Another Easter

Posted on September 4, 2015 by admin

I love Easter time in Vienna. They really celebrate it here, and not just with chocolate bunnies and going to church — not that I’m opposed to either of those things, but both of them have limited appeal in my life these days. Easter is widely and truly celebrated in Vienna, and though its roots are religious, not all of the celebration is. It is similar to (though of a different scale) than the wonderful Viennese Christmas celebrations. In Vienna, there are Easter markets, several days off from work and school and a general feeling of festivity that flows through the city. In the same way that Christmas feels very much like a celebration of having made it through darkest part of the winter, Easter feels like a victory celebration — spring has returned, with brighter days and (slightly) more warmth.

Easter is also our unofficial anniversary in Vienna. We arrived just before Easter and visited an Easter market right after having found our apartment. The best Easter market in all of Vienna (in my opinion) is that same one we first happened upon, and it is right across the street from our house. So, as always, we visited that market several times in the weeks leading up to Easter.

I always enjoy wandering through all of the markets. I love seeing the intricate, painstakingly decorated eggs. I enjoy the food and the shopping, and I always make a point to visit the bunnies in their market stall. This year, the silver lining to the catastrophic mirror crash of last spring was that I actually got to shop for eggs — after our first few years, I had put myself on an “only one a year” plan, because we were collecting so many. But, after about half of our collection met its end under a very heavy broken mirror last year, we “needed” some new ones.

We also enjoyed some fun Easter activities. The boys painted eggs and played games at the markets, and we colored eggs at home (a process I’m finally getting the hang of here). The boys did sweet arts and crafts at school, too. I just love it. I love being out in the city as the days begin to get noticeably longer, and as the sun begins to be ever slightly warmer.

As is our tradition, the boys celebrated Easter morning with a hunt for eggs, and we followed that with a trip outdoors. For the first time, we actually visited an Easter market on Easter morning — I had no idea they were open on the big day! But, it turns out that they are (or at least the one close to us is), and it was a fun way to observe the morning. We visited the bunnies at the market again (closely scrutinized by the boys so they could attempt to discern which one was THE Easter Bunny), bought some flowers, and even stopped in to an ACTUAL church during Easter service — though just for a minute (which was actually really nice).

Then, in the afternoon, we were lucky enough to have been invited to join some friends and their family for Easter dinner, which was lovely. Holidays are incredibly hard when you’re far from home, and getting to be with friends, rather than just celebrating with ourselves, was a nice change. (Plus we got the added benefit of someone else preparing most of the meal — and it was someone who actually enjoyed doing it!)

All in all, we had another great Easter here in Vienna. We had a lovely lead up to the day, enjoying the markets and the springtime weather. And then, on Easter itself, we enjoyed the company of good friends, and the boys got to eat way more chocolate than they probably should have. In short, a good time, and a happy Easter, was had by all.

Finally Faschings, more or less correctly

Posted on August 21, 2015 by admin

Faschingsfest is one of those things that was entirely new to us when we got here. If you’re not from this part of the world, you most likely have no idea what Faschingsfest is (I even had one friend who thought, when she read it on my blog, that I was swearing particularly colorfully). It is the German name for a Carnivale or Mardi Gras celebration. It’s much more common and widespread here, but significantly less . . . rowdy . . . than a typical American Mardi Gras celebration. In fact, a lot of the celebration of Faschings is for children.

Since it was new to us when we arrived, it took us a while to “get” it. I really had no idea what was expected in terms of celebrating Faschings. I was told that kids dressed up in costumes — that it is a lot like Halloween back at home, but without trick-or-treating, and then everyone ate krapfen. Yeah . . . it’s not really like that.

I mean, it IS, in that kids DO dress up in costumes. But Faschings costumes are happy and bright, and not at all scary. Every Faschings costume I’ve ever seen is also store-bought, and usually directly based on a TV show or popular character. Butterflies, Spider-Man, pirates and princesses are very big (pirates were very, very popular this year), but ghosts and skeletons are a no go. Our first year, we had no idea what to do, but B solved that problem by being sick and missing his class party. Our second year, B dressed as an Ewok, which I thought would be perfect — cute, cuddly, not scary, suitably commercial and store-bought — ta da! Nope, it was a bit to esoteric for his school. The fact that no one knew exactly what he was made them look at us very oddly. The following year, L insisted on wearing B’s old Ewok costume (even though I knew it wouldn’t be quite right) but B dressed as a Brazilian soccer player, which had the advantage of being recognizable and very popular among kids his age, but the detriment of not being very costume-like. Still, we were getting close.

