Lovely in Lux

Naked Pictures of Megan Fox AND Elisha Cuthbert!

2012-01-26T21:27:00.000+01:00

Okay, okay…before you run and find your babies and cover their eyes, there are NO naked pictures of Megan Fox or Elisha Cuthbert on this page. I promise. Your kids will be fine.

But…I did use that title for a previous blog post in 2009, and would you believe that it’s still getting hits?

Now. I’m not naive enough to think that someone looking for nude photos of Megan Fox (or Elisha Cuthbert, for that matter) is really the type of person who will find entertainment here at Lovely in Lux. (Unless of course it’s a person who is looking for such photos for completely legitimate purposes, such as an art project or a science experiment or something like that.) But still – and I know I haven’t discussed positive energy much lately, but I am a firm believer in it! – I feel that the more energy surrounding my blog, the more creativity I will have, and the more I will write, and the more I write the more I will have topics to write about, and the more topics I have to write about the better my life will be, etc. etc. So I feel that even the poor loser-y dudes who are combing the Internet for pictures of famous people in their birthday suits have something to offer Little Ol’ Me.

In the meantime, since many of those reading this blog are now expecting a picture of a naked lady, here you go:

But don’t get any ideas.

Volunteers needed!

2012-01-25T20:56:00.000+01:00

Hey American readers!!

I am looking for volunteers to participate in the most FABULOUS, HILARIOUS, ORIGINAL, MIND-BLOWING, TRANSATLANTIC EXPERIMENT EVER!!!

The cons:

You will have to spend money on a Mars and a Milky Way candy bar.
You will have to take the time to take some photos and send them to me.

The pros:

You will get to eat and enjoy said candy bars afterwards.
We may end up winning the Nobel Prize.

If interested, please leave a comment below with your email address – can’t wait to experiment with you!

Calendarless – Part II

2012-01-24T20:45:00.000+01:00

It took me approximately 2.7 days* to buy another calendar, thus ending my calendar strike.

I just couldn’t stand to look at the naked wall behind my computer monitor anymore. Not only was it not at all aesthetically pleasing, it offered absolutely nothing by way of date identification.

Surprisingly, the selection of 2012 calendars seemed much better than when I had looked in December. Perhaps the fine people at the publishing companies are little ol’ procrastinators like me. At least when you buy a calendar on January 19th, it only costs €5. So there’s definitely a plus side to waiting.

The new calendar has bouquets of flowers on it, just like I wanted. I realize this isn’t the most original idea for a calendar, but it honestly makes me feel like someone has given me flowers every time I look at it (although of course I would still appreciate fresh flowers on my desk *cough**hiccup*hint, hint*aaachoo!*).

Despite the new calendar, and one I got from our cleaning ladies at work, my wall is still pretty bare. I can’t decide if I want to hang up a photo of Baby Lovely on it or if I’d rather hang up the usual work-related, supposedly useful paper crap.

Honestly – for those of you who work at a desk all day, do you EVER reference those sheets of paper you’ve got hanging on the wall? Do you ever get a phone number from the ratty, 3-year-old-horribly-inaccurate list hanging by a thread behind your phone, or don’t you have most of them memorized, and the others you get from some other source?

I suppose I have used some of those reference items in the past, but it’s very rare. And who wants to decorate with lists and tables? Bleh.

On the other hand, if I hang up a picture of Baby Lovely, I’ve got to deal with the usual comments…(“She’s NOT sleeping through the night yet?! My baby did that at 2 months!” “Is she liking day care? I just COULDN’T send MINE to day care, I figure, if you’re going to have kids, you should stay home with them!”) Plus, I don’t actually know if I want to stare at her all day long. It might make me miss her, or distract me, or whatever.

Wouldn’t you be distracted by this face?

(Okay, okay…I’m a bit biased.)

Perhaps I should choose yet another option for office decor.

I could hang up this Welcome Back Kotter poster:

This quick reference guide of edible Thai river fish:

Or this amazing picture of a man who has been surgically altered to be bonded to his pizza forever by an umbilical cord of mozzarella:

I suppose the Baby Lovely option is the most appealing.

Even if it means I won’t be getting any work done.

*That’s 2 days, 16 hours, and 48 minutes.

Grocery List

2012-01-23T20:28:00.000+01:00

Question: What do expats do on a dreary Sunday afternoon in Luxembourg?
Answer: Why, they head to Little Britain and spend €64 on junk food that they don’t need, of course!

So what does an expat spend her money on when she’s already been in Europe for 7 years and isn’t really homesick anymore?

Lucky Charms
Cheerios (the “real” ones in the yellow box!)
Bisquick
Dr. Pepper
Nerds
Laffy Taffy
copious cans of condensed Cream of Mushroom soup
Aunt Jemima Pancake Syrup
PAM spray
Hidden Valley Ranch Dressing*

and some British items that looked awfully tasty (like the Three Cheese and Onion pasty…hmmm!).

Now just to clarify: some of those things I really could have made by myself, like Bisquick, the Cream of Mushroom soup, and the Hidden Valley Ranch Dressing. But the Bisquick was rather inexpensive, and these days I’m willing to spend more money for the sake of saving time – even if it’s just a few minutes. The Cream of Mushroom soup can also be made quite easily by hand if you ever need some for a recipe (see my blog on Expat Cooking 101 for the secret formula). But the cans were only €1.25 a piece, and it’s quite nice to have some on hand if you’re going to start up the Crock Pot before work.

Other things, such as Laffy Taffy, Nerds, and Aunt Jemima Pancake Syrup cannot and should not be duplicated and are absolutely necessary for the sustainment of a healthy and happy life (emphasis on the happy, not on the healthy). How else would we have gotten this gem: Why wasn’t the skeleton able to break the bad news? (answer below**).

But the most, most MOST important thing that this American expat will never learn how to live without are the Lucky Charms. And they KNOW they’re addictive, because EVERY British and American store in Europe always has them in stock (unless, of course, they are sold out, which they usually are). This box has 5 new shooting stars. So help me God, 5 new shooting stars!! It’s a taste explosion. I am eating them right now. They are amazing.

And that, dear readers, is how this expat spent her Sunday. Seriously: it was magically delicious.

*For the sake of accuracy, I would have purchased Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and A&W root beer if they would have been in stock. But some Luxembourg Americans beat me to it every time.
**He didn’t have the heart. (That’s so bad it almost gags you, doesn’t it?!)

Calendarless

2012-01-19T21:13:00.000+01:00

Upsetting truth of the day:

I am obviously not meant to have a calendar in my office.

To clarify in advance: I love calendars, and I would have been more than happy to go to the book store in 2011, peruse the calendar section, select and subsequently pay for a calendar of my choosing.

This calendar would have been hung above my desk in the aforementioned office at the beginning of 2012, or to be precise, on the first business day of 2012.

But obviously some things just aren’t meant to be.

I am partially to blame for these upsetting circumstances, I suppose…every year I am far too considerate and hold off on buying a calendar for myself because I don’t want to take away an ideal Christmas gift idea from someone else. That is perhaps my first problem. If I were a man, I would buy myself a calendar – or maybe even two – and never waste a second worrying about someone else’s gift ideas for me (my husband bought himself cufflinks in November, which did not make for a very happy wife*).

But I digress. Long story short, I found myself utterly calendarless** on December 26^th. Since there was no chance of me getting to a book store, however, I looked online for calendars.

The selection was disgraceful! There were tractor calendars, donkey calendars, libraries-of-the-world calendars, shit-happens! calendars, World of Warcraft calendars, Spongebob calendars, things-I-hate-about-life calendars, and lots and lots of girls-with-boobies calendars….but no nice garden/flower/bouquet calendars! The only company that had a calendar I liked only shipped to Germany (a lot of places don’t ship to Luxembourg, or if they do, they charge a gazillion euros to ship even though Luxembourg is 20 minutes away), so I ordered the calendar and had it shipped to a friend.

It took quite a few days for the calendar to ship, and quite a few days after that until my friend had time to bring the calendar to my husband’s office.

Where the calendar sat…

And sat…

And sat.

My husband, bless him, did a wonderful job of selling the fact that he forgot to bring the calendar home with him every night.

Every evening I would ask him for my calendar, and every evening he would flash his obnoxiously gorgeous little grin, a twinkle in his eye, and say, “You’ll get your calendar.” (Which is my husband’s way of saying, “I forgot the calendar again. But I’m so darn cute that I know you’ll forgive me.”)

Finally, on Sunday (January 15, which means 15 whole days of being without a calendar!! Scandalous!!), we actually drove to his office to pick up the calendar.

It had arrived nearly folded in half, with a huge crease down the middle and another one on the edge. I did my best to bend the spiral binding, as I was not about to send the calendar back. 15 days was just too long of a wait.

This calendar was going up on my wall, come hell or high water.

Monday morning, I put the calendar on the passenger side seat of my car, put my lunch bag on top of it, and drove to work.

Halfway there I reached into my lunch bag to pull out my morning cup o’ milk.

It was wet.

I did my best to not crash the car as I pulled item for item out of my lunch bag***, each sopping wet with milk.

My journal was sopping wet.

My box of Tylenol was sopping wet.

My little Ziploc baggie with Shredded Wheat was sopping wet.

Upon arrival at work, I discovered that the car seat was sopping wet.

My purse was sopping wet.

My CALENDAR was sopping wet.

I did my best damage control in the car before going into work…there was a lot to clean up.

It was at lunch time that I first had the chance to tend to my poor calendar.

It had since dried, with beautiful crinkly water marks, and the pages had stuck together.

I then proceeded to pry apart the pages.

I ripped January.

I ripped February.

I ripped March.

And so ended the brief and battered life of my 2012 calendar.

I think I’ll invest in a nice picture frame instead.

*He has since “misplaced” the cufflinks I gave him for Christmas, however, so perhaps it’s a good thing that he has a spare pair.

**Calendarless, but with an excellent pair of new boots.

***while using expletives.

How to book a doctor’s appointment in Luxembourg*

2012-01-18T21:05:00.000+01:00

Option 1 (preferred):

1. Find a Luxembourg native who knows a doctor.

2. Have them call the doctor.

3. Go to doctor the next day.

Option 2:

1. Find a Luxembourg native who knows a doctor.

2. Call the doctor yourself.

3. Ask for an appointment.

4. They will say, “we have an appointment next November.”

5. Say, “Do you have one earlier?”

6. They will say, “Let me see…how about next Thursday?”

7. Go to doctor.

*For those of you Americans who will read this and then proceed to criticize “European” health care, this is not meant as a criticism. Our health care in Luxembourg is cheap, modern, and usually excellent. But of course, it always helps to have some connections on the inside if you want an appointment with a specialist tout de suite.

PTO

2012-01-17T20:58:00.001+01:00

Sometimes, just sometimes, I have some tiiiiiny problems with English.

Not because my English is poor, mind you, but because I grew up on the “wrong” side of the ocean.

When dealing with the British, it is best to keep a low profile and to not make fun of their accent or their vocabulary or their spelling in any way, because you WILL be ridiculed and made to look like a total idiot.

And somewhat rightfully so, as – after all – their English did come first.

Today I had a bit of a mishap with British English at work…

I was asked to create employee calendars and several paper copies were returned to me to be corrected. Most of the employees had circled certain blocks of time on their calendars and marked them “PTO”.

Quite amazed that the management was giving so many people Paid Time Off, I assumed it was a new arrangement implemented since my maternity leave and proceeded to change everyone’s calendars to reflect their blocks of paid vacation time.

Until I got to a calendar with no time slots selected, just a note that read “PTO for changes”.

Now this I had to ask our secretary about – this person had been given paid time off just to make some silly calendar changes?!

The secretary read the note aloud.

“Please Turn Over for changes.”

D’oh!

Apparently in British English, PTO is simply “Please Turn Over”.

I now have a lot of calendars to redo – and a lot of vacation time to un-grant.

Or should I say “holidays”…

Whatever.

My first and last food blog

2012-01-16T21:58:00.000+01:00

I have been looking at way too many food blogs lately.

Food blogs always make me feel very discontented about my own blog. They always have a bazillion followers, and write new entries with new recipes every single day, and have amazing pictures, and are super well-written. And the ladies who write them have, like, ten kids and stainless steel cooking bowls and countless pastel-colored walls against which any cupcake in a pastel wrapper with pastel frosting looks waaay better than it does on a plain ol’ plate.

See?

And, obviously, they have amazing time management skills, because they find new recipes, adjust them, try them, take tons of pictures, and keep things up-to-date on Twitter and Facebook and Pinterest and this site and that site, etc. etc.

Little people like me think, “I could do that! I could cook! I could take photos! I could become a totally awesome, ultra-cool food blogger!!”

So today, I decided to take all the time I could muster and create my very own food blog.

I found a recipe.

I gathered the ingredients.

I took my camera.

The recipe was for yeast-free cinnamon rolls. I chose yeast-free cinnamon rolls because I often get cravings for cinnamon rolls, they don’t have them here, and because yeast seriously scares me. (I blame this on the fact that my mom has always said that yeast is a pain in the butt.)

Hence the yeast-free cinnamon rolls.

First, take some buttermilk:

Then some butter:

Some sugar:

And flour.

Then mix to form a dough:

Knead the dough and roll into a rectangle.

Spread with melted butter, cinnamon and sugar, and then roll.

And this is where I’m going to come clean.

Usually when I try recipes I find on the Internet, they don’t turn out.

Which is why I don’t think I’d be a very good food blogger.

My cinnamon rolls started to resemble cinnamon globs…

But it’s funny how a good photo makes them look better, though, doesn’t it?

And I started getting sick of washing my hands between every single step so I could take a picture.

Funny how food blogs never mention that the cooking takes twice as long when you’re taking all kinds of pictures.

Then it came time to taste test my cinnamon rolls…

And you know what?

They weren’t very good.

But I bet now that you’ve seen that picture, you’re kind of in the mood for cinnamon rolls…aren’t ya?

I also realized that food blogs don’t talk much about the annoying clean up…although I bet they could make that look good, too…

The dishes to be washed…

The glop on the counter…

The limescale on the sink.

I’m really glad I tried out my own food blog now. Because I feel waaaaay better about the fact that I don’t have one.

By the way…I’ll let you find your own yeast-free cinnamon roll recipe. Let me know if it turns out.

Cookies and Cream cupcakes from http://insidebrucrewlife.blogspot.com, one of those amazing food blogs by a lady who seems to do it all!

Fat Scare

2012-01-08T19:45:00.001+01:00

I may or may not end up getting very, very fat now that I have gone back to work.

My first day back, I was given a rather decadent chocolate cupcake with green and blue sprinkles.

My second day, it was garlic bread.

My third day, it was tomato soup.

And today, my fourth day, I was given this lovely piece of frangipane, which was quite delicious.

Not only that, there’s been a MAJOR addition to the workplace since I left: a very naughty coffee machine that makes fun and sugary coffee drinks like mochachino and hot chocolate. And since we don’t even have to pay to use it, I think it will be very, very dangerous.

I’ve raved about the hot chocolate so much that today, I came to my desk to find that someone had already brought me a cup. If I do get fat, it won’t even be my fault, because everyone around here is just so dang accommodating that they’re constantly bringing me bad things. Sometimes I almost get the impression that they’re trying to fatten me up in order to then nominate me as a participant on Biggest Loser Luxembourg (if it existed).

Yes, I may indeed get very, very fat.

On the other hand, if I just eat alllll day long, my metabolism may finally be punted back into gear after being on survival mode for the last nine months.

Don’t get me wrong – I certainly ate when I was at home – and it often included items like pints of Cookies and Cream, macaroni and cheese, potato chips, Cheetos (when American relatives would bring them), and other very horrible things. But since I would eat at totally odd intervals – starving for hours and hours and then finally bingeing when it got to bedtime or naptime – I’m sure my body stored every last calorie of the Cookies and Cream so as to prepare for another starvation phase when Baby Lovely would require my absolute un-divided attention for hours on end.

I suppose a third option would be that my weight will just stay the same now that I’m at work – although I’m not particularly fond of that prospect, either.

What’s a girl to do?

Let’s wait and see.

Bring on the frangipane.

Fun Fact

2012-01-05T19:57:00.001+01:00

Two British women told me today that Americans have thicker hair.

I found that very interesting, especially because it means that my mother is obviously not really an American, as she has had fine hair for as long as I can remember (although photos from the 80s seem to prove otherwise)*.

So I Googled it, and what do you know? There seems to be honest-to-goodness proof out there that Americans have thicker hair.**

*Photo used without permission.
**This table is totally made up. Stop believing everything you read on the Internet.

Mr Bump

2012-01-04T20:12:00.001+01:00

Well I survived my first day back at work! Hooray! Originally I had assumed that my first day back would be similar to the first day at a new job, but it was actually much easier. It was nice already knowing all of my co-workers, knowing my boss, knowing where everything was kept and who to ask if I had a question. And it was nice to see everyone again and to get back to work!

Today was much, much harder.

The novelty of the first day had worn off, and I found myself missing – really missing – Baby Lovely. That surprised me, as I had assumed that the first day apart from her would be much harder than the second.

As soon as I sat down at my new work space today, I set out the Mr Men/Little Miss figurines I had had out on my monitor before I left. For those of you who aren’t acquainted with them, they’re from a series of children’s books by Roger Hargreaves from the 1970s and 1980s. The pictures below also circulated Facebook awhile back (a friend might have tagged you as one of the characters):

Before I left work in February, I had frequently thought of myself as the “Mr Bump” character…I always aimed to be Mr Happy or Little Miss Sunshine, of course, but with my ever-increasing stomach, Mr Bump seemed more applicable. Especially because he was always bumping into things, which you tend to do when you’re shaped like Humpty Dumpty.

