Cowboy mentality

Being an American and travelling the world can be tough.  As a people, we’re criticised a lot:  we appear to believe that jeans and a t-shirt are appropriate for nearly all occasions, we travel abroad without speaking the language, and we make eye contact, smile, greet and make small talk with complete strangers.

There are plenty of things for which Americans can be fairly criticized, but I think these things are misunderstood.  People around the world, and Europeans in particular, take our chosen attire as a sign that we’re lazy and completely without fashion consciousness.  They think our lack of foriegn language training means that we’re rude and uneducated, and our friendliness to strangers means that we’re superficial and insincere.  Although there may be bits of truth to parts of that, I think, as a nation and a culture, we have a cowboy mentality.  We’re from a (relatively) young nation, used to pushing the frontier and surviving by our wits.  We’re accustomed to making ourselves comfortable in nearly any environment, and we love to explore.  We have a spirit of adventure, confidence and enthusiasm that we take out into the world.

I think we have different priorities when it comes to dressing ourselves for the day, particularly an adventurous day (as when visiting a foreign country where you don’t speak the language).  We’re all like Boy Scouts — we want to be ready for anything that might come up.  Wearing jeans and a t-shirt, you’ll be ready to walk a long distance, sit just about anywhere, be comfortable in a variety of temperatures and weather conditions . . . and even wrangle something, if need be.  I do think we tend to be less fashion aware, on average, than a European, but I think it reflects a different focus, not a cultural deficiency.

And yes, we will travel to a far off land with little to no understanding of the language and culture.  Sure, that demonstrates some hubris . . . but also a lot of confidence.  It’s true that our lack of ability to converse in multiple languages is a little uncultured (and an unfortunate lack in our education) but it also shows our willingness to go forth, into the unknown, whether or not we’re prepared, for the sake of experience and adventure.  It’s not an easy or comfortable thing to do (I’ve done it, I know).  But, we have a willingness to make things work and take things as they come, anyway.

Here in Austria, people don’t make eye contact with strangers.  They don’t smile, or say hello on the street.  At home, we look at each other, we smile, we say hello, we ask each other how we are.  Europeans find that superficial and fake.  They’re disdainful of it.  They don’t see why you’d ask a complete stranger how they’re doing when you don’t actually care — why you’d smile without a particular reason.  I think that Americans are reaching out to each other.  We make that very small effort, and it makes the world just a little friendlier.  I think it’s a small way of connecting with each other and checking in — we’re all in on this adventure together, after all.

We have a spirit of adventure, a lust for life and a desire to be prepared for everything.  I know, my view is biased.  But I do think our cultural perspective is informed by our history:  we’re all cowboys are heart, and we like to be ready for whatever may come.

Nein!

Benjamin is a talker.  He has vastly surpassed what is expected for a child his age — speaking to him is a lot like speaking to an adult.  He’s even been quickly picking up words in German:  he’s just the right age, he picks up language easily in general and, frankly, we watch a fair bit of Nick, Jr. in German.  But, up until recently, he’s only spoken German when specifically prompted.  He has added his first unsolicited word in German, and it is (of course):  “Nein!”

For a lot of kids, their first word is “no” (or whatever is the appropriate variant for their native language) but for Benjamin, his first word was “down” and he didn’t really overuse “no” for his first couple of years of speaking.  But, “nein” has become one of his most common utterances these days.

It’s fun to see him picking up the language without any particular effort on either of our parts.  It’s as though he’s just absorbing it out of the air.  And, honestly, hearing your three year old run around the house chanting “nein!” is a lot cuter and less irritating than “no!”  (I think it fails to push the same emotional button.)  Maybe we’ll get lucky and we’ll pass through the “terrible threes” in German — and I might not even understand enough of what he’s saying to be driven crazy by it.

Grandma’s big adventure

025After 27+ hours in transit, my mom arrived here in Vienna yesterday evening.  (Yay!)  I went to meet her at the airport, brought her home, she played with Benjamin and Liam (mostly Benjamin, because it was late and Liam fell asleep shortly after she arrived).  We let Benjamin stay up late to play with Grandma — he was thrilled.

Today, we had a quiet morning playing here at home and this afternoon we set out for a walk to explore a little and have lunch.  Grandma got to see the Freyung, the Graben, Michaelerplatz, the Hofburg, the Volksgarten, the Rathaus and the Burgtheater — which sounds like a lot, but we really just walked by everything (except the Volksgarten, where we spent a little time and followed some ducks around).  Dan met us and we all went out to dinner.

