Happy Mother's Day 2008!

Since we can’t be with all the mothers in our life today, we are sending a special Mother’s Day hello from Germany! So, Gaga and Granna, our Godmothers Susan, Helen, and Jackie, and all the other mothers we love, we hope you have a wonderful day!

We thought a few pictures would be nice, and since our camera cords recently arrived in our air shipment, we now have the power to share them with you…

First, a few pictures of the boys with Mom and Aunt Catherine. We are in our living room, but we don’t have furniture yet, so we’re using our boxes of books to make a safety area for Luke. Furniture is overrated.

Across the street from our house is a beautiful field of rapeseed - our LA photographer friend, Heather, would have a field day here (no pun intended!). In her absence, Gail and Catherine had some fun yesterday...







If you walk a bit farther, you arrive at a narrow road, on which we walk most weekends. Jack likes to ride his razor scooter, and demonstrates incredible balance for a 4 year old.





During the day, Luke hangs in the kitchen with Catherine while she cooks some of the most delicious meals we’ve ever had. We are blessed that she is here and has such talents!






As you can see, Luke now has teeth – 2 on the bottom and one just peeking out of his upper gums. His hair is definitely blond, and only looks reddish in certain pictures. He is pulling himself up and cruising around, but hasn’t managed to stand on his own quite yet.


We miss you all so much, and wish we were there to give you big hugs! We hope you have a wonderful day, and we love you dearly!

Have a wonderful day, Moms!!

Call 112!!

April 11, 2008

My good friend Jackie always says, “Every day we’re not in the hospital is a good day.” Of course, she has a unique perspective since her son, Parker (our Godson), is a leukemia survivor.

So, as I sat in the krankenhaus (hospital) with Luke on Friday, Jackie and Parker were on my mind. How did she do this for so many years? But you’re probably wondering why we were there to begin with…

It was a harrowing experience.

We’re down to one car (another story in and of itself), so John is driving me to and from work, then has to return home to pick up Jack and take him to school. (John’s sister, Catherine, is visiting to help us get settled, so the boys are home with her while John is gone.) While John and I were getting ready Friday morning, Luke took a pretty nasty fall off our bed. I saw it happen because I was inches away from him when he fell. Our bed is high, and he landed on the top of his head. He wailed, as you can imagine, but his cry did not sound normal, and a few seconds after I picked him up, his nose started to bleed. He was very still. I can’t even describe how terrified we were.

I called 112 (the local 911). John held Luke. “Mein baby gefallen…bett…hohe…nose …blood…weinen nich normal” - Why hadn’t I learned the words I needed??? Oh God, please let him be ok.

The paramedics came. Langsam. (slow.) One spoke English, one didn’t. Said Luke seemed ok, eyes dilated correctly, but we should take him to the hospital. Off we went. Better notify work…attempted to send Blackberry message but mailbox is over size limit. Sheisse. Whhhhy nooowww??

I’ll spare you the details of the waiting and the check-in process, trying to figure out whether we have insurance coverage for “normal” or “private” service, all the while praying that Luke would be ok.

Within a few hours, he seemed fine – laughing, crawling around, jabbering. Around 3pm, they took a sonogram to ensure there was no bleeding on the brain. He passed. Still, the docs wanted to hold him for 24 hours for observation.

Looking back, there were a number of things that were blog material, but honestly, I’m still so shaken by our close call that I can’t really make any of them sound funny. I will say, though, that only hours before we checked out did I learn there was a toilet right outside our room – I had been walking all the way to the end of the wing, and for three of my four meals there, I chose to eat bread and butter. You know my love of food, so you can figure that one out. Even so, I’ve never been so happy to spend the night anywhere, as long as Luke was ok.

Our visit to church Sunday morning was more comforting than usual, and we are extremely grateful that little Lukey-duke is happy and healthy. Meanwhile, there is now a pack n’ play in our bedroom and we’re looking at the low, European beds for potential purchase.

That was one German experience we REALLY don’t want to repeat!

Jack’s First Day of School in Germany

March 25, 2008

“Who are you and what have you done with my son?”

I left Kids Kamp Königstein Tuesday morning in disbelief. Jack, who has had separation anxiety issues for years, had just given me a kiss goodbye with a light-hearted wave and trotted off to his chair in the Ladybirds room.