I think we got it this year. B’s school, being an international school, and not an Austrian school, did not celebrate Faschings at all (nor did they celebrate Halloween, which was a bummer), but for his own class celebration, L dressed as a knight, and I think it was just right. (He also brought a foam sword with him, and though we probably would have been severely chastised for bringing a “weapon” had we been in the US, it was not noteworthy here — when he got too enthusiastic with it, they simply put it away until it was time for him to go home.)

L was a charming and gallant knight for Faschings, and it seems that a good time was had by all. It’s nice to not feel quite so much like a fish out of water when it comes to these things — it’s only taken us 4 years to catch on!

Another visit ends

Posted on August 12, 2015 by admin

All good things must come to an end, and so it was with our trip home for Christmas last year. Just like the year before, we got treated to a significant snowstorm the morning of our flight out, but unlike last year, I was mentally prepared for the possibility, so I was able to enjoy it a bit with the kids instead if just stressing about how wet everyone’s snow pants were getting. (Good thing, too, because we had another disappointing snow year in Vienna this past winter, so it was nice to get some kind of chance to play in the snow together.) And again, our flight was delayed (though not as badly as the previous year), but before too long we were trekking through the snow to the airport to return to Vienna.

I hate leaving. Every time. Doing it repeatedly does not make it easier. Our time here has gotten long — longer than any of us counted on — so leaving is hard, because part of me feels like we shouldn’t be leaving at all. But we did. With help from our family, clear and safe roads, and our boys, we collected up our things and prepared for another transatlantic journey.

Because of a different seating configuration on the plane, we sat differently than we usually do. Whenever possible, we sit in the middle of the plane, 4 across. When that isn’t possible, we sit 3 across at the window with one on the neighboring aisle. This particular plane had only 2 seats near the window, though, so Dan & B sat there, and L and I sat across the aisle in the middle section. No problem.

Except that it was a red-eye, and when it came time for sleeping, we had a problem. It’s never easy to do a red-eye with kids. No one ever enjoys sleeping on a plane, and kids can get progressively less adaptable as they get more tired. When my guys are a bit older, they might think it’s fun to stay up all night and watch movies as we fly over the ocean, but not yet. B leaned up against the window and fell asleep. Dan dozed next to him. Liam, with no window to lean on and no family member to bookend the other side of him, could just not get comfortable. We tried putting him on the aisle with me in the middle seat, and we tried me on the aisle and him in the middle. Whatever we tried, he ended up either sticking an appendage into the aisle or kicking the woman sitting next to him (the one that wasn’t me). He was so tired. He cried. He tried to lay on the floor of the plane. He could not get comfortable and he could not sleep. He finally dozed off, laying across me, for maybe 20 minutes when it was nearly “morning” (meaning it was still very much the middle of the night for us). I didn’t sleep at all. It was a rough flight.

But, it was at least fast. We didn’t know why at the time, but despite taking off about 15 minutes late, we landed in London over an hour early. (We later discovered that our flight was able to take advantage of unusually strong upper level tail winds — we were traveling at over 700 mph!) Arriving early in London wasn’t as much of a benefit as it might have been, though — we were to have had a 5 hour layover at Heathrow, which would now be over 6. With a very tired family, it was a bit of a daunting proposition.

Other than rare occasions when we get a direct flight to the US, we usually connect through Heathrow or Charles du Gaulle. I don’t love either option. Both are huge airports which require commuting between distant terminals for international connections. I don’t mind flying TO those airports, but I don’t like flying THROUGH either one. This time, though, I learned to love Heathrow a little more.

