been there, just under the surface.  I have a lot to be happy for today, actually, and when I remember that, things go better.  It looks like out house will actually be sold sometime in the next 7 days, drastically improving our financial picture.  Dan joining the rest of the family in the ranks of the ill is a bummer, but at least he was able to get excused sick leave from work today, so he was able to be home with us most of the day, without being charged any time off for it.  My kids are sweet and funny and wonderful (when they aren’t being fussy, whiny and incredibly needy).

Truth is, I hate being sick.  I have never been good at giving myself a break, psychologically or practically, and I am constantly giving myself a hard time for not doing more, regardless of how I’m feeling.  So, regardless of my understanding that I’m sick, it starts to get to me that the house is in such a state, the laundry isn’t getting done, we’re watching tv all day and we’re eating carryout for dinner.

Here’s hoping that we wake up feeling better tomorrow, or at least that I do better on excusing myself for my daily responsibilities.

Missing school

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Both yesterday and today, we kept B home from preschool.  Not at all because he’s objecting to going (technically, he isn’t objecting to going — he’s very clear on the fact that what he’s objecting to is my leaving).  He’s sick.  Nothing serious — sniffle, cough, slight fever — no more than to be expected, considering he’s being introduced to a whole new world of “kid cooties” that he’s missed out on being exposed to thus far in his life.

Staying home with both kids is hard work, no question.  Staying home with both kids when one is sick and the other is not is significantly harder.  I don’t know what was more of a challenge over the past few days:  keeping Liam quiet so B could rest, or keeping B calm while Liam was crawling laps around the living room, playing with B’s toys and causing general mayhem.

Psychologically, this has served a very good purpose — I’m actually looking forward to B going back to school.  Partly because I won’t be trying to juggle two incompatible objectives at home, and partly because it’ll mean he’s feeling better.  There’s also a small part of me that keeps thinking, “I can’t wait until he’s feeling better so I can get back to my normal schedule”, which is followed immediately by the realization that I don’t really have a “normal” schedule right now.

Hopefully, tonight will be restful for all of us (B does not sleep well when he’s congested) and the morning will dawn illness-free.  Then we can get back to our new crazy schedule and work on adjusting to school . . . until B comes home with the next cootie infestation, or Liam or I come down with this one.

Why school isn’t just a big party

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013Yesterday, we went to a birthday party.  The birthday boy is turning three, and Benjamin was in heaven at this party.  The majority of the party was in the backyard — Benjamin rode bikes, a scooter and a train, he played in the sandbox, with toy cars and trucks, he ate pizza, cake and cookies — all on plates with Lightning McQueen on them.  There were about half a dozen kids there of roughly the same age, plus a complement of little brothers, all Liam’s age or younger.  He had an awesome time.  From about 5 minutes after we got there, he played on his own, or with the other kids, almost entirely without our help (except for a couple of times when we were asked to extricate a ball from the hedge, or a toy from a shelf).  The boys all played together and shared very well with little intervention on the part of any of the parents.  We checked in with him, from time to time, and had to convince him to leave the toys for a few minutes in order to scarf down some dinner.  He asked for my help to ride the scooter (which he’d never ridden before) but, although we kept a close eye on him, he spent large spans of time playing on his own.

On the way home, I was pleased with how well he had played, and how much he had enjoyed himself, but I was a little perplexed:  why was it so fun and easy for him to play with these boys (who were mostly strangers to him) yet so traumatic to go to school?  Isn’t it pretty much the same?  So, I asked him.  I thanked him for playing so well and being so polite at the party, and asked him if he had a good time.  He said, enthusiastically, that he had.  So, I asked, “Isn’t that pretty much what school is like?”  And he looked at me, and asked (completely sincerely) “Did you leave the party, Mommy?”

He was actually asking, not making a point.  I believe that he was having so much fun, that he thought he might actually have missed it, and maybe I had left.  I assured him that I had been there the entire time.

But now I get it.  From my perspective, as an adult, things at school are pretty much like a party (except no Lightning McQueen plates):  there’s inside play time, outside play time, singing time and snack time — what’s not to love?  To my little, sweet, three year old boy, the two things have very little in common — for one, Mommy is there, and a good time is had by all, for the other, I’m not, and that’s devastating.  It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t actually interact with me very much — it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t need me.  My presence makes the difference between him having fun and not, him feeling secure and not.  All the kids and fun games and toys in the world don’t make up for my absence.

Of course, that makes perfect sense, and this isn’t the first time I’m realizing this.  But, I forget.  I truly, honestly, forget.  I get wrapped up in how nice the place is, how kind the teachers are, how sweet the other kids seem to be, and I fail to understand why he’s so upset about going to school.  The truth is, it doesn’t matter where he is, if I leave, it’s a problem.  There’s a part of me that’s thrilled that he feels that way (the alternative, although easier to deal with from a practical perspective, would hurt a little).  But, I want my little boy to enjoy going to school, and to enjoy himself without my constant presence.  I know that the upheaval of moving to a foreign continent isn’t helping, and neither is the fact that my kids have only been away from Dan and I a few short times since we’ve arrived here (they used to do it all the time, but they are out of practice).