We’ve been in Germany for about a week and have been telling Jack he’d be starting school after Easter. As the date grew near, he became more and more nervous. The night before, we spent a couple of hours talking about the next day…what would happen when he woke up, clothes to wear, mom would drive, arrive, meet teachers…etc. Then, we did a role-playing exercise with Froggie and Mama Bear. Jack was Mama Bear and I was Froggie. I knew I was in trouble when Froggie asked what he should do when Mama Bear has to leave the school and Jack (as Mama Bear) replied, “run after her screaming!”

Yet, there I was, free to go. Calmly. Quietly. No drama.

I’d like to think I had prepared him for this big moment, but realistically, I attribute it to the two little boys who immediately adopted Jack upon arrival. I don’t know their names, but they were excited to see him and play with him, and before he knew it, there was a birthday celebration with cake (at 9AM?!) and singing, and he was having FUN!

Since then, we’ve had a couple of difficult drop offs, but Jack has befriended a boy named Alex whose mom is American, apparently. He talks about Alex every night and I’m looking forward to meeting him and his family.

We still haven’t made the final decision on Kids Kamp v. the International School, but will have to very soon. Until then, we’re thrilled Jack is enjoying his new school.

4+15+8+5796 = a new adventure

I keep meaning to write about our trip over, but can’t quite find the energy. Probably because the trip really went quite smoothly, considering. I mean, my expectations were low. Really low. Somewhere around “survival” level. Which we did, so the trip was a success. But people keep asking, so I better give some details…

Fred Green was our porter at LAX. Our reluctant porter. And he didn’t even know the extent of it when we met. I had confiscated a large cart upon which to load our luggage and Fred had come over to explain that I couldn’t use it. Took me awhile, but he eventually admitted HE could use it, but he worked for tips.
“No problem,” I reply, “I would like to give you money for your help.”
He didn’t look convinced.
Did I have to beg or what?!
About that time, John drove up behind Helen’s station wagon, with our SUV packed to the gills. As bag after bag tumbled out of the two cars, Fred looked stunned.

The logistics of just getting to the airport were a dance. Helen and I went in her station wagon, with limited visibility, and John and the boys followed in our last remaining car, also packed. We dropped off all the luggage at the curb with Fred, then Helen went to park her car, returned, and took ours to airport parking, where its new owner would pick it up. Meanwhile, our family and our 23 bags went to check in.

Yes, that’s right. 23 bags. But don’t worry, we checked 15 and only carried 8 on board. That’s 2 per person. Of course, Luke and Jack aren’t really carrying bags, so in terms of useful arms, that’s 2 bags per arm.

We have a picture of us at the airport, but we’ll have to post it later. We can’t find our camera cord to upload our pics.

$50 later, Fred was a happy guy and we were on our way.

Wait. Line. Wait. Airline Lounge. Wait. Snack. Wait. Get on plane. Luggage won’t fit overhead. Cram into closet. Thankful we’re in B-class. Wait. Take off. Fly. Eat. Drink. Feed Luke. Sleep. Eat. Wait. Land in Amsterdam. Haul all luggage off plane. Walk. Obtain push cart. (Thank goodness.) Walk. Wait. Eat. Wait. Wait. Wait. Make a few work phone calls. Wait. Go check in for connection to Frankfurt.

“Sir, did you check, uh, FIFTEEN bags with us?”
“Yes, we’re moving to Germany.”
“Oh, ok,” she sounds relieved, “we thought there was an error in our system.”
“Maam, you can’t take that push cart any farther – you’ll have to carry all of that.”
My worst nightmare.

Haul. Wait. Fly. Land. Wait. Count. Yep, all here. 4 Carpenters, 23 bags, 5796 miles. Tired. Ask gentleman with worker-man vest if he speaks English.
“Nein.”
OK. Here goes.
“Ich habe dreiundzwanzig uh, “bags.””
I point to the mound o’ baggage which includes one harried-looking husband, one 4-year old glued to a portable DVD player, and a sleeping (thank goodness) infant. Plus our 23 bags.
“Haben Sie gross um, “cart”?” I look hopeful as I butcher his mother tongue.
“Ja” he says. And then makes the sign for money, “gelb.”
Ah yes, cha ching.
He and John go across the room, pick up a phone, and soon two strapping young men with a double cart that looks like the cage on the animal crackers box appear. For a mere €50 they will help us with our bags.
Name your price, dudes.

The guy at the Hertz counter looks amused by our luggage. I request a “really gross” van, with GPS. GPS is key.