We were lucky to discover that in the terminal we’d be flying out of (some 6+ hours after we arrived) there was a “Family Lounge”. We didn’t know exactly what that meant, but we decided to find out. It turns out that it was a spacious set of rooms outfitted for kids of all ages, and only accessible to people actually travelling with children. They had comfy places to sit, an indoor play area (full of foam-rubber covered obstacles to play on), a nap/quiet room and a game room with TV and foosball (for older kids). There was also a coffee machine for the grown ups. It was EXACTLY what we needed. Not only were the kids able to both run around and rest as they needed, but we were free from the typical airport worry that we were bothering any of the other travellers.

The kids started out by running around, climbing on the equipment and playing with the other kids who were waiting. Eventually, Liam layed down in the nap room for some much needed rest, and we were able to charge our phones, connect to the wi-fi, and let the kids play games on the iPad while we waited. It gave us some peace and relaxation during a very long day of travel (and has bumped Heathrow up to my most favorite airport to connect through).

The best part about flying back to Vienna from the States is that by the time we get on that second flight back to Vienna, we’re almost home. That last little flight feels so short in the overall scheme of the entire trip, so it’s not so daunting. It was another long day of travel, with another transatlantic journey accomplished, but we made it back “home” from another great trip Home.

Exactly as it was

Posted on August 4, 2015 by admin

I have a natural tendency to get worked up about things. I worry. I stress. I fret. I am, by nature, an anxious person. It doesn’t serve me well. Though I believe, in the deep and rarely examined recesses of my mind, that my worry and anxiety will ultimately benefit me, they don’t. Somewhere along the line, I became convinced that conceiving of, and preparing for, every eventuality would give me some influence or control over situations. It doesn’t. I read once that “Worry doesn’t rob tomorrow of its problems, it robs today of its joy.” That pretty much sums up the reality, but still, somewhere in my mind, I equate worry with control and control with happiness. Thus, I somehow think that worrying will make me happy, even though it never, ever has.

I’m also a perfectionist. (Being a perfectionist might not mean what you think. It doesn’t mean “doing everything perfectly”. It means “not being able to let go of the idea of doing everything perfectly”. Which is crazy-making, because no matter how well you ever do anything, you can always find a way that it isn’t “perfect”.) If I don’t work on it, I naturally revert to a state where I am constantly anxious about how I can make things perfect. So, I basically make myself miserable pursuing an impossible goal. And perfection isn’t even a good goal! Again, in some back room in my mind, I got the idea that perfect = happy. Also, not true. Trying to be perfect, at everything, all the time, is actually a pretty great way to NOT be happy.

I’m working on this in myself, and I’ve made good progress. I can now see that somewhere in my mind I think that worry = happy, and I can see the nonsense of that idea. I can also see that my life is actually happier when I don’t worry about anything being “perfect”. Which is great. But I’m not totally immune to it yet.

When I was preparing to go home for Christmas this year (yes, back in December), amongst sick kids, sick me, a break-in across the hall and all the usual frenzy of the Christmas season, I slipped back into this thinking. I spent a lot of time in the weeks before my trip home contemplating (aka worrying about) all the things I could do to make the holiday at home with my family go perfectly. I worried about what I would pack. I wanted to make sure we all had the right sweaters, the perfect pajamas, the best outfits that we could for our weeks at home. I tied myself in mental knots trying to figure out how to maximize every moment of our time at home so that we could see all of the people we wanted to see and do all the things we wanted to do in order to ensure a perfect holiday. I stayed up late doing laundry, wrote up complicated planning calendars of people and events, and lost sleep over things like whether or not I had packed all of the most perfectly appropriate socks.

Before I made myself sick, crazy or miserable, I got things straightened out, though. A few days before we left, in the midst of the chaos of that week, I realized that the only thing that truly mattered is that we were going home. We were travelling across the ocean to see our family and our friends. We would spend time with people that we love. We would do fun things. We would also not get to see everyone we wanted to, because time is finite, the holidays are busy and kids have a limit on how much activity they can handle happily. No one would care if we had our best Christmas sweaters or the best possible collection of socks on hand. Whether or not we made the connections on our flights was not going to make or break our trip. None of the stuff I was agonizing over was going to make the difference between having a wonderful holiday and not. What was going to make the difference was me NOT trying to make it be perfect. In trying to make it be perfect, I was going to miss the fact that it was going to be absolutely wonderful regardless. I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy it as well, and in not enjoying it, I would have gradually eroded the enjoyment of the people around me. In reality, it didn’t have to be anything different than exactly what it was to be a happy holiday.