Yesterday, as I walked to the bathroom at work (it’s pretty far from my office so I have a lot of time to think), I had to chuckle at how glad I was to not be pregnant anymore. My feet didn’t hurt, I wasn’t waddling, I didn’t have the urgent need to regurgitate, and I didn’t have to smile and nod at any comments about how big I was getting. No more Mr Bump.

But today…I’m thinking it would be nice to be Mr Bump again. Then at least Baby Lovely would be here. With me. Even if it would only be as a tickle in my tummy while eating my 10am apple. That sure would be nice.

I guess I will have to satisfy myself with a video of her for now. Thank goodness for smart phones.

Tomorrow I will be Mr Happy. Or maybe even Little Miss Giggles. I could even live with Mr Bounce or Little Miss Scatterbrain.

But today, I will allow myself to be Mr Sad.

What Mr Men/Little Miss character are you today? For a complete list with pictures, click here.

Last Day

2012-01-02T10:31:00.001+01:00

Readers!! I must say I am quite upset with you. Really. I am. It’s a true tragedy when I’ve composed so many blogs on a number of extremely amusing, interesting and mind-blowing topics and I’ve received NO comments on them. None!!

Didn’t you chuckle at our mishaps in London, where our family of three was stuck without passports and had to try maneuvering a stroller through a disastrous “system” of tubes, trains, automobiles and red tape? Including an “explosion” of epic proportions that had my husband changing a diaper on a toilet seat in the gent’s loo at Arsenal London*?

Wasn’t it hilarious when I told you about our first experience flying with a baby?

Manic stimuli overload.

Were you not blown away by my pictures and stories of fall in the beautiful Luxembourg Müllerthal??

Was my story of how I spent an entire day in the Luxembourg ER with my mother not informative?

Did you not enjoy another Ultimate Thanksgiving?

Was your heart not even warmed by a Very Lovely Christmas, with all the joys of the season?

No, these blogs have not been published. But that’s certainly not due to any inaction on my part. I come up with at least one blog a day. If not several.

They are witty.
They are amazingly well-written.
They contain super high-quality photos.

And at a time when more people are capable of higher thought than ever before, I would have hoped that you, my readership, would have been able to read these blogs despite the fact that they weren’t published here.

One word: POOR.

BUT there’s hope for you. I am an extremely forgiving person, and over the last few days leading up to Christmas and New Year’s I have placed more and more emphasis on grounding myself spiritually so as to attract more energy, mental fitness and time to write blogs and actually publish them here. So as to help YOU, my poor reader, read them without over-extending your psychic powers.

That’s right, beginning NOW (2012!), you will once again have the option of experiencing my wonderful work simply by visiting this website.

Revolutionary, isn’t it?

So on to today’s topic.

Today, besides being the first Monday of 2012 (which is going to be an excellent year, by the way!!!) is a very special day for me. It may not be a big deal to anyone else, but for me, it’s huge.

Today is my last day at home after 11 months of maternity leave.

WOW. Nearly 11 months ago, on February 7th, 2011, I wrote this blog about the first day of my maternity leave. So it seems imperative that I write a blog on my last day.

Although I am terrible at saying goodbyes, I’m really super proud of myself for how the last weeks of this amazingly unique phase in my life have wound down. Knowing my track record for the sentimental and melodramatic, I fully expected, when I sat down to write that blog in February, that the last days of December would be filled with lots of tears, bellyaches, hyperventilation, desperate clinging to my child, and basically a complete journey to bonkers-ville, strait-jacket included. But they haven’t been. I’ve been writing new affirmations, cleaning out my closets (literally and figuratively), breathing deeply, envisioning, and gathering up amazing momentum for the new year and for a new time of being me. I’m excited to go back to work. I’m excited to pick up Baby Lovely from her crèche** in the evenings and spend some really high-energy quality time with her before she goes to bed. I’m excited to flex my mental muscles again and to finally, FINALLY design some new Excel spreadsheets***. And I thank the divine timing of the universe for laying this all out so that the beginning of my time back at work naturally coincides with the beginning of the new year, so that the whole world is gaining momentum with me.

Fabulous.

And of course I’m hoping that my return to work will also allow me a return to blogging. Yes, I realize that I will have to spend more evenings getting things done around the house due to the fact I’ll be working full time, rather than sitting at the computer, but I am optimistic that a new structure to my day may make it possible to spend more time blogging. I also received an amazing camera for Christmas, and as we all know that the best blogs also have the best photography, I’m hoping that the two will go hand in hand. It’s certainly a wonderful prospect, isn’t it?

With all of that said, I do have to admit that all of this positivity and hopefulness has gotten me quite exhausted (or maybe it’s the fact that we’re still not sleeping through the night?). So I have decided to take one of the LAST opportunities I will have to take a morning nap.

[Sigh] I guess I am just a tad sentimental that my maternity leave is over.

Nap time will do that to you.

*For those of you who are not so incredibly versed in British English as I, that means he changed the diaper on a toilet seat in a men’s bathroom at a train station near a stadium for a major league soccer team. If there would have been a soccer match that day, it is fully possible that we would have been eaten alive by hooligans.

**Day-care center for young children in Luxembourg.

***Yes, I miss Excel. I can admit that because I’m not in high school anymore and trying to be popular is, thank goodness, a relic of the past.

THIS is Europe – IV

2011-11-15T15:26:00.000+01:00

Where doorbells can still be door bells.

THIS is Europe.

And…this is the town where I live. :-)

Little Bo Peep

2011-11-14T15:19:00.000+01:00

Today is slaughtering day in our village.

And our cows are gone.

Now this may very well be a coincidence. It has gotten much colder in the past few days, and I am choosing to believe that the farmer who owns the pasture behind our house has put the cows in the barn for the winter.

But the fact that the farmer down on the corner just happens to be slaughtering the day our cows disappear is, well…disheartening.

Yesterday: cows.

Today: no cows (and no fog, yay).

I really love living in a farming village, and I love that my daughter will grow up with much more exposure to animals than I ever had…growing up in a suburb of the best football town in the USA* – even though it was in America’s dairy state – still meant that cows were something reserved for the petting zoo.

Still, the harsh reality of farm life is that one day, the animals have to die. And it’s usually not from natural causes. And this definitely bothers me a little bit.

I’m one of many, many hypocrites in the world who enjoys eating meat – at least some of it – but would prefer not to know where it came from. Now I already don’t eat lobster (boiling alive? no thanks), lamb (too cute), or veal (same), and try to stay away from tuna (love the taste, hate the bloodbaths), but there have been several occasions where I have seriously contemplated giving up meat altogether. Two of those occasions were when I was browning an enormous slab of pork on the stove, jabbing at it with two really big meat forks trying to flip it over while being spattered with hot oil, when I thought, “Is this really necessary? Do we really need all this meat?” Another occasion was when I read my friend Renée’s blog in which she visited a hatchery and filmed female chicks being vaccinated and male chicks being macerated (please, don’t look that word up).

At the same time, however, there’s no proof that animals object to their final demise. They’re awfully good at just being, which is more than I can say for us humans, and perhaps they’re practicing just being right up until…well, you know. And I think if you’ve ever seen a local farmer slaughter an animal (as opposed to a mass meat packing plant**) you’ll see that it’s done in a humane way (or as humanely as killing something can be, anyway).

So I’m torn. I’m torn because even though I know that the animal may not even object to their own death, that’s irrelevant if I don’t feel good when I’m eating their meat. But then again, I truly enjoy the consumption of one of the most bottom-feeding meat products of all, the hot dog.

Now if that’s not happiness, I don’t know what is.

So I’m putting off the vegetarianism yet again. In the meantime, I’d still really like to find out what happened to our cows. The teacher in me has the urge to go around the village taking attendance: Cow 17? In barn. Check. Cow 95? Grazing in new pasture by the volunteer fire department. Check. Cow 12? Dead. Check.

[Gulp.]

By the way, the reason I know that it’s slaughtering day is because I took my teething daughter for a walk (sometimes the only thing that distracts her into sleep) and happened upon the most stereotypical-looking butcher I’ve ever seen. (Big moustache, cigarette in mouth, red nose, giant belly, and a blood-spattered, white plastic apron.) I swear, if this weren’t Luxembourg, his name would be Giuseppe and he would be a character in a Disney movie like Beauty and the Beast with a meat cleaver in one hand and a giant ham bone in the other.

That, and, because the farmer on the corner didn’t have much time to chat because, as she*** said, it’s slaughtering day. So I put two and two together.

But that’s beside the point. The summary of this story is that our cows are missing and I will not rest until I locate them. Which may actually be possible after a mere walk or two with the stroller.

Now if you’ll pardon me, I have to get going and cook dinner.

Think we’ll have pasta tonight.

* Had to put that in there.
**Which, ironically, is the namesake of the aforementioned Greatest American Football Team, which makes me an even bigger hypocrite, I guess.
***Yes, the farmer is a she.

Enough

2011-11-11T10:30:00.001+01:00

I should be making my Ultimate Thanksgiving votive candle holders right now.

Let’s just think about that statement for a little bit.

I am actually making myself feel guilty for not tending to my votive candle holders for The Ultimate Thanksgiving, which takes place in seven days.

This is although I got a grand total of 4 hours sleep last night (although not all at once), have guests coming in from the states in two days, haven’t blow-dried my hair, haven’t blogged in ages and ages, and have a 7-month-old, high-maintenance diva of a baby in the next room who is currently interrupting her full-body catapult practice and backwards scooting for a short snooze.

And I can make myself feel guilty about votive candle holders? Honestly? Will the show not go on if I don’t have the stupid votive holders finished? Will the food be any less delicious? Will life be any worse?

I tell ya, it’s not always easy being me. And yet it’s my own fault. I really tried to eliminate “should” from my vocabulary and replace it with “could”. I really try to meditate once a day and practice non-hyperventilatory-breathing. (I made that word up.) I know I need new affirmations. I should write new affirmations. But then again, I should vacuum. I should nap when the baby naps. I should get in some exercise. I should PUT. A. LID. ON. IT.

You can tell I’m frustrated with myself. Do you know how much I beat myself up for not blogging, especially when I’m out on a walk with Baby Lovely and I see a million things I could write about? Especially when I know that blogging is a very important way for me to keep my sanity? But no…I’ve turned it into just one more thing to feel guilty about.

It’s time to go back to work.

You heard me. It’s time.

My maternity leave began as a really fun free-for-all of accomplishments. Aside from my cankles and heartburn, I was pretty darn adept with my big belly and filled my everydays with painting, decorating, renovating, blogging, sleeping, being creative, and accomplishing. (Interspersed with frequent runs to the local commune and the doctor’s office, as you will remember.)

But now, as much as I love Baby Lovely and want to see her every single “first” – I’m painfully aware that I may very well miss her first word, her first steps, her first bump on the head – this staying at home thing is just getting the better of me. And although I know going back to work will be stressful, and the days will get even shorter, I think it’s time. Time for me to cross something off my to-do list once in a while. Time for adult interaction.

Time for peeing with the bathroom door closed.

But that being said, last night I tossed and turned while thinking of the heart-wrenching moment where I would leave Baby Lovely at day care, screaming that hysterical scream that she uses when she’s with strangers, and me having to maneuver my car on our narrow country roads while sobbing. Only to have to pick her up an hour later with her first fever, or vomiting experience, from some bug she picked up from a snot-nosed kid handing her a thousand-times-licked wooden ice cream cone from their play grocery store. I need to get the flu shot. She needs the flu shot. But I hate the flu shot. She’ll be fine, go back to sleep, I say. I should sleep.

Stop saying ‘should’.

After an hour of fretting, I was actually relieved when Baby woke up crying an hour later at 3:30am. It gave me something to do other than lay in bed and worry.

See what I mean? It’s time.

With that said, I’m going to try to suck up every moment of my remaining maternity leave (about 7 weeks) and just enjoy. Enjoy. Enjoy. Enjoy.

Will you help me enjoy?

And with that, I leave you (again), for I am being summoned.

Sometimes, it’s easier to tend to a crying baby than to put up with the multitude of possibilities I have during naptime.

Now that’s how I define “anxiety”.

Miss Me?

2011-10-08T20:30:00.001+02:00

This message is brought to you by…[drumroll please]… Kalle, the detective dog!

My husband and I are watching primetime TV for the first time in ages since we've decided to start sleep training our daughter. And since German TV is of such amazing quality, we've landed upon a real doozie of a show named "da kommt Kalle", or "here comes Kalle". PLEASE, please do yourself a favor and watch the opening credits (a mere 45 seconds of pleasure!).

Keep in mind that those poor people living in Germany actually have to pay a TV tax that funds this kind of crap. (Really makes you glad you're living in Luxembourg.)

Anyway, enjoy:

[sigh] Ahhhhhhhh....yes. A gem. But truly, I am thankful to Kalle, the detective dog that gets a coveted spot on the German primetime lineup. Because as soon as I saw that man jiggling his shoulders, trying to imitate a laugh at 0:23 seconds (advanced German acting skills), I said to my husband, "That's it. I've got to write a blog."

It's been awhile. Again. This is my current reality. My life has, unfortunately, too closely resembled hell lately than I care to share. Let's just say that 2-3 hours of sleep a night isn't even something I can jest about in a blog. It's why we decided we had to sleep train our daughter, despite all of our reservations, because otherwise we would start causing traffic accidents or try to do our laundry on the stove or go bald. Enough was enough.

But there have been, as always, so many things I've wanted to share with you. Fall has come to Luxembourg, and there are beautiful leaves and baby calves everywhere around our house...so adorable, and they’re the highlight of our daily walk.

We've also purchased Viez from the local volunteer fire department (anyone who is ANYONE is in the volunteer fire department…), which we assumed was the apple wine we were used to from Germany, but which turned out to be apple…juice. Surprising, considering that Luxembourgers definitely like to get their drink on, but nice in that a nursing mom like me can indulge without guilt (although believe me, during sleep training I could have definitely used the wine).

I suppose the change in weather means I’ll soon be getting ready for another Ultimate Thanksgiving, although this year I’ve decided not to do anything too Ultimate for it. Food on the table would suffice. Or hey…maybe I’ll make it the Ultimately Easy Thanksgiving this year. Why not? It might be fun. I’ll open up a can of Spam and make a batch of Stove Top Stuffing. Mmmmmm…just like the pilgrims used to enjoy.

But really, I think one Ultimate event a year is enough. Don’t you? And The Ultimate Baptism really did turn out great. Here are a few pictures:

Of the decorations…

The food…

…and the lady of honor herself!

It was truly a lovely day, definitely made possible by gorgeous weather, a quaint chapel, and a really nice space that we rented out for the party. We held the dinner in the next town’s Verainsbau, which is the community center. Gotta love Luxembourg for having really nice facilities that are practically free for anyone to use (there were community centers in Green Bay, but they all seemed to have more of a vacant-beer-tent feel than an elegant appeal).

Oh yeah, I was there too:

Just in case you missed me. :-)

Well, I’d best be getting back to my well-needed round of TV-watching and time on the couch with hubby. Thanks for sticking around even when I haven’t been doing my best blogging lately – I’ll be back!

Correction

2011-09-14T11:30:00.001+02:00

Readers,

A correction to my last blog entry:

“Caffinated” is, of course, spelt “Caffeinated”. Apparently spell check doesn’t check hand-drawn sketches. Who knew? ;-)

Anyway, I knew it looked wrong when I wrote it, but I was too lazy to use White-Out (aka “Tipp-Ex”) and forgot to write a correction in my blog.

Which is actually kinda cool, because it shows you how tired this perfectionist truly is.

My apologies.

Here is a picture of some Jordan almonds. Enjoy.

The Ultimate Baptism (Part 2)

2011-09-13T11:05:00.001+02:00

Greetings!

I hope all of you have been getting copious amounts of sleep. I hope you’ve been kissing your pillow every morning, nestling comfortably in between warm, clean sheets, letting yourself slowly drift into the land of sweet dreams at night, and waking up to sunshine feeling refreshed and happy to be alive.

Appreciate it. Savor it. Send me a postcard.

The Ultimate Baptism is this Saturday. I have the favors ready, have purchased the flowers, ordered the food, ordered the cake (super excited to see it), transferred the deposit for the hall, made luminaries out of vellum, transported trunk-loads of wine and drinks from Germany, and have crafted a little guestbook (that was fun).

I am ready. So ready.

There’s just one problem.

My daughter is trying to sabotage her control freak, perfectionist mother’s plans. Last night we played an exciting game of wait-til-Mom-has-gotten-into-bed-and-pulled-up-the-covers-and-closed-her-eyes-and-then-start-crying all night long. Baby Lovely won; eventually I got so tired that I just pulled her into bed with me (have I mentioned that my bed is a mattress on her bedroom floor? My, how far we’ve come from the college dormitory futon days…) and enjoyed three hours of half-sleep until she decided to start talking to herself at 6am.

I reeeeeeeally don’t want this to become one of those “mommy blogs” where I only talk about bodily fluids and sleep and make passive-aggressive comments about teething and bouncy seats. Really, I don’t. I want to tell you all about Luxembourg. I want to show you random photos of my life again. I want to be able to write more than one blog a month. Most of all, I want to stop complaining.

But I really really really need to sleep in order to do that.

This is what I want to look like on Saturday:

But upon closer inspection, it will probably be more like this:

Which, I have to say, will have to suffice.