Less than an hour later, we’d loaded up the Mercedes touring van and were on our way to Bad Homburg. For the first time, I realize that I only have a couple of bottles of formula left for Lukey and I’m not producing much milk anymore. We’ve got to find food for him, as well as pick up some staples because our furnished apartment has no consumables in it.

Although we’ve leased a house, we can’t take possession until April 1, so we’re in temporary housing until then. Well, actually until we move into a hotel for two nights, then into the “permanent” house.

I call our relocation specialist, Inge Jaeger. She is scheduled to meet us at the apartment at 8pm, which gives us a bit of time to shop before the stores close at 8. It’s 7pm.

By the time we arrive in Bad Homburg, it’s about 7:20. 40 minutes left to buy formula. John drops me off at Karstadt, a large department store that also sells groceries. I pick up some strawberries (erdbeeren) on my way to the baby food aisle. But I can’t find the baby food aisle. I approach the lady behind the cheese counter. (I love this country – the cheese counters are magnificent.)
“Sprechen Sie English?”
“Nein.”
OK, here goes.
“Haben Sie milch fur bebe?”
She looks puzzled.
“Essen.” (to eat)
“Nein.”
No baby food.
Eek. They don’t sell baby food at the grocery stores? How do babies eat?

I call Inge. By this time, it’s 7:35. She suggests Rewe, the market with more expat (that means more expensive) food. I run down the block (in the freezing wind with no coat) looking for the entrance. Immediately I ask for help.
“Sprechen Sie..”
“Nein.”
(I have REALLY got to learn German fast.)“Milch fur bebe.”
She doesn’t know, so goes to ask. We snake our way through the store.
Nope, no baby food.
It’s 7:50.
I start to panic. Calmly.

What if I can’t feed my Lukey Luke?? It never occurred to me that I was moving to a country that didn’t feed their young.

I call Lynda, my boss’ wife, who has a little girl 2 months younger than Luke. Peter answers the phone and informs me that Lynda MAKES all their baby food.
But of course.
But then Lynda gets on the phone, like an angel from above, and tells me to go to Rossmann drug store, and proceeds to look it up online and gives me the address. I love this woman.

Calling Inge on the way, I run to Rossmann with 5 minutes to spare. I ask about milch. Aisle 65. I run. Then, I stop.

The aisle is full of baby formula, but not a single brand I recognize. And, it’s ALL in German. I call Inge.
“Come quick. They’re about to close and I can’t read the packages!”
A minute later, Inge arrives and sets about translating until the salesgirl tells us they’re closing. (At least, I assume that’s what she said. Couldn’t understand a word of it.) I grab a box of every formula with an “8” on it (for 8 months old) plus one jar of baby food (Spaghetti Bolognese) and head to the front. Figured I’d figure it out when I got home.

To the apartment we went, met John and the boys, then proceeded to lug our 23 bags up umpteen tiny stairs to our temporary apartment. What a relief to finally arrive.

Inge left us with a fresh baguette, some really stinky, but yummy (“lecker”) cheese and a bottle of red wine. Once we got the boys to bed, we indulged in the wine, then turned in. I had an 8am meeting the next day.

We were finally in Frankfurt.


P.S. Once I got home and studied the boxes of formula, I discovered I’d purchased one banana- and one fruit-flavored formula, as well as one box of just “regular” milk-flavored formula. Who knew formula came in flavors?!!

That’s Entertainment!!

Days in Frankfurt with Family: 5
Days of rain: 5
Days of sleet & snow: 2

Saturday morning. Ahhh, we get to sleep in. Finally. Seems like it’s been months. Of course, the Lukey alarm goes off at 7, but he went back to sleep and we all slept until 9:30. Unheard of.

Once we gained consciousness, we realized it was Saturday and the stores were open! See, yesterday they were closed for Good Friday, and tomorrow and Monday they’ll be closed in celebration of Easter. Today was our only shopping day.

“So what?!” you may be thinking. But that’s only because you have salt in your house. We spent all of yesterday trying to figure out what we could cook that required no seasonings, because somewhere in the melee of purchasing milk, baby food and diapers, we forgot all about spices.

Living in Germany, every day is like Christmas. Today’s Christmas surprise came at breakfast, shortly after John and Jack had a long conversation about the blueberry jelly John had purchased. (Clearly, we can’t remember salt, but blueberry jam was a must.) Moments later, I hear the signature,” OH NO!!” followed by laughter emanating from the dining area. Those were no blueberries – they were PRUNES! Eewwww.