I don’t know how the next few weeks will unfold, in terms of school, but I’d love to figure out a way for him to have half the fun at school as he did at this party.  I’m inspired by how much fun he had playing with the other boys yesterday, and knowing how much of that interaction he will get at school.  But I know that being away from me will be hard for him, and it remains to be seen if he’s really ready (and if I am).

10 years ago

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10 years ago, Tuesday, September 11 started as a regular day at work.  I was in a hurry — I was headed out on my first business trip that afternoon.  A year later, I wrote about my experience, and reading it takes me right back to those moments:  http://blog.danandem.com/2002/09/10/i-was-supposed-to-fly-that-day/ .

I’m surprised at how tender the wound still is.  I’m shocked at how hard it hits me if I let myself think about it.  The loss of life, the shock, the fear — the profound damage done to our sense of security and safety.  But mostly, the loss.

I still get chills and cry whenever I think about it.  I remember the people jumping from the World Trade Center buildings.  I remember the recordings of the phone calls from the people who knew they weren’t going to make it, preserved on answering machines and in voice mails for friends, spouses, parents, children that couldn’t be reached.  I remember the effort it took, in the beginning, to do normal things and not be afraid.  Thinking about it affects me differently, now, because I’m a mom — everyone who was lost was someone’s child.

My kids have never known a world where “September 11” hadn’t happened.  It will forever be a part of their landscape, of their nation’s and their family’s history.  But so, too, is the bravery and dedication of those who responded, that day and in the years that followed.

Today, being outside of the US is particularly strange.  What happened on September 11, 2001 is part of the American cultural experience — but not here.  The world shares our grief, on this anniversary, but they weren’t there, and they can’t really understand.  I feel safer being here, but also so distant.  America is my home.  It’s where I would prefer to be today.

Ten years on, life continues.  Babies are born, grow up, and enter the world.  The world that they enter has not forgotten what passed on that Tuesday morning, ten years ago.  We are wiser and more wary.  But we are also humbled by the brotherhood and selflessness possible in humanity.  We know better than to take our precious moments together for granted.

Those who attacked us ten years ago sought to terrify and cripple us.  The wounds they inflicted will never leave us.  But we are more than they thought we were.  We will never forget, but we will move forward.

And one day, maybe I won’t cry when I think about it.  But I wouldn’t bet on it.

Getting the joke

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Dan’s young (25-ish) office mate had a road trip planned for this weekend with 9 friends.  Destination:  Poland.  Dan has lamented, over the past few days, that this sounds like exactly the kind of thing just-out-of-college-youth should be spent on (and I agree — I think back to the many nights we spent eating pizza in front of the tv, times when we were actually BORED and think of what a waste it was).  His coworker has suggested, recently, that maybe Dan could come along next time.  Dan has said it would be up to me.  Then, yesterday, at the last minute, it turned out that someone was sick and Dan’s friend suggested (jokingly) that Dan call me to ask if he could come along, but that he imagined there would be lots of yelling if he did.  Dan replied that no, in fact, I’d help him back his bags . . . just for a much longer trip.

Har, har.  I get the joke:  “My wife isn’t the yelling and screaming type, but she wouldn’t permit that.  She’d kick me out just for asking.”

But, hang on a second.  Over the past 14 years, I’ve put up with, facilitated and indulged WAY more than an impromptu, last minute, weekend trip to Poland.

I do get the joke.  But it isn’t accurate.  It’s putting me down, even though I wasn’t there, even though there’s no apparent harm done.  I am so much more than that.  I am so much kinder than that.  I am so much more loving than that.

So, why not give me that credit?

Why couldn’t it go like this, instead:  friend jokes that Dan call and ask if he can go.  Dan says, “Actually, if I really wanted to go, I think Emily would help me make that happen.”  “Really?  Let’s do it!”  “No, I’d really rather spend the weekend with my wife and kids.”

(Pause for that to sink in.)

Dan doesn’t say that — not because he doesn’t believe it, but because he wants to be funny — he doesn’t want to look like the guy who can’t take a joke.

But, why not have integrity and be honorable to the woman that I am, the wife that I am, the reality of the marriage that we have?  That would hit this young guy like a ton of bricks — open his mind to the idea that it’s possible, reasonable even, to have a marriage that is more than expected.  More than formulaic and superficial and trite.

These little jokes, these little things that we say, plant seeds in our minds.  They become part of how we see each other, even if unfounded.  If we could have integrity, always, with the things that we say and the way that we act, it would be self-perpetuating.  It could become normal.  We could honor, respect and love each other, in these small acts, and reflect the love, honor and respect we try to carry with us through the years.  We could see these jokes for what they are:  a reflection of a false and sad state that is not reality for us.

I’m not mad at Dan for this — I made exactly this point to him last night when he told me the story, and he got it.  (It took a while to get past the, “You don’t understand, it was a JOKE”, reaction, but we got there.)  I’m just saying:  let us be kind and respectful of each other.  The words we choose feed the way we think and inform our thoughts and actions.  We do ourselves harm and disservice by choosing, instead, to get the joke.