Actually, to be honest, I have been practicing a lot of mediation and positive thinking lately, and I will certainly tell you all about it soon. Just have to get through the weekend first and then it’ll be smooth sailing, right?

RIGHT????!!!!

And with that, I leave you. I hear babbling from upstairs, which is my cue that naptime is over. I hope Baby Lovely has rested well, because Mommy has not only had three cups of coffee (in comparison to the ONE that I normally allow myself) but also a mocha éclair. This kind of revving up means we sing Barney songs in double time and attempt to play with several toys at once while doing stretches. I hope she’s ready.

To be continued…

The Ultimate Baptism (Part 1)

2011-08-23T11:51:00.001+02:00

Have you ever seen the movie National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation?

What am I saying? Of course you have. Everyone has seen that movie. Even people who live under rocks have seen that movie.

Then you will understand what I mean when I say that I am the Clark Griswold (aka Sparky) of family gatherings. You may recall the following dialogue from the movie:

Ellen: You set standards that no family activity can live up to.
Clark: When have I ever done that?
Ellen: Parties, weddings, anniversaries, funerals, holidays...
Clark: Goodnight Ellen.
Ellen: Vacations, graduations...

You may remember my blogs about The Ultimate Thanksgiving, in which I covered dozens of brown pears (which were impossible to find) in gold foil. Or wanted to paint the best nursery ever for Baby Lovely.

Well, it’s time for Baby Lovely to be baptized, and Yours Truly has obviously not internalized the fact that when you have a baby, you have to lower your expectations somewhat. As in, take all your expectations and throw them in the garbage. I have to accept the fact that I will NOT have a Martha Stewart baptism (notice she doesn’t even cover baptisms on her website? There’s a reason). I will not have perfect decorations, perfect hair, or the perfect outfit. In fact, I should be glad if I get through the entire ceremony (not to even mention the entire day) without getting vomited on, or my heirloom baptismal gown getting pooped on.

Yes, we have a long way to go with lowering our expectations.

Whereas Clark Griswold decorates his house with 25,000 white Christmas lights, my vice for overdoing it at celebrations such as these are party favors. Other people don’t give anything at baptisms, or if they do, it’s a bag of jordan almonds wrapped in tulle. I, however, always want to give The-Best-Party-Favor-Ever and have had a plethora of ideas, ranging from the ridiculous to the impossible, with materials I would have to special order from the states or sell my car in order to afford.

Again, I have to remind myself that I now have a baby. And a very high-maintenance, non-sleeping diva baby at that. I will not construct 32 dahlia tissue paper napkin rings or have tissue paper pomanders on the tables (although I still haven’t given up hope). I will not be able to bake 32 dove-shaped cookies with homemade fondant icing and watercolor vines painted on the sides. I will not be able to decorate the baptismal cake myself with 1,000 gerbera daisies made out of sugar (I don’t even really like gerbera daisies).

Like I said, I’ll be lucky if I can wear the same outfit all day and if my baby shows up in anything more than a white onesie and a clean diaper. And even that may be too much to ask.

I therefore have to change my expectations from this*:

To this**:

And yes, those are baptism tic tacs.

I will keep you posted on my wonderful and not-so-wonderful baptism crafting and ideas. The big day is only 3 weeks away. In the meantime, let’s all practice these affirmations:

I am at peace with myself and life.
I relax and find ideas from a place of joy, ease, and comfort.
At least I won’t have tic tacs as party favors.

*Amazingly beautiful napkin ring photo: MarthaStewart.com, gorgeous cookies: bakeat350.blogspot.com and wonderful cake: hunkydorycakes.co.uk!

**Paper plates: rosemarycompany.com, candy favors: perkydesigns.net and cake: www.myspace.com/latentfreak

New KFC menu

2011-08-12T19:25:00.000+02:00

My husband and I reached an important milestone last week: we went out to eat for the first time with Baby Lovely!

I know that doesn’t seem like a big deal if you don’t have kids, but believe me, with a Fussipuss like our child, it’s monumental.

Of course, we didn’t take her to any fancy-schmancy restaurant where they would have thrown us out, we took her to the best place for any family with children living this side of the Rhine: KFC in France.

KFC is basically like Chuck E. Cheese but with food that adults can actually swallow. The noise level is similar to that of the runway at the Atlanta International Airport or Lambeau Field during a playoff game, which means that the screams of our little Bundle of Joy couldn’t be heard over 10,000 kids who have been dumped at the KFC indoor play area (“Tasty World”) so that Maman and Papa can finally have one meal that’s still relatively hot and can be eaten while little Antoine and Camille kill each other on someone else’s twisty slide for once.

You may remember my report on KFC from last July, in which I discussed the amazing linguistic powers of the Kream Ball.

Well, since I was there last, KFC has a new-and-improved menu. Which simply needs sharing.

As a language lover and an American, I really have a field day when it comes to KFC’s French menu. I don’t think I need to comment on most of these, they’re priceless on their own.

What I will say, however, is that the French marketing dude who puts together the menu must be a big fan of the NBA and must have been given a CD of cheesy sports clip art to design the food packaging. How else would you come up with:

The Kentucky 12?

Or the Bucket 33?

Or the Bucket 11-11, which just happens to resemble the Harlem Globetrotters uniform?

But it’s not all about basketball at KFC. We also have the enormously creative 2’Gether baskets, which I’m sure were invented by some bloke who said “Americenns loove ze apostrophs,”.

And the current deal, part of their “Str€€t Wise” campaign, “Le Krunchy”.

But despite all of their revolutionary new menu changes, the restaurant was just as it always had been in our pre-screaming-baby days. We waited in line for half an hour while a woman with a t-shirt that said “Learning today to serve you better tomorrow” tried to serve customers (and succeeded to give me the wrong food), and the soda machine still spit out only heavily carbonated water with no syrup. The ice machine was also still empty (although we’re not sure it ever has contained any ice).

So we felt right at home. Baby Lovely enjoyed it too. She’s never seen that many hyperactive kids before in her life (and I do mean that). I’m sure it won’t be long before I’ll be writing about her first KFC Kid’s Menu.

They’re available as “Boxy” or “Ze Bag”.

Apologies

2011-08-10T19:07:00.000+02:00

Dear Readers,

You will notice that as of late, my blog entries are appearing in different size fonts on the screen.

If you’re anything like me, you will find this incredibly distracting and are probably thinking “why doesn’t that girl get her act together? Doesn’t she realize that her posts are in all different fonts?”

Unfortunately, however, I do notice the font problem. I notice it a lot. I’m pretty anal about my fonts.

And yet, despite all of its redeeming qualities, Blogger isn’t so hot when it comes to formatting. That, and, I have a new graphics card that has really turned things screwy.

So please realize that the font thing is driving me crazy, and now it will drive you crazy too (if it hasn’t been already).

Please accept, as my apology, the hours of entertainment that can be provided by this video of the German duo Modern Talking performing their 1985 hit, Cheri Cheri Lady. I might also like to mention that they are still quite successful in Germany today, a fact that I will leave without comment.

All roads lead to Larochette

2011-08-09T11:44:00.001+02:00

After writing yesterday’s post, I decided that I had to get out of the house. That is usually the best remedy for the frustrated feelings that result from a night of zero sleep. Since the weather in Luxembourg right now is sub-optimal for walks in the stroller, I decided to take a ride in the car to the nearest shopping center. I don’t particularly like shopping or spending money, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Plus, my couch seriously needed a couple of new throw pillows.

I have, on several occasions, wanted to blog about driving in Luxembourg. And I have. I’ve blogged about Dränglers, about parking, and about my Smart. But I think it’s time for me to share a vital piece of advice with you that comes from many a road trip in Luxembourg, one that’s long overdue. Please, everyone, write this down and hang it on your steering wheel, rearview mirror, and brake pedal:

If you’re ever driving through Luxembourg and decide that you would like to go home, slam on the brakes and make a U-turn.

Meaning that, if you ever think “gee, this was a nice little town. I’m glad I saw it. I think I should probably go home now,” you should, even if you’re traveling on a single-lane road with no place to turn around, turn around.

That is because roads in “normal” countries are like this:

or like this:

But roads in Luxembourg are like this:

Take yesterday’s road trip, for example. After purchasing the aforementioned throw pillows (a lovely spring green color), I knew that Baby Lovely would fall asleep in the car on the way home and decided to extend the driving time a bit so that she would sleep longer (oh, the things we do just to get our babies to sleep…). So I decided, after months and months of procrastinating, to finally drive to Larochette.

Why Larochette, you ask?

Because in Luxembourg, all roads lead to Larochette. It doesn’t matter where in the country you are, there will be a sign pointing to Larochette. It also doesn’t matter where you are, the sign will say you are 13-15 kilometers away from Larochette. Obviously Larochette is a very special, mythical place, to not only be the destination of every road sign, but to be exactly the same distance away from every point within the entire country. (Plus, a lot of the road signs indicate that there’s a castle in Larochette, and I’m a sucker for castles.)

So, I decided to finally see what the big deal was about Larochette. It wasn’t hard, I didn’t need my GPS, I just followed the signs.

After about 13 kilometers (surprise!) I was in Larochette. A nice little town, resembling a lot of nice little towns in Luxembourg, with a castle on a hill overlooking a valley. Lovely, really. Charming.

At this point, I should have taken advantage of my prior knowledge and stopped the car in its tracks, making a tire-squealing, FOX-adventure-series-quality* U-turn right there and then.

But I didn’t. Somewhere, deep inside, I just can’t break the habit of assuming that if I drive until the next intersection, it will allow me to turn right or left onto a road that will take me to where I want to go.

So I didn’t take the U-turn. I kept driving. Waiting, like the Old Man and the Sea who waited for the fish, for another intersection. I knew immediately that that was a mistake. The road led straight out of Larochette and turned into a smaller road, which turned into yet a smaller road, into yet a smaller road. And like every single one of my driving adventures in Luxembourg, I soon found myself on a winding path through a corn field that had more craters than the moon and would probably not even qualify as being wide enough for a wheelchair, let alone my SUV. Oh yes, and did I mention I was face-to-face with an impending tractor?

After safely passing the tractor (both of us had to steer so far off to the side that we ended up with ears of corn dangling from the passenger-side rear view mirrors), I decided it was time to consult my handy GPS, which almost never helps in these types of situations. And this time was no different. After saying “If possible, please turn around” several times to no avail, it eventually gave up and made a coughing noise before displaying “GAME OVER” in blinking lights on the screen.

By this time, Baby Lovely was wide awake, and the GPS told me it would take 65 minutes to return home even though it had only taken me 30 minutes to get to Larochette in the first place. I ended up having to pull into a country driveway and turning the car around in a 20-point turn that looked EXACTLY like this**:

Nearly an hour later, a very hungry Baby Lovely and I were home.

The reason I am telling you this story is for your own good…I guarantee that if you are late to work one morning and hope to somehow bypass a traffic jam, or are bored with your usual drive to the supermarket and want to take a scenic route, you will get lost. You will be late. And you will probably be sick to your stomach from all of the curvy roads once you do – hungry, tired and frustrated – finally arrive at your destination.

But I can recommend a visit to Larochette. Just jump in the car. After all, it’s only 13 kilometers away from wherever in the world you may be.

It’s just the drive home that’s a little farther.

*Honestly, what station features better U-turns than FOX? Some of the best U-turns I have ever seen were in the series 24, Prison Break, Fringe…you name it. CBS and ABC obviously don’t pay their professional stunt U-turners enough for that kind of quality.

**Please watch the video even if you are reading this at work and will get fired for watching it. I guarantee it is worth it. You didn’t really like your job anyway, did you?

Discontent

2011-08-08T12:00:00.001+02:00

I have a long list of blog topics that I would like to cover on a post-it note on my desk.

I have a half-blank canvas in my office that contains the beginnings of a painting.

I have a daughter in a swing in the dining room who will be waking up from her nap soon.

My back hurts.

I have a rash on my hands that is driving me crazy.

One of my toes is black and blue and hurts no matter what I do. (You can tell I’ve been reading a lot of rhyming books lately.)

I would love to sort through my closet and get rid of some old clothes.

I would love to go through boxes of hand-me-downs for the baby and sort through those clothes too.

I have a baptism to plan.

I’d like to back up some pictures and make room on my hard drive.

I’d like to get a photo album started for the baby.

I’d like to go to the hardware store, the grocery store, the craft store.

I have two ideas for children’s books that are burning a hole through my head.

I look out the window and see alllllll of the weeds I need to pull.

I really need to drink more water. And to exercise. And to eat vegetables.

And yet…I’m not.

I’m tired. I’m exhausted. It’s raining out. I’m crabby.

I have sooo many tools to help me to get back on track. I have affirmations. Positive thinking. Hay House radio (my favorite online station). YouTube videos. Yoga. A walk around the block.

I know that it doesn’t matter what I’m doing, it only matters what I’m being while I’m doing it.

But today is apparently not the day. Not yet. Everything will look different after I’ve had a good night’s sleep.

But when will I get a good night’s sleep?

Indeed…maintaining a high level of energy (both physical and emotional energy) seems to be contingent upon sleep. Who knew?

So I would like to ask all of you, dear readers, to get a good night’s sleep tonight and send me some of your well-slept, positive, high-energy vibes my way.

That’s the only idea I have left. Will you help?

Windowsill washing day

2011-07-25T11:01:00.000+02:00

So the little old lady who lives kitty-corner from us has been cleaning her windowsill now for over an hour.

Over an hour. First she used a brush, then a rag, her own fingernail, and now we’re back to a cloth. By the time she’s finished, you’ll be able to eat sushi off of it.

This little old lady (who, as I mentioned in a previous blog, is the grandmother of the cashier at the supermarket that used to be adjacent to our apartment building – welcome to Luxembourg – ) is very friendly, but consistently gives me a guilt trip.

She does work in her garden, I watch her from the couch.
She takes a walk around the block by any kind of weather, I watch her from the couch.
She sweeps the sidewalk in front of her house, I watch her from the couch.

And now, she’ll have sparkling white windowsills while mine are caked with bird feathers and other less appealing debris.

Plus, she does all of this work while dressed to the nines (I looked up the origin of this phrase in the attempt to make this blog entry both entertaining and educational, but the Internet consensus is that no one has a clue where this phrase came from) while I’m usually in my shorty short pajamas and crocs (which I swore I would never buy, but damn, they really are as comfortable as everyone says!). She’s usually wearing a skirt, pantyhose, a sweater, a blouse and a pair of orthopedic shoes (even if it’s 80° outside).

Oh dear. Now she’s come outside with a second bucket of water for the windowsill. (I wonder if something might have died, the carcass filled with poisonous gas, and then exploded on it? Like that whale that blew up in Taiwan? Or is this the level of cleanliness that grandmothers expect?)

Yesterday my other neighbor weeded her garden in a gorgeous apron and high heels, like Annette Bening in American Beauty. I’d be happy to weed my garden at all, much less while looking like an Oscar winner.

Anyway. I’m not sure what I want to say about the grandmother across the street. I guess it’s that I hope, when I’m her age, that I’m just as active and just as well-dressed, even though I’m not that way now. And that she reminds me of my own grandma, who also always seemed to be dressed up for church even if she was only shoveling snow in her driveway with a bad back and a broken hip. I’d also like to be one of those European grandmothers who fetches baguettes at the bakery every morning on my bicycle.

Guess I’d have to learn how to ride a bike first.

On second thought, I guess I’ll stick to what I’m doing right now. I’m obviously not ready to be a grandmother just yet. It’s exhausting.

Plus I’ve really grown attached to these horrible purple crocs.

On doing shots

2011-07-22T10:34:00.001+02:00

Those of you who are friends with me on Facebook will know that Baby Lovely got her second set of vaccinations yesterday.

I’m sure all of the mothers out there will agree that getting shots is not fun, but holding down your child while they get shots is much, much worse. So much worse that it’s tempting to take a shot of your own (and by that I don’t mean a shot as in a syringe, but rather a shot in the absolut sense of the word…) before and after the whole deal in an attempt to prevent hyperventilation and the emergence of premature gray hairs.

But alas, when you’re breastfeeding, raiding the alcohol cupboard is not an option. This is when you realize that your mother is how she is because she had to sit through too many of your vaccinations. Or ear infections. Or your staying out until 4am with your 5-years-older boyfriend in high school (but that’s another story).

Yesterday I told myself that if I was “real good” at the pediatrician’s office and didn’t cry, I would get an ice cream afterwards. Unfortunately, not only was my attempt at not crying a pretty borderline success (there were some tears, but none that merited Kleenex, so I figure we could count that as a success…), but after the appointment I also wasn’t in the mood for an ice cream anymore. I needed something a little…more powerful.

So I did what any breastfeeding mother would do…instead of walking into the next bar and asking for something on the rocks, I went to the grocery store and stocked up on sugar and trashy magazines. I had to do something to make myself feel better, right? (You will note that my child, the one who actually suffered physical pain, was passed out in her car seat by this time, totally oblivious to her mother’s prolonged distress.)

The result? Well, since this is Luxembourg, I was able to indulge in this absolutely gorgeous raspberry mousse dessert:

Which I ate on top of my child while she was taking a three-hour nap on my lap (no, I cannot feel anything from the waist down after about an hour).

So all was well.

Or so I thought.

This morning, my child awoke with a fever from the aforementioned vaccinations, which meant that Mom had to administer Tylenol (normally Dad does this kind of nitty-gritty stuff). Sounds easy, perhaps, mais non…after several failed attempts at getting even a drop of Tylenol down my daughter’s throat with a spoon and a syringe, I –- a sticky, gooey, strawberry-flavored mess -- decided to bite the bullet and give her a dreaded acetaminophen suppository.