Four hours later, we had our salt, plus enough food for the duration, and most importantly, some Easter surprises for Jack. We were on a roll. What else could we not live without until Tuesday? Exactly. A DVD player.

Off to Media Markt we went. Or, tried to. We had no address, so John headed up the stairs (still have to write about the stairs…) to check the web for the address. Couldn’t get a wireless signal. Decided we’d use the car navigation system. Gave us directions to Media Markt’s corporate HQ 83km away. Forced to go to into a hotel and ask if anyone knew where it was. Paydirt! And we were off.

Media Markt is located in the Main(pronounced “mine”)-Taunus-Centrum, which is an outdoor mall ala Century City. We see it as we approach the exit.
“Prepare to turn right,.” says the Combi’s nav system. We do. And then we turn. And then we stop. Abruptly.

“What’s going on?” Our exit was blocked in the middle of the cloverleaf turn, and men were stopping traffic on two other exit roads so that we could cross in front of them. I felt like a lemming. Where were we going, suddenly? And how could we extricate ourselves from this odd parade?? The line of traffic we were in was being directed into a grove of trees, through a narrow iron gate and into a large, wavy abandoned parking lot that looked like an old drive-in movie theater. A man vehemently motioned us to park, so we did.

“Do you see the mall anymore?”
“Nope, you?”
“Nope. What if these people aren’t even going to the mall? I saw a sign for a circus. Do you think we’re going to a circus?”
“Nope, I think that’s the mall building over there. See?”

Have I mentioned it sleeted on the drive over? We were parked in a mud bowl with a bunch of lemmings.

Get out of car. Haul out the Phil & Ted’s. Pop open. Install second seat. Install Jack and Luke. Grab diaper bag, purse and bottles. Follow the trail of people through the mud pit.

As we neared the edge of the lot, we discovered the building we thought might be the mall was the Dorint Hotel. John immediately starts to enter “Dorint Hotel” into his new Blackberry in case we get lost, or maybe if someone finds us. Indeed, there was no mall in sight. There was, however, a big bus.

“Where are we going and how will we get back?”

Yet, we schlepped the phil & teds on the bus and away we went…to the mall. Phew! As we separated from the bus, we madly scribbled the name of the bus on a random piece of paper in case we needed it later.

Once at Media Markt, we searched for a DVD player that would allow us to play US-format as well as European discs. After standing in line for what seemed an eternity, we were told to look on the back of each machine for a little globe with a number in it - the number 2 meant European, the number 1 was US and 0 meant it would play both. Away we went, picking up every single one and searching for the 0. But alas, there were only 2’s. All the machines were European.

Forced to stand in line again to get help, we learned of a secret code we could use to fake out a Philips unit, so we grabbed an HD compatible one and went to stand in another line to pay. Cash. No credit card. No checks. Only cash. Because, of course, we don’t have an EC card (debit card), because we can’t get it until we have a bank account, which we have, but it has no money in it since the banks have been closed the majority of the time we’ve been here and we need to add John’s name to it, but we can’t get any EC card until we have an address, which we have, but we don’t move in until April 1, and even then I think we need enough time to get bills with our name on them and that is why we have to pay cash everywhere we go. Whew!

So, loaded with our new HD DVD player, with a 2 in its globe, but instructions from the web that include the word “hack” in them somewhere, we’re off to find the bus that dropped us off, in hopes to return to the mud bowl cinema.

Which we did.

All in all, a good day.

P.S. We learned today that we have been washing our dishes in our dishwasher without soap. I mean, we THOUGHT we were using soap, but it turns out we were only using glass brightener. This revelation brought on an emergency trip to the grocery store at 7:45 pm, only to discover the store had already closed for Easter. After traipsing through the sleet, John finally found one open and returned with the Calgonite Powerballs. (seriously, that’s what they’re called.)

Scheisse, where’s my car?!!!

Days in Frankfurt with family: 3
Days of rain: 3
Days of snow: .01 (15 minutes of flurries)

6 a.m. Alarm Antelope sounds (this is the ring tone on my Blackberry alarm). Hit snooze. Immediately Alarm Antelope rings. How did 10 minutes pass so quickly?!
Have. To. Get. Up.
8 o’clock meeting. Shower. Makeup. Pump. Hair. Dress. Tired.
Purse – check. Briefcase – check. Pump – check.