In the end, it wasn’t perfect. We didn’t get to see everyone we wanted, and we didn’t get to see anyone for as much time as we wanted. There were tons of things we wanted to do that we didn’t (there always are when we go home). There were peaceful moments, busy moments, quiet moments, festive moments and lots and lots of love and fun. It didn’t have to be any different. It was exactly right as it was.

(I mean, really — how could we have improved on this?)

To Grandmother’s House

Posted on July 9, 2015 by admin

I’ve completely lost count of our transatlantic journeys as a family. I actually just tried to count, and can’t quite resolve the trips in my head anymore. I *think* we’ve taken 4 round-trip transatlantic trips together, plus the one-way trip that brought us here (or, if you like, you can think of that as the round-trip we just haven’t completed yet) but I could be missing one. So, we’ve done at least 9 transatlantic flights together as a family, and though I’m not sure we’re experts, we’re certainly pretty well experienced. (I mean, seriously. My kids have each made at least 9 transatlantic flights so far. I was 37 before I could say that.) But all of our experience does very little to mitigate the unscripted insanity that invariably awaits us every time we do it. Every trip has been a little different, and each one has presented its own challenges. It is, as I often say, always an adventure.

In the past, we’ve usually (always?) flown direct from Vienna to Washington or stopped in Paris. Direct is great, but pricey, and though Austrian Airlines is pretty wonderful, their planes are not always the most comfortable. Last year, we opted to fly through Charles de Gaulle in Paris so that we could fly to Washington on the new A380 — the gigantic, double-decker plane. I said I wanted to try it out because I thought it would be fun for the kids, but the truth is that my years working in aviation left me as kind of a plane nerd and *I* really wanted to try it out.

It was great — comfortable, quiet and convenient, and Air France has stellar service. But Charles de Gaulle is a headache of an airport, and no matter how long we allow for a connection there (we’ve connected through Paris in the past, flying to other European destinations) we always end up running for the plane, which is a crummy beginning to a trip. (Last year was no exception.)

So this year, I thought we’d try something a little different. I was fine with connecting through Paris, but I wanted to allow more time than last year, and I wasn’t set on it being anywhere in particular. As it turned out, the A380 now flies between Washington and Heathrow, too. We’ve had some decent experiences at Heathrow before, and it’s a bonus that people in London speak English. Sold! We booked our tickets with a connection through Heathrow.

We had no delays getting from Vienna to Heathrow, so I expected than having nearly 2 hours to get to our next plane would be no problem. Ha! I had never realized that connecting from intra-European travel to transatlantic travel at Heathrow makes it every bit as much of a headache as connecting through Charles de Gaulle. It was not pleasant.

We had to wait for a shuttle bus which ran only every 15 minutes, and which took 20 minutes to get to its destination. Which sounds fine, except that the entire flight of people from Vienna had to get on the shuttle, and we had to wait through 3 rounds of shuttle buses before we got on. Then we had to go through security again, and there were insanely long lines. When we finally got to the front of the line, we were told that Liam’s antibiotic (remember how we were all sick for most of December?) couldn’t clear security. Huh??? No, really. It couldn’t go through because nowhere on the bottle did it say how bit it was (though it was, quite clearly, the same 100 mL size as the children’s ibuprofen we had — which DID say 100 mL on the bottle, so that was clear to go). Apparently, it would have been ok if we’d had the doctor’s written prescription with us (but we didn’t), even though it was in its original bottle from the pharmacy, all official-looking and everything. I explained that antibiotics are the kind of medicine where it’s very bad if you miss a dose. I offered to take some of the medicine. I offered to let them gas chromatograph it. I asked Dan to find someone to call our gate and tell them we were coming while I pleaded with the (not unsympathetic, but unbudging) security guy. Our flight was due to take off in less than 15 minutes, and we still had a shuttle train to take. We had to choose between leaving the medicine and running for our flight, or staying to argue about the medicine and getting on a later plane. We ran. (Again.)