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Right now, she and Benjamin are down in our courtyard playing golf (or baseball, I wasn’t clear on which).  I am so glad she’s here.  Benjamin is so glad she’s here.  Dan is so glad that she’s here.  Liam seems really glad that she’s here (with Liam, it can be hard to tell).  Even Bailey is thrilled (“Oh good!  The cookie lady has arrived!”).  We have all missed her so much.

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In some ways, I really can’t believe she’s here — I also can’t believe she made this journey, by herself, to come and see us, especially on such short notice (she’s a planner, like I am, and we do best with lots of time to think over every possible complication and come up with a strategy to handle it).  It is her first international trip in over 30 years, and we are honored to have it be to see us.  It is a wonderful part of our adventure here, and I hope it turns out to be a fantastic adventure for her.

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I want my mommy

If all goes well, my mom will arrive here in Vienna in a few hours.  I am so excited — this will be the first time I’ve seen her (or anyone in my family, aside from on Skype) since we came here in April.  This is the longest I’ve ever been away from my mom (and my family in general).

Her trip kind of came together at the last minute (thanks to a wonderful aunt who helped her get here) so we didn’t know for sure that she was coming until she got on the plane yesterday afternoon.

I can’t wait to see her.  I can’t wait to show her our place, my favorite things in Vienna, and to have her share in how wonderful Benjamin and Liam are right now.  Especially Liam — she hasn’t seen him for 40% of his life, so he’s basically a completely different creature than he was the last time she saw him.  She’s going to get to know him all over again.  And, I can’t wait just to talk to her.  I’ve missed her so much.

I’m so excited to have her visit!  Yay!

Yelling

I yelled at Benjamin today.  Again.  I feel awful.  Again.

It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen from time to time — I’m stressed out, and one of the kids does something that is, legitimately, frustrating or anger-worthy, and I get upset.  But, I get more upset than is warranted by whatever it is that they did.

Today, it was an empty soda bottle to the back of my head, courtesy of Benjamin.  (But, of course, that isn’t *really* what it was about — it started hours earlier as frustration towards Dan.  However, Dan was at work, and I hadn’t had an opportunity to talk to him about it yet, except by text, so I was keeping a lid on it.)  So, Benjamin chucked the soda bottle and I turned around and yelled at him.  “Do not throw things at people!”  I was angrier than I needed to be, but not totally out of line.  He was shocked, but not overly upset.

Then, to calm myself, I walked away (from the dining room to the kitchen — not far) and took a few breaths.  But, for some reason, this set him off, and he followed me, crying.  For some reason, this set me off and I turned around and said to him, “Stop crying or go away until you can stop crying!”

Ugh.

Awesome.  I’m the crappiest mom EVER.  (Ok, not really, but I didn’t know that I had that particular gem of parenting in me.)  I’m really disappointed that I said this to my child.  I walked away, again, to try and compose myself, he cried harder, and I fell apart, crying and apologizing (another winning move) and then he cried even harder.

We cuddled and kissed and played a couple of games and watched tv and I gave him a bottle and I think we’ve made up.  I upset him, to be sure, but like before, I think me being upset was the most traumatic part for him.

I do not want to yell at my kids for stupid stuff — certainly not because I’m irritated with Dan.  I have to get a handle on my stress levels.

In my own way

The thing about the fear of success is that it doesn’t manifest in an obvious way.  Very few people sit around and think, “Success?  Oh, yeah, I don’t want that!  That sounds awful!  I’m afraid of it!”  That isn’t how it goes — it’s much more insidious than that.

As part of my birthday celebration, I went and saw the latest Harry Potter movie in the theater (and thoroughly enjoyed myself).  It got me thinking about the series’ author, J. K. Rowling, and the wild success she’s had as an author.  She was only 31 when she sold the first book in the Harry Potter series, and much younger when she wrote it.  She has been phenomenally, incomparably, unprecedentedly successful as an author.  I don’t presume that my future will ever look anything like hers, but still, I believe that my future success may, in fact, lie in the same area:  writing.  As soon as my brain makes that connection, I start to fantasize about getting a flash of divine inspiration and becoming a world famous (and unbelievably wealthy) author.

And then the very next thought is, “But I wouldn’t really want that.”  I’m thinking about the fact that she probably needs a security staff, she may have to be away from her family for press events, managing all that money would be so much trouble, and the pressure that it would be to have to constantly improve on the fantastic storytelling she’s already created.

Really?  Really?!?  Even in my fantasy about what kind of success I could achieve, I’m shooting myself in the foot.  I’m shifting my sights lower before I’ve even taken the first step.  I’m not saying that this mental sabotage is what’s going to make the difference between seeing me on the New York Times bestseller list and not, but it surely isn’t going to help my progress.