Again, I think I grew at least 10 gray hairs from that stupid suppository alone. (The “victim”, by the way, is sleeping like a rock in her swing while I’m still agonizing about it.)

Now I can’t exactly run to the grocery store and buy an expensive dessert every time something like this happens, or I’ll end up looking like Jabba the Hutt. So I guess I’ll have to take a brisk walk and brush this off. Or flee the country whenever vaccinations come up.

Which isn’t hard. Germany is only half an hour away.

And they have good ice cream there.

Lessons from a small town

2011-07-19T11:34:00.001+02:00

You can learn a lot from walking around a tiny Luxembourg village with a baby strapped to your belly. Especially with a baby who has a full head of hair. They’re real conversation magnets.

I now know that:

Some types of calves are only as big as German Shepherds when they’re born
That the priest doesn’t have keys to the tiny chapel in the town but the farmer on the corner does
That Americans should let their kids be kids and their babies be babies
That our town receives the least amount of precipitation in all of Luxembourg
That the new restaurant in town (the only business that is located here) makes a lot of noise at night and keeps old ladies from getting any sleep
That the grass pollen count is extremely high right now (and I’m not experiencing any allergies whatsoever, which may mean I’m cured after all)
That the old lady across the street is the grandmother of the cashier who worked at the supermarket adjacent to our old apartment
That four-year-olds should sleep with the door closed, otherwise there is a chance that they get up at 4am and try to make themselves a cup of chocolate milk in the kitchen (disaster follows)
That keeping pillows in the freezer all day kills dust mites
That former railroad tracks make for very good biking trails
That bite-size frosted mini-wheats come in flavors like Maple and Brown Sugar and Cinnamon Streusel in the US, which is really unfair considering that I don’t live there anymore.

Okay, that last one isn’t true. I learned that from Wikipedia.

A better book

2011-07-05T10:23:00.001+02:00

Alas, I’ve done it.

I’ve become one of those paranoid first-time moms. My reading material as of late has consisted of nothing but books on babies’ sleeping habits, which make every first-time mother feel like they’d better get their child down for a 10-hour nap PRONTO or he/she will turn into a fire-breathing monster who has no chance at a decent education, job that pays money, or finding love and who will put misspelled singles ads in the local paper that list “snackinng in front of the TV” and “burning insekts under a magnifing glass” as hobbies. I’m not kidding! Please allow me to quote from my least-favorite sleep book:

“…The children who slept less not only tended to be more socially demanding, bratty and fussy, but they also behaved somewhat like hyperactive children. Later, I will explain how these fatigued, fussy brats are also more likely to become fat kids.”*

Isn’t that great!? As if needing breakfast, a shower, and the chance to throw away the flowers that have been rotting in the vase above the fireplace for 3 weeks wasn’t enough reason for my baby to nap, I now have the added pressure of getting her to sleep so that she doesn’t become a morbidly obese terrorist by the time she is five.

Sigh.

Have I mentioned that it’s not particularly easy to get a 3-month-old baby to nap?

Anyway, that’s why I’m glad I had the opportunity to read another book, which you’ll see on the left in my LibraryThing ticker (which I never really update but updated just for this occasion. *Proud grin*).

For those of you who are expats living abroad or are considering moving abroad, I can definitely recommend “Expat Women: Confessions – 50 Answers to Your Real Life Questions about Living Abroad” by Andrea Martins and Victoria Hepworth of ExpatWomen.com. Even if you don’t gulp it down within two days like I did (it makes for great reading material even if all of the questions don’t necessarily pertain to you!) you should have it on your bookshelf as it’s almost inevitable that it will come in handy at some point. This book is the friend that most expat women need but don’t have. Not to say that expats don’t have friends, but often our friends are either a.) still living at “home” and have never moved abroad, thus making it difficult for them to fully understand your problems and/or give you helpful advice or b.) are expats themselves and lack the experience and know-how to really help you.

Plus, the topics covered in this book are finally – FINALLY! – realistic and important. This isn’t an expat book that only talks about applying for visas and getting immunizations on time. It covers subject matters that are often quite taboo (such as suicide, infidelity, and depression); things you probably wouldn’t want to ask your expat friends about in the first place. Not only that, I found it refreshing that it discussed reverse culture shock upon repatriation, something that rarely gets discussed.

If nothing else, I would consider purchasing the book because it’s written in such a friendly, helpful way that it’s a joy to read…like your cool aunt who has been-there-and-done-that is writing you an email with some really good, non-pushy advice.

Speaking of non-pushy advice, I must go. I followed my intuition and put my daughter down for a nap 1.5 hours ago, from which she is now waking. It wasn’t 9am on the dot, like my book said, nor was it in her crib, but she’s been sleeping beautifully and I’m sure when I go to her now, she will have a well-rested smile on her face. And I’m betting she won’t be a TV-addicted, 6th-grade dropout just because I didn’t let her cry it out before she fell asleep. Take that, pushy sleep book!

Destined for trouble.

*Weissbluth, Marc. Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child. Ballentine Books. 2005.
**A better title for the above book would be Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child. Parents in a Mental Institution. But that’s just me.

Keeping the Faith

2011-05-25T13:54:00.000+02:00

I thought this year would be different.

I’ve been so good.

It’s been nearly a year since I began affirming “I feel at ease with my surroundings. I feel at ease with all plants. I feel at ease with all animals. I feel at ease with all people. I feel at ease in all places.”

Not only that – I’ve donated my body to the propagation of the human species and the betterment of society by producing a child, and by breastfeeding it no less, which I think means that the Universe owes me. Or at least that it should be really freakin’ nice to me.

But apparently I’m wrong.

I’m still stuck with these damned seasonal allergies.

I’m not going to complain about them here. Not much, anyway. I know all of you either suffer from allergies yourselves, or you know someone who does. Not only does it make for poor reading material (“I want to scratch out my eyes…why can’t I stop sneezing…I’m so miserable…My allergies are way worse than yours,” etc. etc.), it does nothing to help my situation. What you resist persists, and if I keep “beating the drum” of how bad my allergies are, I can’t expect anything to change.

But I will allow myself to say this: They suck. Bad. And it sucks even more when you have fed your child at 4:00 in the morning, have watched her eyes droop until they finally – finally! – close, have waited the obligatory 10-20 minutes for real sleep to set in, have carefully laid her down, have slowly – ever so softly – pulled your arm out from underneath her head, have laid a protective hand on her stomach for a second or two, have eased yourself away, have put away the nursing pillow, have turned out the light, have laid back on your pillow, have let out a deep breath and closed your eyes…

And then sneezed.

And started the whole process with a crying baby all over again.

And that, friends, is why I thought the Universe would have been kinder to me. Or that alllll those alleged goodies in my breast milk would have been enough to make me immune to grasses and grains this year as well. Or that God would have realized that he didn’t give women enough appendages to hold a child and blow our own runny noses at the same time, and would have spared us the suffering.

But noooooo. Not only are my allergies back with a vengeance, this year I’m really stuck because I can’t take any medication for them. I suppose I could take something – there are those who say that certain types of medication shouldn’t be that bad when you’re nursing – but seeing as I have yet to find any sort of medication that alleviates symptoms without leaving worse symptoms in its place, I don’t really see the point in risking it.*

But I’m not giving up the fight – and I’ll be darned if my daughter is going to go through this crap every year too. I WILL find a solution. No – let’s change that to an even better affirmation – My body is already totally well and I’m feeling great each day.

My new “big ideas” for combating allergies include the consumption of caffeine, yogurt and local-made honey. (These of course have the added advantage that they keep you awake and/or taste good.) So far I have noticed improvement of symptoms for approximately 30 seconds after consumption. But hey – they are indeed 30 very pleasant seconds. And sometimes that’s enough to keep me going. In fact, that’s about as much relief as I’ve gotten from nose sprays and allergy eye drops in the past.

Now that we’ve moved to the country, my vision for myself and my daughter is that we will one day run across open fields of grain like Laura Ingalls Wilder and that neither of us will need a box of Kleenex in order to do so without dying. I still hold on to the hope that this will be possible. And the Universe has provided me with the time and the iPhone to research all of the allergy remedies out there and possibly come up with some of my own. Or maybe one of my readers out there will provide me with some miracle insights?

Together, we shall overcome!

*Please don’t ask me if I’ve tried Claritin, Zyrtec, Allegra, Cirrus, Xusal, Reactine, Flonase, Visine, or Benedryl. I have. They either didn’t work, made things worse, or made me absolutely catatonic. Or all three.

And the winner is…

2011-05-24T15:22:00.000+02:00

I’d like to thank all of you who voted for my blog in Expatica.com’s Best Blog contest. The winner?? Lovely in Lux!! Hooray!! You’re the best!

Now I can proudly display this nifty logo!

If you’d like to read the winning blogs from the other countries, check out Expatica.com’s winning blog entry list here.

Thanks again for reading…now go reward yourselves with some Starbucks or a piece of cake.

THIS is Europe - III

2011-05-23T15:16:00.000+02:00

I can take a walk on a path that looks like this for hours and hours, any time I want. Straight through the entire country.

There is no mandatory $6.50 donation.

There are no signs that say “The Pete M.J.B. Roseman Memorial Trail”, “Smoking Prohibited”, “Please Keep Dogs on a Leash”, “Please Keep Our Trail Clean”, or “Children Permitted Under Adult Supervision Only”, yet there are no cigarette butts, stray dogs, litter, or children running amuck.

The path wasn’t created in 1993, but more likely in 1393.

It is lined by acres of farmland, not highways or parking lots.

It even has little activities for children along the way, like this long jump where children can compare their longest jump to those of various animals.

No one even steals the rake that is left there, unattended.

THIS is Europe.*

*Okay, actually, this is Luxembourg. I doubt this would be possible in many other European countries either. But since I don’t know about them, I’ll just shamelessly generalize for now. :-)

Desperate

2011-05-21T10:01:00.001+02:00

This, my friends, is what it’s come down to: blogging at 4:46am. I know, I know. That’s crazy. But like a cow that just neeeeds to be milked (and believe me, I can understand that feeling all too well), I neeeeed to blog. A creative mind will explode if left too long untended. Either that, or turn to mush. Which is coincidentally the same thing that happens if you’re isolated at home and forced to watch German television while breastfeeding all day.

Fortunately, I have my blog.

Even if I have to write it one-handed on my iPhone in the middle of the freaking morning.

Now if you’re expecting your first child any time soon, don’t let this scare you. I know that there are plenty of babies out there who sleep for large parts of the day, sit in their bouncy seats and/or swings for an hour at a time and are content with the entertainment value of dangling pink plastic ladybugs or a fly buzzing at the window*, but my daughter is not one of those children. She likes to be carried or worn at all times (unless of course she’s ravenously hungry, which tends to be pretty often) and even then, she insists that you walk or stand with her rather than sit down. This is not particularly conducive to blogging.

Seriously – I’ve even been contemplating the purchase of a laptop and a desk that can be raised for you to stand at it…but haven’t yet told anyone of that idea because it seems quite indicative of an Internet/computer addiction. (How embarrassing.)

A friend told me yesterday that babies who are very alert and don’t ever want to nap usually end up exhibiting very high intelligence. That’s probably every bit as accurate as the belief that heartburn during pregnancy means the baby will have a lot of hair (although I did have a lot of heartburn and the baby did have lots of hair), but I admit that it was rather comforting to hear that. When it’s 3pm and I’m exhausted, needing a nap myself and staring at her wide open eyes that just never want to close, I will remind myself that she will be the top student in her class.

Although if she’s the top student in her class, she’ll probably want to study at some prestigious school in the states, like Harvard or Stanford, which makes me think of horrendous tuition instead of virtually free universities in Europe, spending her spring breaks topless at some skanky beach in South Carolina, and calling me at 3am to ask for $62,000 for a cast for her broken leg (which she got while dancing topless at the aforementioned beach) because her American health insurance rejects the payment of the broken leg, listing “Stupidity” as a Preexisting Condition. (And I guess they would be correct.)

So nevermind. I think we’ll shoot for “Average” on her report card.

And I’ll keep trying with the naps. It’ll definitely help my blogging, and my sanity.

*Actually, there are also plenty of babies who are just as alert and sleepless as my daughter. Best of luck.

Vote for Lovely!

2011-05-03T18:44:00.001+02:00

Hey folks!

Due to an apparent malfunction in the time-telling abilities of my infant offspring, I appear to be suffering from an acute lack of sleep.

I would humbly like to ask for your patience and understanding at this time.

In the meantime, I would like to encourage all faithful (and not so faithful) followers and visitors of Lovely in Lux to submit their vote by May 10th for this year's Expatica.com "Vote for Your Favourite Blog" contest! "The Starbucks Conspiracy" won last year, and we're hoping that "Slummin' It" wins this year!

Vote here!

For those of you who are computer game addicts, please note that you can vote multiple times--this should provide hours of tedious clicking fun to satisfy your need for monotonous, repeated hand motions.

Thanks in advance for submitting your vote--it would make a tired new mommy happy!

Appreciating my feet!

2011-04-20T13:55:00.000+02:00

Oh yes, and how could I return to blogging without showing off my all new, back-to-normal, non-purple ankles?

Pregnancy…

Post-pregnancy…

When I’m up at 4 in the morning nursing, I often admire my wonderful feet! It’s nice to have one more thing to appreciate…

The Feeding Machine

2011-04-19T12:49:00.001+02:00

Lovely here, reporting back from the (somewhat) land of the living!

Baby Lovely and I are doing just fine*:

Although I have to say that pregnancy does not at all end with the baby’s birth!

In fact, it seems that the contents of your stomach simply migrate…

from here:

to here:

Yes, instead of bringing home bouncing baby and living happily ever after, I have found myself unexpectedly launched from the world of pregnancy into the wonderful world of breastfeeding. I feel like 85% of Luxembourg’s population has now seen me topless, due to the large number of midwives and lactation counselors we’ve had in the hospital, guests at home, and of course our landlord, his sons, and the Lithuanian construction workers who have been putting in our terrace this week.

If I would have known before giving birth that I would spend the next 6-9 months serving mankind by doing little more than your average dairy cow, I would have invested in some larger button-down shirts, a Kindle, ivory-colored furniture (spit-up blends in) and the complete DVD boxed set of the Golden Girls. I also would have purchased waterproof bedding, waterproof pajamas, and one of those baseball hats that have a holder for beer cans with straws attached (except I would have put in bottles of water).

Indeed - it turns out that breastfeeding has been an adventure far more patience-trying than pregnancy, especially because my daughter has the mandibles of a trap-jaw ant (which, according to the almighty Internet, have jaws more powerful than the great white shark and hyenas combined and can propel themselves toward their prey at 100,000 times the force of gravity) and can eat twice her body weight at a single 12-hour feeding session. This has forced quite an unhealthy obsession in mammary glands on the part of Yours Truly, whether I was interested in them before or not. Needless to say, every time I have thought about blogging, I have either been chained to the bed or the sofa for a marathon feeding session or have decided against blogging in favor of googling anything with the word “production” - “latch” – or “nipple” included in it.

And to make matters worse, my husband went back to work yesterday after his 3-week holiday…cutting the percentage of persons not smelling of milk in our household down to 0. Which means my daughter can no longer take a nap, use the baby carrier, or even go for a walk in the stroller without screaming for more food.

[sigh] The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Why, oh why did I ever eat so much dairy during my pregnancy? I’ve created a milk addict.

Speak of the devil – a certain little someone is snorting and sniffing for me this very instant…looks like Mama Cow will have to close.

It clearly does a body good. (Please note the “Got Milk?” burp rag.)

*Actually, I had to cover up the goods so that this picture could even be taken…notice the nursing pillow??

Last Day

2011-03-25T17:50:00.001+01:00

Today is the last day of my prenatal leave. By this time on Monday, I’ll be lighter. Tired-er. Emotional-er.

I’ll be somebody’s mommy.

But because I tend to get awfully sentimental about saying goodbye, today I’d like to focus on allllll the appreciation I’m feeling for the past eight weeks.

I appreciate that I even got eight weeks off to begin with (thank you, Luxembourg labor laws!!).

I appreciate that my body has stayed healthy and mobile and flexible and has allowed me to do so many things with my time off.

I appreciate that the weather has been so consistently gorgeous; that I’ve had way more sunshine and warmth than rain, that I’m living in a nice house in a nice village, with farm animals and birds building a nest in the eave across from my window, that the neighbors are busy planting gardens that I’ll get to enjoy, that they’ve started completing our terrace and our yard so that we have a nice place to sit outside this summer.

I appreciate all of the positive energy I’ve gotten from readers and commenters, friends that have emailed or written on Facebook, stopped by the house, or have sent me their well wishes in cards and in packages.

I appreciate the fact that Baby Lovely is so wonderfully healthy that I’ve been able to enjoy the last trimester knowing everything is going to be just fine.

I appreciate our cars, that they’ve taken me where I’ve needed to go and have kept me safe.

I appreciate that I’ve accomplished so much but have relaxed a bit too, have grown more confident in my cooking and my sewing abilities, and that I have so much to look forward to.

I appreciate that I have many more months to spend at home with Baby Lovely, and weeks to spend with my wonderful husband.

So at the end of my last day of prenatal leave, I’m left with…nothing but warmth and appreciation and the anticipation of wonderful things to come.