I’m not exaggerating when I say that by the time we left security, we had just over 10 minutes to get to our gate. I was 95% certain we were going to miss our plane. I figured that, at least, our seats had been given away to someone on standby at this point. We ran, flat out, to the train terminal. We ran, flat out to the gate. We arrived, with about 90 seconds to spare before departure time. The gate agent said that the only reason our seats weren’t given away is that so many people had missed their connections that there were more open seats than standby passengers. He told us that if we hadn’t called from security to say we were coming, they would have left without us. We were the last people across the jetway, they closed the door as soon as we were through it, and we were still walking down the (admittedly very long) aisle when the plane pushed back. We were red-faced, sweaty, stressed, exhausted and without antibiotic, but we made our flight. (So much for not repeating the experience we had the year before!) I wanted to email our pediatrician, to ask if she could email or fax a replacement prescription, but between the dash for the plane and the actual takeoff, there was not a single moment to do it.

The kids were great. Though it’s not great that we keep ending up in that situation, they’re at least getting used to it, and they know that it’s not a calamity. (Besides, they’re getting bigger, so they’re getting pretty fast!) The rest of the flight was relatively uneventful. The boys are definitely getting more and more accustomed to long flights. The service on British Airways was as good as Air France (though the configuration of the plane was slightly less comfortable).

And it was so, so wonderful to see our family again when we arrived. That is the absolute BEST feeling about being abroad — how magical it feels to come home again. There are all of these wonderful people that you miss SO much, and then you get to see them, and they’re just as happy to see you as you are to see them, and they don’t care too much what state you’re in when you arrive. It is the BEST. (And, we got to meet our new nephew/cousin!!!!)

But after we gave hugs and kisses, collected our things, packed everything up, got to my mom’s house and got semi-settled in . . . we still had the antibiotic to deal with.

By the time we got to Maryland, it was late at night in Vienna, so I couldn’t reach our pediatrician (though I left her a message). We had no recourse, except to go to a 24 hour pharmacy and beg for them to give us a single dose of amoxicillin (we figured we could come back with an emailed prescription in the morning, but we didn’t want him to miss a dose). If at all possible, we didn’t want to have to take poor, exhausted Liam to the ER or an urgent care place to get them to write a new prescription that night. I discovered that, randomly, I’d taken a picture of the prescription when the doctor gave it to us (I have no idea why — I never do that) so Dan was able to take that with him to the pharmacy. (It’s too bad that I didn’t realize I had that at Heathrow — he might have let us through with that.)

When Dan went to the pharmacy, he explained the situation. We were fortunate that the pharmacist was as outraged by the fact that the antibiotic had been confiscated as we were, and he refilled the entire prescription for us, based just on the picture from my phone. And so, just 22 hours after leaving our apartment in Vienna, after running through the airport, going over the ocean and through the hassle of getting Liam’s medicine, we were, finally, tucked in, safe and sound, at Grandma’s house.

As American as pumpkin pie

Posted on June 18, 2015 by admin

Living here is a constant adventure (as I think I may have mentioned once or twice). We are trying new things, seeing new places, and challenging ourselves to learn and grow – constantly. A lot of it is amazing and wonderful. I’ve crossed a lifetime’s worth of experiences and travel destinations off of my wish list in the four years we’ve been here, and living in Europe is undeniably cool and enriching beyond what I could have imagined. But, being far from home, away from our loved ones and outside of our familiar communities can also be intensely hard. It’s usually worst around the holidays … and even more so when those holidays don’t exist here. Christmas and Easter and beautiful, fun and festive here. Thanksgiving and July 4th, not so much. It causes us to bond strongly, and sometimes strangely, with our fellow Americans.

Anytime I meet an American here — tourist, ex-pat or immigrant — I feel immediately connected to them. From the first moment, we have so much in common — language, social cues, cultural framework. It’s just so easy to interact with another American. We instantly “get” each other (in a way I always took for granted before). When it’s someone I get to know a bit better, over time, the person is likely to feel like a friend, even if I only know them professionally.

With our pediatrician, who is not only American (and Austrian), but also roughly my age (she’s younger) and the mom to two small kids (her twins are nearly exactly between my boys in age), I have a particular tendency to accidentally sometimes treat her friend-ish, rather than doctor-ish.