Frankly, if I end up creating the next Harry Potter or the next Twilight, I really, truly, sincerely believe I could overcome whatever downside there might be.  I think I’ll find the solution.  And if I can’t, I’ll hire someone else to do it.  (Duh.  That’s what all that money is FOR.)

If I set that kind of thinking aside, though, a truly scary thing happens — the next thought is, “Ok, now what?”  Well, now, I’d better get going.  Because if I can even imagine something like that for myself, and I don’t cut those thoughts short with my own fear of success, then there’s nothing to do next but to DO something.  Move forward.  Start down the path.  Make something happen.  Now the burden of failing or succeeding is on me — but only if I actually do something I can fail or succeed at.

Magic

A few years ago (pre-kids) I was talking to a friend about what I wanted in my life that I didn’t have — I struggled to come up with the right word, and finally settled on “magic”.  At which point she looked at me like I had, perhaps, lost track of reality.  I wasn’t talking about magic like Harry Potter:  wands and spells and potions (although, if there really is a Hogwarts out there somewhere, and I get my letter, I’m absolutely going).  I didn’t, at the time, really know how to explain what I meant.

I do now.  The kind of magic I wanted in my life is exactly what I have now — it’s the kind of magic you get watching your children play with a balloon or look at a ladybug or wake up Christmas morning.  It’s the kind of magic that you feel when you do something pretty ordinary and your kids are just amazed by it:  making cookies, drawing with chalk, fixing a favorite toy.

I get to have the privilege of discovering the wonder and magic of childhood all over again, by witnessing my children’s experiences.  I absolutely love it.  And there’s the feeling that I get when I look into their faces or hear them call for me or hold their hands.  If that isn’t magic, I don’t know what is.

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Freedom

As an American, I find it very strange that I’ve learned so much about freedom since moving to Austria.  Not in a “freedom of speech/religion/assembly/expression” kind of way, but freedom in the sense of personal liberation.  I don’t actually think it was important that I be in Austria to make these discoveries — I think I’ve had to be out of my comfort zone and stressed to a point of actually letting go of unimportant things (which is so very hard to do).  I think that could have happened almost anytime and almost anywhere, but for me, it happened to happen here.

Here, I’ve learned to accept that I’m going to get things wrong.  That was true at home, too, but I fought it.  At home, I tried to be “together”, I tried to be slick, I tried to do it all and look good doing it.  Here, I am so much more willing to accept that it’s a lost cause and just let go do the best I can in the moment.  I don’t know the convention of how things are done here.  I don’t know the logistics of how things are done here (I’ve finally figured out how to use the ATM — sorry, bankomat — so that I don’t have to put my card in two or three times in the course of a single transaction).  I don’t speak the language, so that’s like 1000 uncool points before I’ve even started to communicate with someone.

I’m having to find my own way of doing things here, too.  I have less help, more time alone with the kids, and everything I try to do is more of a challenge.  I’m having to focus on what is important — on what is really, truly, important to ME.  I’m having to discover my own priorities and determine the best way to execute them.  There isn’t even the illusion of enough time to do everything I want, go everywhere I want or do things as well as I want.  I just can’t.  In the acceptance of that comes the responsibility of determining what IS important and spending my time on that.  I’m learning to just do enough instead of trying to do it all.  I’m learning to just do well enough instead of trying to be perfect.  Everyone gets fed and cleaned and loved and read to.  Boo-boos get kissed.  The dog goes outside.  The house is not yet a toxic waste site.  Sounds good to me!

The pressures are different here, too.  The moms do things differently.  They worry so much less about their kids falling down and getting scraped or bruised or even breaking an arm.  They don’t worry about only introducing one food at a time to screen for allergies.  On the other hand, they bundle their children in the cold weather or the rain like they’re going to dissolve.  It just shows me that the things we choose to worry about are fairly arbitrary.  Things that would cause an American mother to gasp in horror would go unnoticed here, and things that would make an Austrian mother stare accusingly (they’re not so big on the gasping) would make an American mom scoff.  So, I worry less that my 3 year old isn’t potty trained and still drinks from a bottle, and I’m grateful my 10 month old doesn’t need to eat plain pureed chicken on the extremely remote possibility he has a poultry allergy.  People can stare and gasp all they like.

I’m accepting myself, too.  I’m good at some things, not at others.  I enjoy doing some things, and not others.  It doesn’t make me a bad mom, wife, daughter, sister or friend.  It just IS.  It doesn’t mean anything.  The distance from my structured environment at home is giving me permission to just be who I am.  I’m judging myself less and less for not being good enough, for not being slick enough, for not doing things right, for not doing enough, for not doing it all, perfectly, 100% of the time.  (I find I’m also judging others less for the same things.)