Warmest greetings until next time (don’t know if it will be sooner or later!),

Lovely

P.S. By the time I write my next blog, I hope to have my ankles back. And feet that aren’t…purple.

Cleaning up my vibration

2011-03-24T19:38:00.001+01:00

Yesterday I had yet another run-in with a meanie on the road. I was waiting for a car to back out of a parking spot (the alternative would have been rear-ending him, which I didn’t particularly feel like doing) and the Mercedes behind me started honking his horn and acting like we were in New York City and he had a meeting with the UN that he was late for. Yours Truly couldn’t help but gesticulate (no, I never give the finger, but I wish I could refrain from all hand gestures whatsoever), and then I was in a huffy mood right before yoga class.

No more than 2 hours later, someone rode past our car and hit the side rearview mirror (luckily it was the grown-up car, not my Smart, so it was able to defend itself).*

I realize I over-analyze things, but the law of attraction fanatic in me is starting to get really paranoid. Obviously I’m transmitting some kind of bad automotive vibes or I wouldn’t have constant problems with angry or crappy drivers, parking tickets (okay, there was only one ticket, but STILL), and now the rearview mirror?!? I started thinking about what I was doing to contribute to the problem…am I such a crappy, obnoxious driver myself? Do I focus so much on other people’s driving that I attract bad drivers? Is my writing about encounters with bad drivers making the problem worse? I have to change something or this string of bad luck will continue! And maybe…maybe it’ll even result in an accident or I’ll hit something while I’m parking, or someone will scratch our car in the night!!!!

Brilliant. As if I didn’t know that worrying about hypothetical scenarios like those wouldn’t attract thoughts of bad hypothetical scenarios.

I’m a vibrational mess.

I asked my husband yesterday why he never seems to have these problems on the road (after all, I really don’t consider myself to be a bad driver). His response was, “I don’t know. Those kinds of things never happen to me.” But then I remembered that just one night ago, he had gotten honked at by some meanie for no reason too. So I said, “Sure they do – just last night that guy honked at you for no reason. Why weren’t you upset?”

“Because I know I’m in the right. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Hmmm. And probably because he isn’t over-sensitive and over-analytical like Lovely.

Then I received my daily quote from Abraham-Hicks this morning. It read:

You cannot notice what-is and complain about it, and be a vibrational match to the solution. When you were living the problem, you were asking for the solution, and Source said yes immediately. So, there's never a reason for you to be wallowing around in a problem for more than about a second? You can get so good at this that before you're even aware that the problem has gotten started, you've already got the solution under way.

--- Abraham

Excerpted from the workshop in Sacramento, CA on Wednesday, July 27th, 2005 # 22

And I immediately knew: the answer to my analysis was simply to stop analyzing. Quit trying to make connections and understand everything and invest all this energy in something I don’t want, like nasty drivers and bad luck on the road. So I stopped thinking about it altogether. From now on, I’ll be trying my husband’s recipe for success: Know that I’m just fine the way I am. Then forget the whole thing. I have the feeling I’ll fare a lot better with this method. And of course I’ll continue to say my driving affirmations.

Today was a great day. I picked up the Smart after it got its oil changed, air conditioning fluid refilled, and hand brake adjusted, and we had a nice time together – we needed some quality time, as it will be quite limited once Baby Lovely arrives! (I’m sure it feels a bit intimidated that there will be a new cute baby vying for my attention now.) Maybe tomorrow I’ll take him for a nice car wash. Then I got some shopping done in town with the sun shining (life is so much easier when you don’t have to wear a coat!) and lo and behold, the loud construction workers actually started landscaping our back yard today. Halleluiah! This evening, I took out Baby Lovely’s stroller and realized that it probably has the capability of driving the baby to Jupiter and back on autopilot, but I have no idea how to use it.

But that, my friends, is a vehicular challenge for tomorrow.

*I was at the hospital when this happened. See yesterday’s blog for details.

Another trip to the commune

2011-03-23T22:36:00.001+01:00

POP QUIZ!

To see if you’ve been paying attention to my recent blog entries, please answer the following question:

Lovely has spent the majority of her maternity leave time:

a) watching TV.
b) at the local commune office.
c) at the hospital.
d) at the local commune office and the hospital.

If you answered (d), congratulations! You have obviously been an attentive reader and I truly appreciate you.

Yesterday’s outing was…(you have a 50% chance of guessing correctly here)…to the local commune!

Woohoo!

I thoroughly enjoyed my trip to the commune. Not only because I now know how to get there and where I can park, but also because I know both people who work there (and they know me – they changed the address on my tax card without even looking up my name or my address. Kind of spooky when you think about it. Then again, I’m probably the only pregnant lady in the commune).

My actual matter of business took all of 30 seconds to complete, then I decided to wander about the village for a bit. I was feeling extremely crabby (two run-ins with absolutely horrible drivers will do that to you) and I thought, “Why not? I have nothing better to do and the weather is gorgeous.”

The village was ever so charming. There was:

A nice little stream running all the way around the town (complete with a walking path that looked a bit dangerous seeing as I’m quite klutzy with my belly, but luckily I didn’t fall in)

Worn old buildings…

…and even a duck crosswalk. (This actually led across the street to a pond, so I’m assuming it’s not meant as a joke. I do hope, however, that humans are allowed to use it too…because I did.)

So my trip to the commune saved the day. Something tells me that tomorrow’s trip to the hospital will not be quite as cute and fun, but what’s a girl to do? It’s maternity leave, after all…

Spring decorating

2011-03-22T11:59:00.001+01:00

Spring has sprung in Luxembourg!!! What an amazing feeling – it’s incredible how a little sunshine can really pick you up! It almost makes up for the Portuguese construction workers who spend the entire live-long day yelling to each other at incredible volumes right outside my window. Ahhh…at least there are plenty of sparrows, roosters, cows, and church bells around to offer other – albeit brief – sounds of spring. (Plus, we all have to admit that construction work is just another sign that the weather is getting nicer…)

I’ve been busy decorating our house for Easter since I probably won’t have the opportunity once Baby Lovely arrives…here are a few pictures for your viewing pleasure!

Hope you’re experiencing spring weather wherever you are on the globe (provided it’s in the Northern hemisphere, of course…)

- Lovely

More time at the hospital

2011-03-18T20:59:00.001+01:00

Hospitals kind of bite.

I always thought the statement “I HATE hospitals” was overused, kind of like “I HATE going to the dentist” or “I couldn’t LIVE without chocolate”.

But now that I’ve spent some time in the hospital (and it wasn’t even for a medical procedure, but rather just to prepare for one) I realize why some people are so adamant about how much hospitals suck.

If I wanted to get sick, the first place I would go would be to a hospital.

Honestly. The stale smell of harsh cleanser, the constant noise, the number of other sick people, the lack of fresh air, the bad East-German-during-communism decor…it’s enough to make you sick on the spot.

Which is why my next baby, provided that she’s not breech like this one, will be born at home.

Yesterday I went to the hospital for my consultation with the anesthesiologist (required for all women who are having a baby) and was, as usual, sent here, there, and everywhere by snotty receptionists who seemed revolted by the fact that I didn’t have an innate understanding of their hare-brained way of doing things. I dragged myself – and my 11-pound belly – across the campus of hospitals, 15 minutes late for my appointment, and took the 3 flights of stairs because obviously the elevator was on strike (the hospital was packed, they must have been having a sale on operations).

I waited for my appointment in a stuffy hallway with about 15 other people, and couldn’t help thinking that it was obvious why everyone in the hospital is sick – no windows, no breeze, no positive energy…not even positive wallpaper patterns. In fact, I found my chat with the doctor about getting a needle inserted into my spinal cord more pleasant than waiting in the waiting area.

And that’s pretty bad. Normally that stuff makes me pass out.

Anyway, I don’t want to just rant about the hospital. I do have friends who are nurses and who are anything but sick or miserable; they do a wonderful job and I’m grateful that so many people dedicate themselves to the business of helping people! But I tell you, a hospital is no place for a newborn baby! Or a mother! (Unless, of course, one of them happens to be sick.)

But I digress. What I was really dying to tell you was that when I came out of the hospital – and you’ll be able to appreciate this only if you read last Friday's entry on parking discs in Luxembourg – I found a woman standing by my car with two parking discs in her hand…a white one and a blue one. She looked up at the parking sign, looked down at the discs, looked back up at the sign, looked back down at the discs…I had to grin. I asked her if I could be of assistance. “Do you know which parking disc I can use here, or do I have to buy a ticket?” she said.

I grinned. As a matter of fact, I did know, I told her. I took out my phone, reviewed the wonderful explanation provided to us by reader Mike, and explained that she should be able to use her white disc for two hours in conjunction with her Luxembourg vignette.

[Sigh] Don’t you just love how the Law of Attraction works? When the student is ready, the teacher appears. That lady was obviously ready to learn about how to park in Luxembourg, and Lovely was right there to help her.

Mike, I hope you were right about the disc – otherwise there’s a poor woman somewhere in Luxembourg who is now cursing Yours Truly because she got a parking ticket.

Then again, she told me she was having a procedure done at the hospital today.

So she’s probably feeling a little ill.

Too many orange chairs with green speckled wallpaper have the tendency to do that to you.

Vitamin D****

2011-03-16T19:29:00.001+01:00

I’ve been taking Vitamin D supplements ever since I’ve been pregnant.

At first, I had to put 10 orange-flavored drops into my beloved glass of milk every morning (okay, I admit it…my husband usually did it for me) and drink orange-flavored milk. I did this quite begrudgingly at the beginning, especially because when you’re feeling rotten, you certainly don’t want to drink anything that tastes a bit gross. (Plus I am quite protective of my milk!*)

After about 6 months my doctor told me that my Vitamin D levels were still “catastrophic” (all of that milk abuse for nothing!) and wrote out a prescription for some super-concentrated vitamin D oil solution that was supposed to be, and I quote, “completely tasteless”.

It tastes like a cow’s hair smells.

Something tells me that my doctor has never actually taken the drops herself. But at least I can take them separately and don’t have to sacrifice any more glasses of innocent milk.

Anyway, the reason I am telling you all of this is for one simple reason:

Vitamin D tastes better when you’re getting it from the sun.

Unfortunately it’s a bit difficult to get Vitamin D naturally here in Luxembourg, as the sun doesn’t often show its face…except for yesterday, which was The. Most. Productive. Day. Ever!!

With the sun shining and 61°F (16°C) weather outside, I was able to kick it into high gear – and I did have more luck with my endeavors, as I had predicted on Monday!

I…

moved all my potted flowers from the back (North side = no sun) to the front of the house (South side)
walked to the mailbox and mailed a letter
actually reached a live person at the day care center** and made an appointment to register Baby Lovely (I’ve been trying to do that for the past 4 weeks!)
learned a bit about taking care of orchids (but then stopped because I started getting overwhelmed)
reached someone at our insurance company and requested the certificate we need for our taxes
finally found out where the village rooster lives – and boy, that’s one big rooster!
met my husband in town for our final prenatal class
got out our Easter decorations so I can begin decorating the house (won’t be able to do it when it’s actually Easter!)
measured and hemmed a curtain
hung said curtain and curtain rod.

And you know what? I feel I have vitamin D to thank. Not the silly oil solution, but the good ol’, God-made, sunny kind of vitamin D. (Does anyone else suddenly have a craving for Sunny Delight?)

Today we had much less sunshine and I was also much less productive.

Again, I feel I have vitamin D to blame…it’s simply out of my control.

On a side note, there are many who claim that vitamin D is important in preventing cancer. I suggest we all move to Spain immediately so as to get enough natural vitamin D. On second thought, I will be moving to Italy, as the Spaniards eat far too much creepy crawly sea life for my taste.

Although the driving in Italy may actually lower my life expectancy more than a Vitamin D deficiency.

Just forget I ever mentioned it. Drink your SunnyD***.

(Then brush your teeth. Do you know how much sugar is in there?)

* GO PACK GO!
**The person insisted on speaking Luxembourgish and I replied in German. I’m pretty proud of myself for nevertheless understanding when the appointment is.
***Did you realize that there is NO VITAMIN D in Sunny Delight?? Hello?! I thought that was the whole point! Apparently it has 100% of your daily recommended allowance of Vitamin C. They should therefore call it Sunny C-Light, but that probably wouldn’t have caught on with the masses. Clearly, I think the reference to the sun and the fact that they shorten the “Delight” to “D” implies that there is, in fact Vitamin D in Sunny D. But again, just forget I ever mentioned it.

****I thoroughly apologize for this blog entry. I am all over the place today. Vitamin D deficiency. Cabin fever. Claustrophobia. Definitely too much sugar, not enough vegetables, and a very bad-for-me-and-Baby-Lovely hot dog from Portugal today. I hope you’ll forgive me for the time you spent reading this – obviously I’ve been doing too many of those “Who Said It- Gaddafi or Charlie Sheen?” quizzes online.

Lovely gets connected!

2011-03-14T18:52:00.001+01:00

Someone call Satan* and tell him to put on his long johns, because I think hell is going to freeze over tonight!! Yours Truly just got a phone line!

After only two months of living in our new house, a phone line was put in today – that means we only have to wait a few more weeks to get our old phone number connected and get internet access to the house – woohoo!! I had basically given up on the possibility that this day would ever come. We even got an appointment for the big hookup – April 12th! Mark your calendars!! This will be the second-biggest event of the year!**

This is a perfect example of the baby steps that we sometimes have to take in Luxembourg (or anywhere, for that matter). Did I get what I wanted today in the hospital? Nope. The nurse “couldn’t find my file”. Did I reach anyone at the day care center that I’ve been trying to reach for the past two weeks? Nope. But there’s always tomorrow. Did my insurance company send me a certificate of the premiums I’ve paid last year so that I can deduct them from my taxes and finally send them off? Well, yes, except they’ve written a big fat “0” next to “Amount paid in premiums last year”. (If that’s the case I would like my €960 back, please…)

But who cares! I’m one step closer to being able to pick up a phone and talk to someone whenever I want! And know that I will have reception any time, any type of weather – no more waiting for sunny days just to be able to use my cell phone!

Therefore I am claiming today as a complete and total victory. With the positive energy generated by this today, I’m sure I will have great luck tomorrow with all of the other little things I’m trying to accomplish—nothing can stop me now!!

I didn’t have any problems of this sort today, but I’m sure some of you can relate. (Sorry about the corny captions, they weren’t of my doing!)

*Rumor has it that Governor Scott Walker (WI) actually has a direct phone line.
**I figured the birth of my first child would be slightly more monumental, but it’s definitely a close call.

“Government Authorities” for one million – or €24

2011-03-11T21:34:00.001+01:00

Last week I got my first parking ticket ever.

There must have been a major disturbance in the force, because I got the parking ticket during yoga class. Yoga class. The sun always shines brighter and the grass grows greener during yoga class, so I don’t know how it was possible for me to attract a parking ticket. Odd.

The parking ticket was such a surprise that at first, I didn’t think it was for real. I thought it was an advertisement that was made to look like a parking ticket so that everyone would open it up and read what was inside (not a bad idea, by the way). And yet no one else had a parking ticket besides me. Hmm.

After staring at it for several seconds, I got into the car, opened and read the ticket, and then continued to stare with my jaw dropped for another minute or two. A parking ticket? For what? I was parked in a legal space, I hadn’t exceeded the time I was allowed to park, I was using a parking disc*, and I had just been to yoga class, where all is always well. What in the heck?!

The reason listed on the parking ticket was, from what I could understand of the bureaucrat French, “Failure to park with a parking disc”. Fine: €24.

Again, jaw droppage and staring. It’s possible that I stared so long that a bit of dribble started to flow from the corner of my mouth.

Failure to park with a parking disc? But the ticket had been placed on top of my parking disc! The ticketer would have had to have seen it! Of all the…

My first instinct was to take as many pictures as possible for evidence. Without moving my parking disc, I got back out of the car and snapped some shots of the dashboard. Failure to park with a parking disc…hah! I’d show them!

On the way home I dictated the awesomest appeal letter I could compose. (Unfortunately no one was taking dictation, but it felt good anyway.) After talking it over with my husband, we however decided that I should appeal my ticket at the police station in person instead, as you have only two days to appeal (and who knows if a letter would ever arrive in time. Plus, in Luxembourg, people seem to prefer personal contact to impersonal correspondence).

So the next day I went to the police station. It wasn’t at all an inconvenience, I only had two other appointments on two opposite ends of town that day, but I was glad to make the trip (*cough*bullshit*cough*). Since parking spots weren’t clearly marked at the station – and I would be darned to get another ticket while going to protest my first ticket – I decided to park extremely far away and walk to the station instead.

I arrived to find – and somehow I could simultaneously believe my eyes while not believing my eyes – that the police station was closed. Yes, closed. Sure – I could have been standing there with a knife sticking out from between my ribs, but I would have been out of luck…the police station has opening hours from 8am-10am and 4pm-6pm.

No, I am not making this up.

So I shlepped myself and my belly back to my car. 4-6pm, eh? Sure, I could make that. I would just leave 2 hours early for my second appointment and take a huge detour to the police station on the way. Awesome.

I showed up at 5:00pm to find that the door to the police station was still locked. I pressed what I thought was the doorbell, only to realize after a second that I had really hit the emergency call button.

Oops.

But despite my worries, everything was fine – because no one answered the emergency call button. It rang three times and then I got a tone similar to a busy signal.

Yes, once again, I could have had a knife in my back, an eyeball ripped out of its socket, a ready-to-detonate weapon of mass destruction, a kidnapped toddler in my car and a loaded bazooka pointed at the Grand Duke himself, and no one would have been there.