But it’s not just down to me and my tendency to treat everyone I see a lot as a friend (which I do). The nature of living abroad can sometimes change the situation and increase the blurriness between friends and professional acquaintances. Which is how our pediatrician helped me make pumpkin cheesecake for Thanksgiving this year.

The boys and I were in her office in mid-November, because B had been having some asthma-like reactions to a nasty head cold that just wouldn’t go away (everything turned out fine, ultimately). While I was paying the bill at the end of our visit (which, here, happens directly to the doctor, because most of them do not have receptionists, nurses, or office staff) we chatted about Thanksgiving, and lamented the difficulty of finding good Thanksgiving supplies so far from home. Thanksgiving is so very American, and so many of the foods we eat for it are uncommon in Europe. Sweet potatoes? Good luck. Turkey? No way — besides, it won’t fit in the oven. Graham cracker crust? Better start smashing some graham crackers! Pumpkin pie spice? Ha ha ha ha — make your own. And, in the course of chatting, I told her how I’d learned to roast my own pumpkin in order to make my own pumpkin purée for a pumpkin cheesecake I made for Halloween, but that it was kind of a pain, and that I was just going to skip it for Thanksgiving. We both agreed (surprisingly enough, for Americans) that we weren’t really huge fans of pumpkin pie. And then she remembered that she had, sitting on a shelf in her pantry, a can of pumpkin pie filling that she was not going to use.

And that’s how I ended up, the following Sunday evening, texting her to remember to bring it to the office, which she did, and B & I picked it up the next morning at his follow up appointment. And so, our pediatrician helped us have the stuff to make pumpkin cheesecake for Thanksgiving — an Austrian Thanksgiving surprise.

Schönbrunn Easter Market 2014

Posted on April 24, 2014 by admin

The Easter markets in Vienna are not nearly so plentiful as the Christmas markets. I only know of 2 — the one near our house at the Freyung, and the bigger one at Schönbrunn. We try to make it to both every year. The Freyung market is quieter and very charming, and the focus is on the massive display of decorated eggs. Schönbrunn is much bigger and has much more of a party feel, plus many, many busloads of tourists. There’s a lot more food and a lot more to do at Schönbrunn (especially for kids), which makes it an easier place for a longer visit.

We didn’t make it out there this year until the day before Easter, and it was, predictably, a bit of a zoo. But we had a great time. The boys played quite a few games (like tabletop hockey . . . with chickens) and participated in some fun activities (walking on stilts), we all ate a little lunch, I visited the shop stall of my favorite Austrian folk artist, Lisl (who remembers me every time) and we all enjoyed a beautiful afternoon at the market. (By contrast, last year it was rainy and cold the day we went to the Schönbrunn market, but still lots of fun.)

It was fun and festive, and good times were had all around. It was a fun way to spend part of Easter weekend, and to enjoy a little of early spring in Vienna.

B even took on an adult in chicken hockey

Our Austrian Valentine’s Days

Posted on February 14, 2014 by admin

Growing up, I was never a big Valentine’s Day person. As a little kid, I liked making the “mailboxes” to collect our Valentines at school, but being a perfectionist, it never quite turned out the way I wanted. As a teenager, I was a perennially grouchy person on Valentine’s Days, because I was always full of unrequited affection for someone or another. Then, as a young adult, even when I was coupled up mid-February, I never quite lost my vestigial semi-bitterness and residual disdain for Valentine’s Day.

Like so many things, I didn’t really start to like it until I was a parent, and then only because I made a choice and an intellectual effort to not pass on this anti-Valentine’s issue to my kids.

Since becoming a mom, I’ve been completely turned around on Valentine’s Day. I actually quite like it now. Since Benjamin’s very first Valentine’s Day, I’ve done a little something for the kids each year — a card, some decorations, or maybe a special treat. Nothing major, just something fun and little to mark the day and say “I love you.” I love doing it for them, and I love seeing them look forward to these little things, and then, by extension, to see them look for sweet little kindnesses to do for us or for each other on Valentine’s Day. They always do. They draw pictures for us or for each other, share their special treats, give extra hugs and kisses, share their toys with more willingness. It’s truly heartwarming, and has completely won me over.