Loaded for bear, I head down the stairs. (I need to write about the stairs at some point. Numerous and treacherous are a couple of “-ous” words that come to mind, but that’s another story. No pun intended. Get it? Stairs? Story? But I digress…)

We’re living in a temporary apartment on Louisenstrasse, the pedestrian shopping street of Bad Homburg, a village north of Frankfurt. (For you google junkies, our address is Louisenstrasse 79.) We are just above a flower mart, and every morning I look down at the beautiful flowers. It’s quite romantic, even at 6am through my jet-lagged haze, and I like to pretend I’m in Paris.

Past the flower shop I go, down the block and around the corner, headed for the car.

Last night, it was dark when I got home, and I circled the block (actually a few blocks) numerous times before I finally found an open parking spot. It took me three tries to complete my parking task – I kept getting out, as cars whizzed by, to see whether I was sticking out too far in front, in back and on the sides. Having no clear idea of where I had finally parked, I was pleased to discover my spot was quite close to our door after all.

So this morning, once I’d rounded the corner, I knew where to find my little silver Passat station wagon (or “combi” as they’re called here). Trouble was, there was no little silver Passat combi. There was a black BMW combi, but no Passat. Well, maybe I had it wrong after all. Walk farther. Walk. End of block. No car.

As I’m walking back, I see it.

On the pavement, in the spot recently vacated by the BMW combi, was the universal sign for handicapped parking.

Scheisse.

Now, I distinctly remember seeing a handicapped sign last night, posted close to the nose of my car, but it wasn’t pointed at MY spot – it was pointed down the alley next to my spot. I even thought, “how nice – they let the handicapped folks drive all the way up to the back of the buildings. Like frau parking, only handi parking. These Germans are really thoughtful. How lucky am I to be in such a great culture.”

Psyche - Welcome to Germany, your car has been ab-schlepped. (or, rather, towed!)

Back to the apartment with my load. Pack mule. Now late for my meeting with Supply Chain Team. Great leadership moment. Run afoul of the German law twice before even occupying “permanent” address. And how will I find my car? Worse yet, it’s a company car. Headline: Toy Company Finance Exec Imprisoned for Playing Irresponsibly with Company Asset.

As proof that guardian angels surround us, our relo specialist, Andreas, had a meeting with John this morning and met me at our door. Call the police station to determine location of beloved combi. Speak in German. Call Mattel to discover the license plate number of the car (since all my paperwok was trapped in the combi). Speak in German. Another call to the police to establish my authority to drive said combi. German. After 3 hours and a trip to the abschleppdienst, I was reunited with my combi.

And it only cost €150, a bargain according to my colleagues.

We can’t afford to live here.

Stressed? Me? Nah...

10 March 2008

Days away from boyz: 10
Weight gained from too many Danish pastries: 2 kg
Hours of sleep during previous night: 6

I woke up with a rash all over my body.

This is not the first time this has happened. Last spring, while very pregnant with Luke, I had a rash over most of my body for months. Had to go to a special doctor to get non-toxic salve.

Head to the shower.

Last night over dinner, my colleague, Apostolis, leaned over the table and said, “Have you noticed anything about this hotel?”
I took a sly sideways glance around the lobby, saw no KGB, and replied, “not sure – what do you mean?”
Well, apparently, the Scandic Sydhavnen (pronounced soodt • hoonen…well, close anyway) hotel in Copenhagen is an environmentally friendly hotel and everything in it is a natural substance. Apostolis whipped out his room key to reinforce the fact that even the room keys were slimline wooden cards. The shower gel was rumored to be recycled rubber or something. Granted, it is the first hotel room I’ve ever seen with hardwood floors.

Itch. The bathroom is sort of cool – one big room with no tub or shower – just a shower head in one corner with a curtain you can pull around a track on the ceiling. Scratch. Turn water on. Itch. Pull curtain. Hey, where did the light go? It was like I was suddenly in a cave. Like I’m really going to pick up a razor in that light? Twitch.

Wait. What was that?

Twitch. You got to be kidding me. My right eye was twitching. Itch. I reach for the infamous recycled shower gel/shampoo. Squeeze. Nothing. Scratch. Come on. I need soap. Squeeze. Nothing. Fine. I’ll use the sink soap. Unfortunately, my environmentally friendly hotel had banned all plastic containers and packaging, so the soap was in dispensers attached to the walls. I had to traipse across the bathroom each time I needed soap for my hair and body. By the time I finished, it looked like Fireman Jack had visited.

What, no lotion? Oh yeah, packaging.

Itch. Scratch. Twitch.

Me, stressed?! Nah...