But it serves me right. Whaddya think this is, New York City?

[Sigh] Eventually, a police man did come out. He wedged the door open with a chair and asked me to come in.

I decided to play the innocent-pregnant-lady card rather than the pissed-off-German card. Of course I don’t like to use my poor unborn child to help me get out of parking tickets, but I figured it was my best defense.

I explained nicely to the police officer that I was confused as to why I had received a ticket when I had used a parking disc.

He had obviously heard this story before, and pointed to two tattered photocopies hung on the glass doors of the entry desk (which has probably been unmanned since the police station was built in 1984). He explained that, of course, I had been using a white parking disc, when the white parking disc is only for places within the Luxembourg city limits. For places outside Luxembourg, I had to use a blue parking disc. One of the discs shows when you arrive. The other disc shows when you plan to leave. One of the discs is in German. The other disc is in French. And, most importantly: one of the discs is blue, while the other one is white. “It’s really no problem,” he finished. “All you have to do is go to the post office and pay the ticket.”

(Right. Because in Luxembourg we don’t pay tickets like normal people, we go to the post office to do it. Have I mentioned that you also get telephone, cable TV, and even train tickets at the post office?)

Of course, I nodded. That makes total sense, I said, smiling. Now I know. Thanks for explaining it to me.

And now to explain it to you (because I’m fairly certain that most of you won’t know this, even if you live in Luxembourg…): If you live in Luxembourg, you apparently need two parking discs. One of them is blue, and Yours Truly just assumed that it wasn’t used here because it’s the exact same parking disc that is used in Germany. It says “Ankunftszeit”, or “Time of Arrival”, and it is – I repeat – blue. You use it everywhere BUT the city. The other parking disc can only be used within the city limits (and in areas that belong to the city, so I hope you know what those are…), and that parking disc is white. And has French on it. And says “Heure de Depart”, or “Time of Departure”. Which means you have to say when you’re planning on leaving, not when you arrived.

Because obviously, time is different when it’s indicated in French. And when the parking disc is white. Time is not time is not time. Theoretically it should be enough for you to write the time you arrived on the back of a gas station receipt and put that in your window, but I’m pretty sure that would get you a parking ticket too.

Geez, people, don’t you get it?

I had to laugh. Really. I wasn’t even bitter. Because I can appreciate that this way of doing things is so absolutely, genuinely, and uniquely Luxembourgish to its core – in its convolutedness, mixture of languages, and the fact that it’s explained no where for anyone who hasn’t been born here – that it was impossible to be mad. I figured that any place that could be so darned creative about free parking deserved an “A” for effort. And a €24 donation from me, their loyal citizen, as a reward.

So for those of you living here, I hope you have read and understood the rules (it can’t be that well known or they wouldn’t have those photocopies up at the police station). I also hope you have a blue German parking disc. For those of you who don’t live here, remember this:

You may not have health insurance, a job, or a pot to pee in, but your police station is probably open 24/7…just in case.

…Although I bet your policemen aren’t quite as creative as ours.

P.S. The police station I’m describing is not in one of the small villages I’ve been talking about lately, but rather in Luxembourg city – this isn’t a cute Mayberry police station (although I think Sheriff Andy probably would have been there at 11:00am…)

*A parking disc is used in zones where you can park for free for a given period of time, such as a maximum of 20 minutes, an hour, or more. You move the disc to indicate when you arrived at the spot, so the police know how long you’ve been parked there.

More preparations

2011-03-09T20:43:00.001+01:00

Sorry that I’ve been slacking off on my blogging duties lately, but the last few days have been a whirlwind of hospital and doctor’s appointments, prenatal classes, and bureaucratic ventures that have (unfortunately) frequently left me feeling frustrated, forlorn, and decidedly foreign.

BUT – and this is a big BUT – I’ve had a wonderful day today (thank you yoga!) that has left me not wanting to dwell on the negatives of the past few days, but rather focus on all of the great progress I’ve made in my preparations for motherhood and Baby Lovely. These would include, but are not limited to:

Hemming curtains for our bedroom and having them turn out much better (and much more easily!) than the last things I’ve sewn. Obviously it does get easier with practice! This time my stitching doesn’t look like it was done by someone in a sweatshop who had had a few too many (dozen) drinks before work.
I have finally, after 28 years, discovered the amazing possibilities of the rough side (the dark green one) of a sponge! Holy Moses, I never knew!! I used the rough side extensively while cleaning Baby Lovely’s crib (we got it second-hand) and am totally impressed by the cleansing power! I’m a changed woman, definitely ready for motherhood now!
I have become increasingly successful at ironing dress shirts. Normally this is my husband’s area of expertise (shhh, don’t tell the guys!) but I figured I should at least master the skill of ironing something at some point. Especially if I’m going to be home all day for the next few months.
I finally packed Baby Lovely’s bag for the hospital. In comparison to all the other mothers on BabyCenter.com I’m like 3 months late, but as we can all see, Baby Lovely still hasn’t arrived, so there’s no problem. In packing the bag I made the realization that I have no idea what I’m doing – what size babies are, what they wear, how many layers they need, etc. So I just packed everything we had that said “Newborn” on it. Something’s gotta fit. And if she’s suffered from my extensive pizza and Oreo consumption, I’ve packed some clothes that are bigger, too. It’s all unisex, just in case we end up with a surprise…unfortunately, none of it matches. So he/she will definitely be warm enough (if need be I can layer on everything in the bag until she looks like Randy in A Christmas Story who can’t put his arms down) but will have a huge fashion problem. Again, all the other mothers on BabyCenter have all of these cute “going home” outfits for their babies…maybe I’ll dress her up at home in something cute, put her in her car seat, and take a fake picture of her going home. No one will ever know the difference!
I, on the other hand, have nothing ready for the hospital. [clearing throat] Again, perhaps I am a tad late. But at least I have a list of what I need, so my husband could theoretically bring it to the hospital afterwards. I’m seeing this very Luxembourgish and am not going to worry about it. There’s always tomorrow.

That’s about all I can think of for now…the rest of my preparations have been more emotional/mental, which are much more important…I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking and meditating. Thank goodness for that!

Cross stitch project

2011-03-03T16:15:00.001+01:00

Can I just take this opportunity to say that I am a crafting goddess?

Well, perhaps that’s a bit much, but I am quite proud of myself. I’ve made my own cross stitch pattern that I can work on while I’m in the hospital (as I’m assuming my brain may be too fried to read).

Here’s how it’s done:

1. Buy cross stitch bib in the states.

2. Find a nice picture for it.

3. Figure out the number of stitches per inch, how many inches you want to stitch, measure out this amount on graph paper, and enlarge image to the size of the graph paper (that’s where it gets a bit more complicated).

4. Trace the outline onto your graph paper (but only using straight lines).

5. Work out the kinks and decide on colors (also not quite as easy as it looks!).

And ta daaaa!! You have a pattern. Now to stitch the rest in the hospital, complete with Baby Lovely’s name!

Ain’t domesticity and maternity leave grand!? I could get used to this!

“Government Authorities” for $300 – Lux communes (Part II)

2011-03-02T20:33:00.001+01:00

After reading my blog yesterday, my husband informed me that Luxembourg communes have the elaborate door system because they deal with such large amounts of cash that they don’t want anyone to be able to rob the place and then quickly escape through the doors. While this explanation is much less fun and exciting than my hypotheses regarding Get Smart, mass mobs, and dog food subsidies, I do feel somewhat justified in saying that Luxembourg communes have a lot of money. (That kind of proves it.)

Although I don’t know how they manage to accumulate huge amounts of cash if their going price for de-registration is only €1.20.

When I tell my friends in the states that we’ve moved to the country, I suspect that they’re picturing a large farm house standing by itself on a long stretch of empty highway, with a Golden Retriever bellowing on the porch and two ridiculously oversized cars parked on the gravel driveway. And while we do have a couple of farms and some oversized cars in the neighborhood, that’s not really what country living here is like. I usually correct myself and say we’ve moved to a village, hoping that they’ll be able to create a better mental picture, like of the village in Chocolat*. Although that village is the size of Paris compared to mine. We don’t have a chocolaterie, a bakery, a post office, or even a church. (But we do have a mailbox, which I consider to be pretty lucky.)

I had to travel 45 minutes to the next village in order to register at our new commune. The drive was so long because the route I took happened to be under construction, and in typical Luxembourg fashion, I had to take miles and miles of back roads to get there – with my GPS telling me “If possible, please turn around” for a solid 15 minutes before giving up altogether and giving me the silent treatment. When I finally arrived in what I assumed was the center, I pulled into something resembling a parking space (although I think it doubled as a bus stop) and got out of the car without actually knowing where the commune office was. Fortunately, I was able to identify it straightaway - not by a big statue out front or a sign that said, “Commune”, but rather because it was the only building with a light on. (See what I mean by “village”?)

I entered (no double door security system) and was greeted by a lone man sitting at a lone desk in a lone office. No high-tech number machine, no bells, no chairs - just a clock, tick-tocking on the wall to break the silence (or did I just imagine the clock? Probably. But it just fits so well).

There was no proforma waiting here. The man got up from his desk and I told him that I wanted to register. Like the woman at the other commune, he very diligently took my passport and my residence card and typed, one finger at a time, for ages, giving me time to look around the office.

It was pretty much bare, except for a few potted plants, a free promotional calendar, and filing cabinets. I could not imagine spending my entire work day in such an office, with just my binders to keep me company.

We had a nice chit chat, and I asked the man how and when we could get a garbage can for our house – we hadn’t received one yet. Whereupon he looked at me and said, “You don’t have a garbage can yet? Are you in the new house that [insert landlord name here] built?”

Again – welcome to a Mayberry moment. The guy at the commune probably not only knew what house we lived in and who had built it, but also that I was from the states, my husband was from Germany, and where we worked before I even arrived. Oh, and of course what cars we drive. But hey, there has to be something interesting about working in that office all day, right?

The next week, I received a postcard in the mail asking me to call the “Technical Service” to make an appointment to get our water meter installed. The number listed was a mobile phone. When I rang, expecting to get an appointment sometime within the next week or two, the man said “I’ll be right over.” When I started to give him my address, he said, “Yeah, yeah, I know which house it is.”

A bit scary for a girl who just went 3 years without saying as much as “hello” to her neighbors (well, I tried, but they didn’t always say hello back), but I could get used to this degree of service! The guy was there within an hour and wore a purple knit cap.

I wonder if they call him ‘Goober’ down at the commune.

I’ve now discovered that two people actually work at the commune instead of just one, and they must take turns doing the Thursday night “late shift” (until 7pm) for poor employed people like me. I like to think that they offer each other a bit of company during those grueling long work days. When I went back to the commune to get a stamp for my prenatal allocation and ask for a larger garbage can (we figure we’ll need it when we have loads of Pampers every day!), the nice man didn’t give me a form to fill out, ask for ID, or make me sign anything…he just wrote my name and “larger garbage can” down on a Post-it note.

Now that’s what I call service.

Yeah…I think I could get used to country living. Today as I was walking to the town mailbox and passed some cows along the way, I was almost sure I could hear the theme song to “Green Acres” playing softly in the distance…

…and it was good.

*I have been meaning to take a weekend trip to this village since we’ve moved to Luxembourg, but we haven’t managed it yet. Partially because I know they refurbished it quite a bit to make the movie and I’m worried we’ll be stranded there without a place to even buy a bottle of water. Or a pack of gum. Or a chocolate bar, because you know I’ll be craving one. Either that, or I’m worried that it’ll be too touristy. But you never know unless you try, and maybe that should be a goal for this summer. Please remind me of this in July.

“Government Authorities” for $200 – Lux communes (Part I)

2011-03-01T19:04:00.001+01:00

I didn’t find my high school transcripts.*

But I’m not fretting, I assume between my college transcripts, high school diploma, and whatever else I can think of between now and the time I actually apply for Baby Lovely’s passport, I’ll be fine. One route I haven’t taken yet is to just ask my parents for something they have (like some of the old report cards in the second drawer of my mom’s desk) and that’s always an option.

But enough about the American authorities, yesterday I promised I would tell you about the Luxembourg ones.

Or, more specifically, about my last trip to the local commune.

Whenever you move house, you have to register at your local commune. I found this completely ridiculous when I first moved to Europe, but I’ve been here for so long now that I can’t imagine it any other way. (How does the United States government keep from liquefying into total chaos without this system? Although, on that note, I’m sure some would argue that it is total chaos. But I digress.)

Some newcomers to this system get to their local commune and are surprised to find out that they can’t register without proving that they’ve de-registered at their last place of residence first. (After all, you can’t live in two places at once.) Now in Germany, they introduced the concept of ummelden as I was living there (it was all the rage, man…all the communes were doin’ it) which meant that you no longer had to de-register at one commune first in order to register at another, but rather that you could go straight to your new commune and they would de-register you at your old commune automatically. (You’re supposed to ooh and aah and be very impressed at this point.) One would think that such a system would also be feasible in Luxembourg, with 6/1000s the population of Germany, but let’s not push our luck. These innovative developments do take time.

Anyway – I’m getting off on way too many tangents today – to register at my new commune I had to de-register at my old commune.

My old commune has its office in a brand new, state-of-the-art building that would perhaps be a bit more appropriate for a commune of, say, 300,000 residents rather than 7,000. But hey. It’s Luxembourg. If you (have money to) build it, they will come.

There are no door handles on the doors. It is so technologically advanced that you simply cannot get in, nor can you get out, by any conventional means. Nor do they have sensory mats on the ground like at the supermarket. Instead, you have to push a button that says “Please wait”**, then the button lights up red and actually does make you wait for a good 30 seconds, then the door opens. You enter to find yourself now stuck between the door you just entered and the actual door to the building. Another light goes on: “Please wait”. After another 30 seconds of somewhat nerve-wracking waiting, the second door opens and you may proceed.

I have several hypotheses as to why someone would have ever voluntarily paid money for such a ludicrous system:

The architect was a big fan of Get Smart. (If you were not a Nick-at-Nite addict or an American child of the 60’s, please refer to the below):

The commune had too much money in the budget but wanted to use it all, so they installed a completely useless yet comprehensive and expensive door system (and several potted plants).
An industrial psychologist told the authorities that citizens were less likely to come to the local commune and ask for stuff if they knew they had to go through all that door-opening crap just to get in.
A competing industrial psychologist told the authorities that people would be so relieved that they got in the door that they wouldn’t mind if their application for Dog Food Subsidies was rejected.
The commune figured this would prevent any mass mob break-ins by its 7,000 citizens.
The commune wanted to be particularly environmentally conscious and installed a system that would keep the climate inside the building at a steady 20°C and avoid any drafts from outside. Unfortunately they forgot that Luxembourg has one of the mildest climates in the world, and that silly doors waste more electricity than a well-calibrated heating system.

But anyway. A minute later I was in the building and could take a number from the very futuristic stainless steel number machine. No other “customers” were there, and there were two people working (or at least they were sitting at computers with their eyes open) but I think it’s a prerequisite that they make you take a number and sit down for a few minutes just for formality’s sake. So that’s what I did. I took a number and sat down. Ten seconds later, they rang the bell and my number came up on the screen. Again – just for formality’s sake (and to make everyone feel like we were in a real, honest-to-goodness government office like the Green Bay DMV) – I made a point of double-checking that my number was the next one up before standing and proceeding to the proper counter. Bureaucracy’s great, isn’t it?

The woman de-registering me had long, square, purple French-tipped nails and typed one finger at a time. She very diligently took my passport and residence card and typed and typed; when she asked for my new commune’s name she responded “Is that even in Luxembourg?” and we had a good laugh. (This shows you how tiny our new village is; she’s grown up in a country of 500,000 people and has probably sworn to eternal allegiance when becoming a state employee, yet she hadn’t even heard of where we’re now living. Woah. Nevertheless, her cousin’s wife’s 3rd-grade school teacher probably lives next to us.)

Deregistration took about ten minutes and I was charged, if I remember correctly, €1.20 for a certificate that had not one, but TWO stamps on it. And yes, as I was paying the ridiculously small sum of money, I did feel a bit like I was in a very technologically advanced version of Mayberry. (Again, if you’re not familiar with the town of Mayberry, please watch this beauty. I somehow get the feeling that this blog has a reoccurring theme…):

And so ended the de-registration process.

Well, give or take the additional minute it took for me to get out the door.

[Don’t miss the exciting conclusion to ‘“Government Authorities” for $200 – Lux Communes’ tomorrow!]

*See yesterday’s blog if you’re totally lost.

**The “Please Wait” button completely confused me at first. Usually buttons say something like “Push” or “Open”. I don’t know how long I actually waited before pressing the button, thinking I would get yelled at if I did otherwise. I wonder how many other people have made this same mistake. Or have just turned around and gone home.

“Government Authorities” for $100, please

2011-02-28T16:51:00.001+01:00

Kids, if there’s one thing I hope we learn today, it’s this:

Never lose your high school transcripts.

Or your birth certificate.
Or your vaccination card.
Or the card with your blood type on it, even if it seems weird to put it in your wallet but too small to put in a normal file.

In fact, just never throw away any piece of paper that has your name printed on it. Ever.

You may need it someday.

A certain someone has been overly ambitious after a successful visit to the commune today, and has now decided to take on paperwork for Baby Lovely’s nationality so that she doesn’t have to worry about it later.

And yes, you guessed it – the citizenship of my child rests upon me finding my high school transcripts.