Beyond that, though, Valentine’s Day is not really a children’s holiday here. There are no school parties, no heart shaped cookies, no glittery Valentines handed out, no paper hearts on the walls or windows, no classrooms full of kids wearing red and pink. Absolutely none of it. Adults celebrate Valentine’s Day here — with flowers, chocolates or a dinner out — but it’s really only for grown ups (and even then, not a particularly big deal). My guys were dressed in red for school today, but if anyone else was, it was purely a coincidence. I suspect that will be a bit of culture shock for my boys when we move home — the concept of celebrating Valentine’s Day at school will be weird to them, I expect (much how they feel about dressing up for Halloween at school — when I mentioned that tradition to them the other day, they reacted with skepticism and surprise).

But, as much as all of that would be (and will be) sweet, I’m ok with the way things are here. Valentine’s Day here is very nearly (as far as my kids know) something that only our family does. Our traditions shape the whole of their idea of the day. They see Daddy bring flowers for Mommy, so they want to bring me some, too. They look forward to their homemade cards in the morning, and they draw us hearts and pictures at school. They come home to fresh cookies, and they share them with each other. We all get lots of extra hugs and kisses today, because it’s Valentine’s Day. And I’m very happy about all of it.

Gifts on Christmas Eve

Posted on January 16, 2014 by admin

Christmas in Vienna is lovely, and both times that we were there for the holidays we had a very nice (if very quiet) time. But nothing compares to Christmas with family.

The lead-up to Christmas Day in Vienna truly is wonderful. I’ve been completely won over by the coziness of the Christmas markets, the grand yet warm feeling of the lights hung over the busy streets and the peacefulness of focusing on togetherness and family over shopping and buying. I absolutely love it. I’m a convert. I hope to carry part of Christmas in Vienna with me my whole life. I hope that I have been fundamentally, irreversibly changed by experiencing it.

Christmas at home, surrounded by a bustling family, is where my heart really lives, though. Getting a tree, wrapping gifts, gathering for meals, watching my boys put the star(s) on the tree and spending the days leading up to Christmas Day playing and talking together — it was exactly the holiday I wanted to have.

Christmas Eve itself was a whirlwind of dinner, bath time, hanging stockings, sprinkling “reindeer food” on the lawn, leaving a snack for Santa, reading “The Night Before Christmas” and then tucking two very excited boys into bed a few hours later than I’d planned.

And then we elves went to work! The wrapping was mostly done, but all of the gifts had to be pulled out from where they’d been hidden away, batteries had to be put in place, everything had to be set out just right and we had two firetrucks with over 100 pieces each that needed to be assembled (thanks for that, Santa). It was a big job, but since this was our sixth Christmas as parents, Dan & I are not strangers to the late-night Christmas Eve gift assembly party. But this time, it really WAS a party. My brothers and sister came over and we all stayed up until well after midnight to fit tiny firehoses into brackets and figure out how to put together front-end wheel assemblies for the remote control options. Truly, nothing says “I love you” like putting together 177 pieces of plastic in the middle of the night.

It was great. It was festive. It was togetherness. Although they don’t yet appreciate it, my boys were on the receiving end of a lot of love from their whole family that night. After a couple of years of doing Christmas mostly on our own, there was an amazing sense of joy and celebration just in getting together to play Santa for Benjamin and Liam. I absolutely loved it.

And, around 1:00, when I was picking up the last little cardboard pieces, making sure the instructions were squirreled away, and turning off the lights, I realized that back in Vienna, Christmas morning was already over. Had we been in Vienna, instead of in Maryland, we would have been already finished with opening most of the gifts, and we would be impatiently waiting to talk to our family back home, to wish them a Merry Christmas and to let the boys share their excitement over everything Santa had brought for them. And that always has been one of the hardest things about celebrating Christmas far away. The time difference is more noticeable on Christmas Day than any other day of the year, because when we want to be celebrating and sharing it together, everyone at home is still sleeping . . . and by the time they’ve all gotten together to have Christmas dinner, we’re already on our way to bed in Vienna.