And all of that is ok.  In fact, it’s incredibly liberating.  I’ve never felt so divorced from my concept of what I ought to be doing or how things are supposed to happen.  In so many ways, the pressure is relieved — pressure I’ve felt my entire life, but most acutely since becoming a mother.  These concepts of perfection weren’t even mine, and I didn’t know.  For the first time, I’m experiencing the process of deciding what’s important and allowing myself to be just who I am.  And that isn’t sad, it’s wonderful.

Going to the movies

I love going to the movies.  Before kids, Dan & I went all the time.  It was one of my favorite leisure activities — we went for birthdays, anniversaries, with friends, or just because it was too hot to do anything else.  Sometimes we’d even stay and see a second movie after the first one ended (and that way, no one has to compromise — you both can see your first choice).  Ah, the good old days.  There aren’t a lot of things I really feel like I’m missing out on since becoming a parent, but the ease with which we used to go see movies is one of those things that I know we’ve lost for a while.

005Today, I went to the movies for the first time here in Austria — by myself.  It’s an “OV” (original voices) theater, so whatever American movies they play there are in English, which is a nice thing to have found, and it’s really close to our apartment (bonus!).  It was great, if different from what we’re used to at home.  First, you have to choose your seat when you purchase your ticket — they have assigned seating in the theater.  I didn’t have a preference, so I asked the ticket seller what her favorite was, and she chose a seat for me.  She chose me a seat in the third row of the balcony, right on the aisle, which was excellent.  Yep, in the BALCONY.  There was a whole upstairs seating section — very cool.  I guess partially because there is assigned seating, the theater itself was only opened up 7 minutes before the show started.  There’s no real need to open the theater earlier, because no one has to stake out a spot.  (It was a little weird just standing around in the lobby until the theater opened . . . and that was with only a dozen or so people attending this showing.  I imagine it would be very crowded and awkward if the theater were nearly full, although maybe then they’d open it sooner?)  Also, the theater wasn’t super air conditioned — they definitely have a/c, but it was still warm inside.  It was cool here today, so I wonder if it would be better or worse on a really hot day (maybe they didn’t have it on very much because it was cool out, or maybe that’s as much as it turns on and it would have been like watching Harry Potter in an oven if it had been 90 outside today).

There’s a concession stand, with popcorn, soda, nachos and candy, but with a few important differences.  First, no Cherry Coke (gasp, horror).  Second, no ice (boo).  Third, the cashier talks the customers out of the large size — talks them OUT of it.  The guy behind me in line wanted to order a large popcorn for his family to share, and the concession vendor girl told him that the large size was too big even for three people, “It’s much too big”, she said, “you’d be much better off with a medium”.  Then, he decided maybe he’d get two mediums for them all to share, and she talked him out of that.  Bizarre.  I’m guessing they don’t get bonuses for how many larges they sell.

But, it was great.  I got a Coke and a popcorn (not a large of either) and got to watch Harry Potter in 3-D in English.  It was a good time — I’ll definitely be going back.

35

Today is my thirty-fifth birthday.  It’s my first birthday living abroad, it’s my first birthday as a mom of two kids.  It’s been a great year (at least in part because I consider both of those major changes to be positive).  I’m really grateful to be here — to have this opportunity to live in Austria, to be the mom to two really wonderful kids, and to be alive in general.  Life is good.

I’m not sure if 35 feels old, but it certainly feels grown up.  (How many times in my life am I going to feel like *now* it’s time to be a grown up?  Does that ever stop happening?)  I feel like, as a thirty-five year old, I ought to be a little more put together — like maybe I ought to own more than one pair of pants that isn’t made of denim and that I ought to stop wearing athletic socks with absolutely every outfit.  I’ll work on that.  I have two kids, so that feels like I’ll get at least partial credit in the “grown up” category.

I really miss everyone at home, today in particular.  I miss seeing everyone for my birthday and getting to share the things that are the special way my family celebrates birthdays (like birthday soda and jell-o cake).  Days like this make me realize how great it was to live just an hour from my family, and how much I took that for granted when I had it.

I’ve really had a great day.  Dan and the boys helped me celebrate and feel festive (cake and ice cream and a great present), and my friend, Krishana, gave me the opportunity to go out and have dinner with Dan, just the two of us (the first time we’ve done that since we’ve been here).  It’s been a great day, and I’m so glad to be celebrating another birthday.