[sigh] I do admit – I am pretty dang organized – but this really takes the cake. I never thought I would have to show these again. I know I have them somewhere, but it’s pretty hard to know where to start. They could be in any number of places. Especially given the fact that I’ve moved five times since they were issued.

But I do love a good challenge. I will find my high school transcripts and my child will have dual nationality. I hope. I haven’t started looking into German citizenship yet because their website is a lot less helpful than the American one. (And if they ask for my husband’s high school transcripts - which they won’t because that’s really weird and I bet only the Americans do that – I actually know where to find them.)

By this time tomorrow, I will hopefully tell you:

a.) How I fared at the Luxembourg commune today, as it applies more to the context of this blog;
b.) Where I ended up finding my high school transcripts.

Wish me luck…

Becoming an adult

2011-02-25T18:24:00.001+01:00

I’m very proud of myself today.

I have reached yet another milestone on my journey to becoming a fully functioning adult here in Luxembourg.

My challenge? Taking the grown-up car to Auchan, the big supermarket.

Hey. It’s harder than it sounds.

One of my goals for maternity leave has been to get some practice driving our new “real” car before Baby Lovely comes so that my husband doesn’t get a call in two months’ time from a hysterical Lovely who has managed to lodge the car between a kebab restaurant and a dumpster and can’t get the door open with a screaming infant in the back seat. And scratches all along the side panel. And a broken headlight.

That may seem far-fetched, but a certain person did take their last new car to work one morning only to return 30 minutes later, crying like a baby, with the door completely bent inwards and the entire side panel needing to be exchanged. (We didn’t get the car back from the garage for about 6 weeks.)

And I’m thinking that with slightly less sleep, a demanding new backseat passenger, and a much bigger car, extensive property damage could definitely be a possibility.

So I’m practicing with the car in the hopes that once Baby Lovely arrives, I’ll be able to actually park the vehicle, remove her from the back seat, and not panic when the instrument panel lights up like the Space Shuttle every time I turn on the ignition.

It’s sad, really. I really do like our new car, but let’s face it – the Smart is my dream car, and I’m basically giving it up. Even if we could hook in the car seat and turn off the passenger air bag, I don’t really feel secure transporting my baby on the roads with Luxembourg’s maniac drivers in something that has the insulation of a can of fish.

So my husband and I decided that I should take the big car today (he likes driving the Smart anyway) to Auchan. Even though it has a scary parking ramp and I’ve never managed to actually get to and from Auchan without getting lost in the past three years.

Auchan is huge. By European standards, anyway. It’s like one of those new WalMart SuperCenters but with more fresh and exotic produce, fish and meat, alcoholic beverages, and less employee abuse. And higher prices. And escalators instead of sheer square mileage of former prairie land. Okay, you get the picture.

My husband and I try to avoid Auchan whenever possible. Not because we don’t like the store, but because we don’t like the fact that every time we go, we get the impression that Luxembourg is either going to war or is facing the apocalypse. No matter how big they build the store (wasting those miles of prairie land may not be such a bad idea after all), it never seems big enough to accommodate the hoards of customers who are either too stressed, too rude, too stupid, or too completely oblivious to even try and move out of each other’s way. It’s seriously like Earthquake but with better dressed actors (and no death and destruction).

With a big baby belly, Auchan becomes even more of an obstacle course. I’m constantly shielding my midriff against converging shopping carts, running children who aren’t looking where they’re going, and supermarket employees on rollerblades (no, I didn’t make that up).

Today I purposely went at the slowest time of day, but it didn’t make that much of a difference. I was close to a panic attack within 10 minutes.

The good news? I got into the parking garage (and parked the car) without scratching anything. And at least there’s a checkout lane for pregnant ladies – no joke. So although I spent too much money and didn’t find everything I wanted, I was definitely successful.

I just had to get home.

The problem with the parking garage at Auchan is that it’s 100% impossible to go back the way you came. Even if you manage to find the correct entrance in to the parking garage (which I rarely do), you are spit out someplace completely different when it’s time to leave. And you can’t do a u-turn or use the same streets to get back.

Now the last time I was at Auchan (with my Smart), I was sent on a 45-minute odyssey through the city of Luxembourg with no less than 96 ice cream treats melting behind the driver’s seat (don’t ask), swearing at my incompetent GPS the whole way. The mish mash of different turning lanes and roundabouts around there is obviously above and beyond the capabilities of any navigation system, including Yours Truly.

But today was the day. Not only did I find my way home for the FIRST TIME EVER without screwing up, breaking any traffic rules, or getting in a near accident, I actually did so without wrecking the car. Or getting my trademark sweaty palms. Or needing to repeat my affirmations (although I think that’s only because I was concentrating too hard on the road).

Today I will go to bed feeling very capable and very grown up. I don’t ever plan on taking Baby Lovely to Auchan because I think that would definitely be stress overload, but at least I know that I could if I had to.

Maybe when I take the grown-up car out next time, I’ll try to find a parking spot that’s not the farthest one from the entrance.

But I don’t want to take things too quickly.

One step at a time.

The World of Tiffy

2011-02-24T19:48:00.001+01:00

We now interrupt all of my baby talk for a simple blog about one disturbing picture and one dire question: Why?

I know that many of my readers just happen to be cat owners, so perhaps they can explain this to me.

I was eating my breakfast this morning and flipping through the flyers we got in the mail when I decided to, for the first time, open up the pet store flyer to see what people who have pets buy (that may be baffling to some of you, but seriously, I have no idea).

Apparently March is Fairy Tale month at our pet store chain. Which I suppose explains this interesting picture:

And yet, I ask myself how many people have pet wolves at home? And do they really enjoy playing with those stuffed monkeys for 1.99?

Then we have…Rapunzel? Mother Goose?

Now I’m assuming that this means that cats love feather-filled bedding. Unfortunately, the only thing being advertised on this page besides cat food is a contraption called the FURminator. It looks like a razor but it sells for 24.99…I think I’ll stick with my Schick Intuition, thank you very much.

Then we have the best fairy tale of them all, Snow White and the Seven Dwarf…Rabbits.

Now obviously those fairy tales are self-explanatory for even non-pet-owners like me. But please, please tell me…why…

why…would I buy decorative stickers for my cat’s litter box? Why would my cat want its own castle? Why is there a mirror on that scratchy house thingy?

And why would my cats – being cats, after all – ever, EVER hang out together?

Perhaps this only happens in the so-called “World of Tiffy”, a place to which I must never journey for fear of overwhelming flowery cuteness (and/or an overwhelming asthma attack…)

I would love to sit around and contemplate this more, but I have to go. I can vote online for my favorite litter box design and I only think it’s fair that non-cat owners should participate.

I’m going to go with “cat toilet Frodo”.

Ready or not

2011-02-23T18:56:00.001+01:00

Holy Moses, am I overwhelmed! I took a look at my calendar for the next few weeks and I am basically running to doctors, classes, or government offices every single day! Plus there’s a meeting with the midwife, a tour of the hospital…I feel like pulling the emergency brake and yelling, “WAIT A MINUTE!! Stop the bus!! I wanna get off!!!”

Today I went to the doctor for my first CTG (cardiotocography), which is a lot less scary than it sounds. Basically they strap two sensors to your belly and you get to sit in a recliner and chill out for half an hour while listening to the baby’s heartbeat. Or so I thought. I ended up being in the chair for almost an hour and a half, during which I was anything but chill – I hadn’t put enough money in the parking meter.

Baby Lovely – and this is truly amazing considering she’s basically still encased in a giant water balloon – did NOT want to have a CTG done. She squirmed like mad when the nurse strapped on the sensors and kicked them repeatedly once they were on. I was very entertained indeed. After about 10 minutes of writhing and kicking, she apparently gave up the fight and fell fast asleep (exhausted from her efforts). After about 30 minutes, the doctor came by and told me to try and wake the baby up so that she could see more heart activity. I tried my best to wake her, but – and it’s truly obvious that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree – Baby Lovely is obviously a near-comatose sleeper. The usual things (rubbing, pushing, changing position in the chair) didn’t seem to be working. “C’monnnn…” I thought, “Wake up, dangit, or Mommy’s going to get a freaking parking ticket!!”

After about an hour I noticed that the doctor’s office had gotten quite quiet and I heard two Portuguese women come through the door. One of them poked her head in the room and then excused herself, embarrassed – obviously everyone had gone out to lunch and I was left in the office with the cleaning ladies. Great. All because Baby Lovely refused to wake up.

A nurse came in eventually and took off the straps. I had at least succeeded in annoying the baby enough to make her change position slightly, which of course increased her heartbeat somewhat. (She was probably giving me the silent treatment as revenge for getting the monitors strapped on. Typical.)

As if Baby’s stubbornness wasn’t enough of a sign that she takes after her mother, she is still in a breech position* and does not appear to make any efforts to turn. This would mean that Yours Truly would be getting a c-section, which would in turn mean that not only would I miss out on the natural birthing experience (and would have a scar for the rest of my days!) but that the birth would be scheduled ahead of my due date…THAT’s what I find the hardest to accept (go ahead and cut me open, but don’t even THINK about taking a week off my maternity leave!!).

So now I’m kind of panicked. Tonight I prepared my American tax returns** because I figured that would be the LAST thing I would want to do after an operation and the delivery of a child, filled out a bunch of paperwork for the Luxembourg state regarding the birth, and made appointments to have a medical file started at the hospital and for a consultation with the midwife. Like I said…if life had an emergency brake, I would be pulling it right about now.

By the way, I didn’t end up getting a parking ticket even though I was an hour late getting back to the car. My only disappointment was that the bakery had run out of Carnival donuts*** by the time I got out of the doctor’s office, but I think I’ll live.

And although I’m slightly stressed by the thought that Baby Lovely may be arriving before her expected date, today’s appointment did give me a bit of comfort. For one, I was amazed at how well I could tell if she was sleeping or awake (hey, maybe I do have some motherly instincts after all!) and I was quite amused by the fact that she must be an awful lot like me. And I have to admit…that’s pretty neat.

Awww, shucks. Maybe I’m ready to do this after all.

*A breech position means that instead of being face down in the womb, the baby is in an upright position with either the feet or the rump down. Most doctors perform a c-section if this is the case because a natural birth is considered to be too risky. Yours Truly was also a breech baby, which I believe accounts for the fact that I failed at just about every sport where I had to turn head over heels – a.k.a. hanging upside down from monkey bars, doing somersaults, cartwheels, or headstands, diving to the bottom of swimming pools to catch colored rings…let’s hope this baby beats the odds and turns, or she’s going to go through 12 years of painful gym classes just like her mom. Then again, I also stank at sports that were played right-side-up. So just forget it.

**See also my previous blog on filing American tax returns here.

***Carnival donuts are normal donuts with vanilla icing and crumbled up M&Ms on top. They’re truly carnivalicious.

Today’s Accomplishment

2011-02-22T18:08:00.001+01:00

I think from now on, I am going to steadily lower my productivity expectations day by day so that by the end of my maternity leave, I will be satisfied with my accomplished tasks if, by the end of the day, I have even managed to get out of bed. No - I’ll be satisfied with myself even if I don’t get out of bed if I’ve been doing something constructive IN bed, such as reading an informative book or doing my cross stitch. That way, when the baby comes, I can feel greatly proud of myself at the end of the day even if I haven’t managed to get “anything” done…if the baby has been fed and diapered, I’ve accomplished what I needed to accomplish for the day. Yay me!

Today, for example, I accomplished one – and only one – item on my to-do list. And I am practicing being quite satisfied with this. Granted – it was a major project on my incredibly long list of projects, but it was only one thing nonetheless.

I’ve successfully completed my first sewing project aww by mysewlf, which was making a curtain for underneath our kitchen countertop.

Here’s the kitchen countertop before…

and after…

Amazing, isn’t it?

I’ve had several offers – including from my mother and mother-in-law – from people to sew the curtain for me, but I’ve insisted on doing it myself so that I finally practice (or, who are we kidding here, so that I actually obtain) some of my own sewing skills. Because I figure that if I’m going to be a mom, I should know how to sew. At least some things. I’m not promising that I’ll be making my daughter’s wedding dress or anything like that, but it would be nice if I could at least darn some socks.

The verdict after completing my first sewing project?

Meh.

I didn’t find the process particularly enjoyable, and there are still some things that completely baffle me about sewing (like how ditsy girls on The Hills are so good at using a sewing machine that they can actually design their own clothing line when I actually graduated from college but still can’t manage to sew in a straight line…say WHA??), but at least I’m fairly satisfied with the finished product.

At least we won’t have to look at our garbage can anymore when we walk into the kitchen.

Tomorrow, I’m hoping that my big accomplishment will be eating not one, but two delicious-and-nutritious oranges without getting heartburn.

I think that may actually be more challenging than sewing that damn curtain.

Maybe I’ll just read a book instead.

The big deal about the freakin’ flowers

2011-02-21T17:50:00.001+01:00

Friends, I’m sad to say that Lovely has been one crabby cookie lately. It’s not that I haven’t been trying to feel good, but obviously my attempts haven’t been adequate or pregnancy hormones are getting the better of me. (They always claim that you feel absolutely splendid during pregnancy, but I have yet to feel that way even once. I think the hormonal changes are just as likely to make you feel crappy as they are to make you feel great, but you never hear about that. It’s one of the many myths that get passed down through generations of pregnant women, like if you have lots of heartburn your baby will have hair and if you raise your hands over your head you’ll strangle the baby with the umbilical cord.)

Anyway, apparently my pregnified mind has felt the need to practice its nagging abilities before the onset of motherhood by practicing on me. First of all, I really don’t want to nag my own child to death or pass along negative affirmations that she’ll then carry with her throughout life, nor do I want to nag myself to death before the poor child even arrives. But that’s what I appear to be doing. And I’m driving me crazy.

A perfect example: on Saturday we went to Trier, and when we go to Trier I always try to buy ice cream and flowers, two things I really miss about Germany because they’re not as available/affordable here in Luxembourg. At the market in Trier, for example, you can buy beautiful bouquets of flowers for only €8 a piece, whereas in Luxembourg the same bouquet would cost you at least €25 (and wouldn’t be my taste). The result is that I hardly ever have flowers at home anymore, even though I love love LOVE them, because I just can’t justify spending that kind of money. (I do, however, buy cut flowers on occasion at the supermarket and place them in a minimalistic vase, which luckily looks I’m trying to go for a sparse, modern look. See below.)

This Saturday I wanted to buy two bouquets of flowers – one for myself, and one for a friend whom we were planning to visit that evening. (In Germany it’s normal to bring flowers or wine when you’re invited to someone’s house.)

When I got to the market, I gaulked at the bouquets for five minutes (much to the dismay of the unmotivated guy working at the stand) – which is what I always do because I love them all so much that I can’t make up my mind – and then chose a bouquet for our friend that I really liked. (I wasn’t sure if it would be her taste, but they say you should always buy something that you would have bought for yourself.) I thought a few minutes about the bouquet I wanted to get for myself, but then at the last minute decided to buy ten tulips for €5 instead.

As soon as I walked away from the market, I wanted to turn back – what was I DOING?? I was in Trier, which would have been THE opportunity to buy a bouquet for only €8, and I bought myself cut flowers instead? I could have gotten those in Luxembourg! And for only €3 more I could have gotten something that would have made me really happy, but decided to once again believe in my own money scarcity (“Lovely, you don’t need flowers. You’re expecting a baby. You still need to buy so much stuff. Flowers are a luxury you can’t afford.”) rather than rejoice in the fact that in Europe, I could get flowers affordably and pamper myself so easily. Now I would have to GIVE AWAY the flowers I really liked, and would be stuck arranging ten tulips in another minimalistic vase again, pouting all the while.

My options at this point were:

1. Turning around and buying a bouquet for myself like I had been planning on doing all along. (Negative mind’s response: “But then you’ll have tulips and a bouquet. That’s really too much. Then you’ll have spent even more money on flowers.”)

2. Sulking about it to my husband, who I knew would make me go back and buy flowers for myself. (Negative mind’s response: “You shouldn’t have him tell you something you should have known for yourself. You’re going to suffer in silence and tell him about it later, so that he can’t make you turn around and get the bouquet.”)

3. Berating myself for not buying the bouquet, pouting for the rest of the day, giving away the bouquet to the friend, and keeping the tulips as a reminder that I COULD have had a bouquet. (Negative mind’s response: “Yes, your punishment should be going without the bouquet. Every time you look at those tulips you’ll remember that for €3 more, you could have had nicer flowers. You’ll learn your lesson that way!!”)

4. Turning around, grabbing on to the nearest wall, and shouting “No! No! I want an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rif—“ (oh sorry, wrong story).

I chose option 3.

At which point I have to ask…what in the heck am I?? The albino monk in the DaVinci code? Is there a purpose to my self-denial and sacrifice? And…will I be passing this useless way of thinking on to my child and turn her into the same mess?? GRR&%$(§=!!!!!

At least I bought myself ice cream.

[Sigh] That was just one of the many instances of self-frustration I’ve been experiencing lately, of course with the ever-so-pleasant “you-have-to-fix-this-fast-or-you’re-going-to-screw-up-your-child”-thinking along with it. Yay. As if I didn’t put myself under enough pressure already.

By the way – the end to my flower story is that our friend ended up cancelling, which meant that I got to take home her bouquet. Which meant I got the flowers.

Which I didn’t deserve.

Doh. There I go again – of course I meant to say “which I DID deserve”.

See what I mean?