So that moment, the camaraderie of an evening spent constructing toys and the anticipation of the Christmas morning still to come, was pretty magical. Even being in the same time zone as our family would have been special enough, but getting to actually be together to celebrate was the best thing I could have gotten for Christmas this year.

Lumberjacks

Posted on January 14, 2014 by admin

For many years, we had the habit of foregoing the Christmas tree lot and heading out to rural Maryland to select and cut down our Christmas tree. The habit started with my dad, who almost always gets his trees this way (you certainly can’t beat the freshness, but the hour or so home with the tree tied to the top of my little car — part of it on major highways — was always a bit of a harrowing adventure).

I think the last year we did it was Benjamin’s first Christmas. That particular year, instead of taking cute pictures of our little baby in front of his first Christmas tree at the tree farm, we ended up with a screaming, miserable wind-blown baby with whom I retreated to the cold car where then proceeded to accidentally bang his head on the car door (which wasn’t the fault of the location) and we spent a miserable hour waiting for Dan to choose and retrieve a tree on his own. (Note, the tree in the picture is not “our” tree. We posed this picture at the end so we would have something to show for our efforts . . . other than just the tree.) That corrected my romantic notions about tree-felling with tiny children, and afterwards, while still in the States, we relied on the local tree lots for our trees.

I still really like the idea of cutting down our own tree, though, and, had we stayed in the US, it would only have been a matter of a few years until we had most likely returned to our yearly familial trek to the countryside for a tree.

In Vienna, though, that hasn’t been an option for us. Without a car, finding a place to get a tree and (more importantly) getting it home would have required entirely too much effort. (Although I did recently see someone transport their tree by city bus, and there was a lady who checked in a tree as luggage at the airport, so maybe I just didn’t think hard enough about a solution.) So, since we’ve been in Vienna, we’ve satisfied ourselves with the super-convenient tree lot across the street from our apartment building.

This year, since we spent the holidays in Maryland, we didn’t get a tree for our apartment in Vienna at all. It was strange not to have one. Decorating, and then enjoying, a festive tree is one of my favorite parts of the Christmas season, and I don’t follow the Austrian tradition of getting one at the last minute. I always want to have as much time as possible to enjoy it before (and after) the holidays. But I couldn’t think of a way to really make it practical to have one this year, since we were gone for 2 weeks, and Christmas trees aren’t even available here until mid-December. So we didn’t get one of our own.

With our trip home this year including an arrival shortly before Christmas (late on Dec. 20), my mom had already gotten and beautifully decorated her tree. It was like magic for the boys when they saw it (I get my high standards for tree decorating from my mom, but she’s had more practice). They absolutely loved it — especially because it was their job to put the finishing touches on. I think *not* having one ourselves this year made it even more special to arrive at Grandma’s and to have one so beautiful to enjoy.

The boys really got the best of both worlds this year, though, because the day after our arrival we headed out to cut down a tree with my dad. Although Benjamin had technically been on such an adventure before, he had no memory of it, and Liam had never been. We were so fortunate to have amazing (if not very Christmassy) weather for it — we didn’t even need our coats!

It was so much fun to watch the boys rush off to find and inspect trees. Liam nominated the very first one that we saw. They chose big ones and small ones, of several different types. (They had a strong preference for “soft” ones that they could touch or hug without getting hurt.) After a bit of dashing about, nominating trees, and befriending a little boy they met (they were simply FASCINATED that he could speak English!), with Grandpa’s, Sam’s, Margie’s and Adam’s help, we finally chose “the tree” for Grandpa’s house this year. The kids were thrilled.

And then, to top it off, Benjamin actually got to get down on the ground and help Grandpa with the saw. He cut down his very first tree! And then, he was so proud that he pretty much pushed Uncle Adam aside when it was time to carry the tree back to the cashier. Both boys were so proud to be able to help.

And so, the boys got to play lumberjack, and they got to take part in a piece of Christmas tradition I’d been wanting them to experience. I suspect that in the years to come, whatever we decide to do in terms of acquiring our own tree, going and hunting down a tree with Grandpa is doing to remain high on their list of favorite Christmas traditions. (I don’t think that true December weather will even dampen their enthusiasm at all!)

A Mommy Abroad

Our big adventure, as a family of three.

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