The first item of business for this Monday morning was – as you can guess – coming up with new affirmations for myself. I think I need them now more than ever. I took an hour this morning and found affirmations for pregnancy and a healthy birth, trusting that I’ll be a good mother, trusting that I’ll still have time and a happy life even if I’m getting up to nurse in the middle of the night, and reminders that I am a deserving, loving person who definitely should have all of the good that life has to offer!

But I’m still crabby.

I guess I’ll say my affirmations again and listen to some Abraham-Hicks before supper. And maybe I should stare at my flowers a bit…after all, I deserve them…

My oh-so-pretty bouquet.

Turbo productivity mode

2011-02-17T19:12:00.001+01:00

Today’s blog will have to be kept short as I have been kicked into Turbo Productivity Mode. I have finished painting Baby Lovely’s room, unpacked boxes in the spare bedroom, washed and dried the fabric for the first curtain I’m planning on sewing, and still plan on doing some decorating in the kitchen.

The problem with Turbo Productivity Mode during pregnancy? Afterwards you collapse and don’t get up again for, say, one to seven days.

I have, however, cleverly made arrangements for this problem as tomorrow I only plan on painting my nails, writing thank you cards, and possibly beginning to sew – all sitting down activities.

So if you’ll excuse me, I have to get some juice out of these legs and feet before it runs out (I give myself another half hour before a final meltdown will occur).

In the meantime (if you’re needing more of an Internet fix than today’s blog entry can provide), please allow me to recommend www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com, which is the best site on the Internet. But only if you’ve got hours to spend and aren’t sitting anyplace where you will be thrown out for raucous laughter.

Happy belated Pancake Day

2011-02-16T19:02:00.001+01:00

This may come as a complete shock to you, but I have noticed a significant correlation between Valentine’s Day and the consumption of pancakes.

I realize this is coming 2 days after Valentine’s Day, but all good scientific research takes time.

It seems that Americans have unconsciously developed a Pavlovian response to Valentine’s Day in that it makes them crave pancakes. I noted this response first-hand, when, on Monday, I had the urge to fix pancakes for myself even though I had no reason to do so. When thinking about what I could offer my husband for dinner (I don’t usually make dinner, but thought I would be extra nice on Valentine’s Day) I had no ideas other than pancakes, and was slightly disturbed by this. (In the end, my perpetually full stomach and the fact that I knew my husband had gone out for lunch hindered me from making anything for supper at all.)

A review of friends’ Facebook pages revealed that a disproportionately high volume of people were also having pancakes on Valentine’s Day (disproportionate to the number who would have been eating pancakes on a non-Valentine’s Day), and that they felt the need to share what they were having on Facebook.

Again, strange and inexplicable behavior. How often do friends report having Hamburger Helper, pork steak, or Kentucky Fried Chicken for supper on Facebook? Hardly ever, with the exception of Yours Truly who does feel the need to share when she has KFC. (But that’s beside the point.)

So not only do we have the urge for pancakes on Valentine’s Day, we have the urge to tell people that we’re having pancakes.

Why?

I have three hypotheses for this phenomenon:

1. Men are usually capable of making pancakes, so when it became trendy to make your wife breakfast in bed on Valentine’s Day, the meal usually included pancakes. (If this is true, then we should also get cravings for pancakes on Mother’s Day, when women also tend to get breakfast in bed. Then again, those of us who aren’t mothers (yet) don’t tend to get squat on Mother’s Day, which would mean that we are not entitled to pancakes and thus would not crave them. Note to self: pay close attention to any unusual cravings on Mother’s Day.)

2. Although Hallmark often gets blamed for the fact that there is a Valentine’s Day at all (at least here in hippie Europe), perhaps the true mastermind behind this holiday are IHOP and Perkins, who subtly increase their pancake marketing around Valentine’s Day. And AH-HAH!!!!! If you go on the IHOP website, they display pancake batter being poured into the shape of a heart while the page loads (!!!!). Then again, they’re claiming that March 1st is National Pancake Day, which has nothing to do with Valentine’s Day at all. And Perkins is advertising three completely non-pancake-y entrées, one of which is the Cinny’ Min French Toast Platter. Which makes me hungry. Although the need to spell it “Cinny’ Min” is just appalling.

3. Finally, pancakes are one of the only foods that can easily be made in the shape of a heart using one of these handy-dandy molds:

Then again, these could just as well make omelets, or you could cut a sandwich into the shape of a heart, or get someone at a Chinese restaurant to carve you a heart out of a carrot. And yet – we still crave the pancakes.

So the mystery remains. Perhaps one of my readers has another explanation for the surplus of pancakes on Valentine’s Day…or thinks I’m full of crap?

I’ll be interested to hear from you!

A heart-shaped pancake that I made for my husband on Valentine’s Day in 2007 (which, I admit, looks kind of disgusting). Proof that this madness has been going on for quite some time.

Remedies for the blahs

2011-02-15T18:30:00.001+01:00

Today was the first “blah” day of my maternity leave. I don’t think that’s half bad considering that it’s already the seventh day, and I was expecting to feel “blah” from day 1. (It didn’t help that the weather was grey and rainy, which I think should be at least partly to blame.) I felt really tired all morning, couldn’t motivate myself to work on the baby’s room (I realized last night that I made a rather major painting mistake and that I would have to go back and correct everything, uggggggh…), and spent most of the morning at the computer playing with designs for baby announcements (which, considering the situation, is at least not horribly counterproductive).

At 11:30 I drove into town to have lunch with my husband and some friends. It was nice, but I was still tired and it was still raining out.

So…I did what I HAD to do…

I went shopping.

(More on the pants below.)

I took a nap.

(The scene of the crime.)

I baked cookies.

(White chocolate chip.)

My shopping finds were simply AMAZING – a pair of maternity sweatpants that I will now be wearing every single day without exception perhaps for the rest of my life, 3 highly fashionable rings that are all big enough to fit my swollen fingers for €1 (that was the price for all three, not each!), and a little basket to put keys in (as my husband, for some reason, tends to carry more keys with him than the caretaker at the county jail).

My nap ended with a nightmare – you know, one where you lose control of your car and you wake up sweating just as the car is about to go over the side railing and down a cliff – which was less than satisfactory.

Thus the cookies.

I can now say that my blahs have been officially cured for the day. Well that, and, the day is over. Now it’s time for The Simpsons and for my husband to come home, which is always absolutely and positively NOT blah. And tomorrow I’ll start the day with yoga class, which means the forecast is looking awfully good.

[sigh] Another successful day as a lady of leisure. Maybe I can get used to this.

Happy Valentine’s Day

2011-02-14T18:09:00.001+01:00

It’s definitely too cloudy outside to keep painting. I can’t see what I’m doing, plus I’m running out of paint.

This is a good thing, as I can’t take anymore of the radio…today is Valentine’s Day, and the better of the two radio stations we receive has had the German voice doubles of George Clooney and Sarah Jessica Parker on since 6 AM. The gig is that you can email your Valentine’s Day wishes to the station and have either “George” or “Sarah” read them aloud to your loved one. (Of course it doesn’t matter how many hours and hours they’ve been on, the announcer still feels the need to make the announcement “And NOW…SARAH JESSICA PARKER with a special Valentine’s Day greeting for…Günther Merlitz in Blieskastel!!!”

What I don’t understand is why on Valentine’s Day, of all days, you would want to receive a message from George Clooney instead of your loved one personally. I mean, I find George Clooney just as attractive as the next gal, but wouldn’t today be the day where I would want to receive a Valentine from my husband?

But I digress. I’m not a big fan of the radio anyway, especially our two horrible stations that have a music collection limited to Phil Collins, Bryan Adams, any 80’s Brit band that wrote a depressing song, and of course, “Witnée Yust’n” singing “I vill alvays luf yoh”.

One day I will definitely do a more thorough post on the horrors of our German radio stations, but today I actually wanted to let you know that I’m finally making headway on Baby Lovely’s room. I forced myself to make a spontaneous decision on Friday and just put SOMETHING, ANYTHING on the wall rather than thinking about it one more day, and now I’m almost finished. Too bad I’ve now run out of paint and sunlight. And quality listening material. But there’s always tomorrow.

To keep myself busy in the meantime I’ve finished putting together a bathroom cabinet and have started looking for some information regarding Baby Lovely’s citizenship. Joy of joys. All ways of distracting myself until my husband gets home from work so we can celebrate Valentine’s Day with a movie on the couch…

Hope you’re celebrating Valentine’s Day with someone you love, or at least with someone you like, or at least with a decent radio station on. Or if not, you can click here and send a message to someone from Sarah Jessica Parker. Or print out a red rose or box of chocolates (they’re “non-fattening”) for your loved one courtesy of the same radio station.

Then again, that’s just too pathetic. Just forget we ever had this conversation.

A Lesson in Owls

2011-02-11T13:06:00.001+01:00

Today, kids, we’re going to talk about owls.

Auntie Lovely got about 3 hours of sleep last night, and although this was probably due to a.) hot feet b.) a heavy belly c.) an empty bed (hubby still out of the country), I must give some of the blame to an owl, who kept me up all night with his vicious, bone-chilling calls.

Here is a photo of this heinous, ruthless perpetrator:

Now don’t let that inconspicuously cute facade fool you – this fierce, cold-blooded beast is a true killer of not only rodents, but also of peace and quiet. And it doesn’t “coo” or “hoo” like the nice little American owls we learned about in school – noooooo, it has a far more disturbing call:

(click here)

Now tell me that that wouldn’t freak you out if you were all alone in a big new house and were trying to get some sleep!Creeeeepy!

You know, since we’ve moved to a more rural area, I’ve been waiting in great suspense to see all types of wildlife. I have been completely and utterly disappointed, as thus far I have only heard cows, turkeys and a rooster (but have not seen them) and have been spied on by a grey and white cat (who is very sly indeed, I’ve only managed to catch a glimpse of its tail). Oh yes – and the neighbors have a dog. But other than that, I haven’t so much as seen a rabbit or a fox or a raccoon. Not to mention something cool like a wild boar or a hedgehog.

Yep, so far this creepy owl has been my only true encounter with Mother Nature. And believe me, I could do without it.

At our old apartment, there was a rooster who lived nearby (yes, pretty much in the middle of the city) and he used to wake me up every single morning and it drove me nuts. Luckily, I got so used to the rooster over time that it stopped bothering me and I didn’t even really hear it after a while. The same thing happened when we lived by a church (with a bell that rang every quarter hour!) and by railroad tracks.

Now, I’m seriously hoping I grow out of the owl. Or maybe I’ll be so exhausted when Baby Lovely comes that I won’t care either way.

Until then, I will remain on the prowl and will remain enemies with this menacing monster.

Or start sticking to my planned regimen of daily naps.

Yeah, let’s go with the latter.

Decorating Day

2011-02-10T15:09:00.001+01:00

After spending all day yesterday running around town, I’ve now got a case of the heebie jeebies and have been blitz decorating the house. I’ve only hung 4 pictures so far (well, 7 if you split up the 3-picture series I hung up in the bedroom) and put out some vases with flowers, but it feels good to finally make some progress around the house. Everywhere I look I see about 10 projects I need to get started on (curtains for all the rooms, pictures I would like to paint, flower arrangements to put together, plants to buy, etc. etc. etc.) and I’m basically running around the house in circles, flapping my wings but not getting anything done.

Grrrr.

I’d say that counts as 3 pictures hung, wouldn’t you agree?

I even seem to be making backwards progress on Baby Lovely’s room; I have so many ideas that I can’t narrow any of them down, and the fact that we’re still not 100% sure of the baby’s sex makes things twice as difficult.

Now you’ll say, “Do something gender neutral. That’s better anyway – you don’t want to limit yourself to just pink or blue.” (I know you’re saying that because that’s what EVERYONE has been saying.)

Oh, but I knooooooow. I was planning on doing something fairly neutral anyway, as I’m not really crazy about butterflies or fairies or princesses etc., but deciding that the room should be “gender neutral” still doesn’t mean that your decorating all of a sudden takes care of itself. I still have to decide what will go on the walls, and where to place the furniture, and what colors to use (we’ve painted the walls green, but that’s about it). And there are so many possibilities (and I have so many ideas!) that I’m getting overwhelmed. I guess I’m also putting myself under added pressure because I figure this will be the only time we get to decide for ourselves how our child’s room will look…it won’t be long before Kid Lovely will be hanging posters of kittens and/or Super Wicked Tae Kwon Do Skull Raiders or the Jonas Brothers on the wall, or heaven forbid Hannah Montana (thank God she’ll be a wrinkly 30-year-old by the time Baby Lovely gets to be that age, but there will be some other obnoxious teenager on the Disney channel to take her place), and we, his/her poor parents, won’t be able to do anything about it.

In fact, all this thinking about the baby’s room has got me wanting to fast-forward through the years of smelly hamster cages, piles of clothes, crap under the bed, collages of friends’ pictures and Hello Kitty cutouts, and empty hairspray bottles that are about to ensue in that very room…the one that’s now a bright shade of spring green and has nothing else on the walls.

[sigh] Having your first kid is almost as overwhelming as decorating your first house.

I guess I should therefore get going. I need to run to the pharmacy, the post office, and the hardware store, and maybe when I return I’ll have had this great epiphany for Baby Lovely’s room, or for one of the other bare walls in my house.

Or maybe I’ll just skip decorating the nursery all together and hang up a poster of Zac Efron instead.

No point in delaying the inevitable.

Plus it’ll save me money on paint.

Baby Lovely’s room in its currently sad state. Maybe this would spruce things up a bit:

Down with the Dränglers

2011-02-09T21:14:00.001+01:00

Good grief! I’m starting to think that this maternity leave stuff is more stressful than work! It’s 7pm and I just got home from a day full of errands (one of which included yoga class, but still!) and I still have all kinds of things left to do at home. And I’ve really got a few projects that I need to get started on, like a room for Baby Lovely!

Being out and about all day means that I’ve been spending a lot of time in the car (not just any car, but the Smart, of course. And yes, I do still fit behind the steering wheel). Spending a lot of time in the car inevitably means that I spend a lot of time being slightly tense, because I don’t particularly enjoy driving here and I let practically everyone who drives behind me get me all tensed up and stressed out. Which is something I would like to change about myself but haven’t been able to thus far.

It seems that most Luxembourg drivers either have to do a study-abroad driving tutorial in Italy in order to get their license or are somehow genetic descendants of southern Europeans. Even though (and I do realize that I’m generalizing here) you would think they’d be all laid back like the French or rulebook thumpers like the Germans, they apparently care to drive more like the Italians (perhaps one too many Ramazottis at the last Christmas party?). This includes passing on curves, driving 100 mph on winding mountain roads where you can’t see if there’s any oncoming traffic, and – of course – tailgating.

It doesn’t matter how curvy or narrow the road, how dangerous the conditions, how fast the car, or how dark the night – no matter where I go in Luxembourg, there’s always someone tailgating* me. ALWAYS. How many times have I remarked out loud, in the Smart, that if a deer were to jump in front of my car that all three of us (the deer, me, and the doofus behind me) would be goners? And what’s worse, the Luxembourgers have a definite drunk driving problem…or to be specific, the problem is that they don’t seem to realize when they’re drunk and shouldn’t drive. On several occasions I’ve seen people down several beers, wash them down with a schnapps or two, and then get behind the wheel and drive like they’re trying out for a part as a stunt double in the next Dukes of Hazzard movie.

Yes, driving in Luxembourg is simply not my cup of tea. It has definitely gotten better since I’ve gotten the Smart, and since I’ve learned my way around the crazy roads a bit, but every time I get behind the wheel I can’t avoid being gedrängelt**…and really struggle with this. I keep imagining the driver behind me swearing at me and grinding their teeth in their BMW…the headlights of a Porsche or an Audi can really look aggressive when they’re right behind you…and here I am in my Smart, wishing I had an illuminated sign on my bumper saying, “I’m not fast, but I sure am cute! Be nice to me! :-)” (The smiley face would blink.)

Now I know enough about the Law of Attraction to know that the more I keep resisting the Dränglers, the more of them keep drängling me, but I haven’t been able to focus enough to come up with any remedy thus far (I blame the fact that whenever I’m in the car that I’m usually driving to or from work, and I have other things on my mind).

So today I finally had the mental clarity (thanks, yoga class!) to do what I’ve been meaning to do for a long time. Come up with some in-the-car affirmations that I can say whenever I get behind the wheel. After some slight editing, I have decided upon the following:

I love driving!
I am a good driver!
I am the only thinker in my mind and the only driver in my car.
I always stay calm and relaxed in every situation.

I repeated them to myself over and over all day, and I found myself smiling behind the wheel! Not only that, I didn’t have a single Drängler on my tail today. I realize that that’s partially due to the fact that I wasn’t driving during rush hour, but I bet I’ll start experiencing less and less Dränglers as the weeks continue. Yay!

And yet another thing accomplished during my maternity leave…[sigh]…this is the life!

*(Actually, let’s use the German verb for tailgating, or drängeln, as this Green Bay gal prefers to think of tailgating more as enjoying a Bratwurst from the back of a minivan before the start of a Packer game. It’s just better that way.)

**Please do not comment on my usage of the word drängeln here…particularly the plural form of the noun Drängler (‘Dränglers’) or ‘drängling’, which I have admittedly tweaked in order to make them English-friendly…I realize it’s borderline. I plead poetic license.

Learning to be a lady of leisure

2011-02-08T22:59:00.001+01:00

Whew! What a day! I began by getting up early to take my husband to the airport, where I tried to be brave as he checked in for his flight to the UK (he’ll only be gone for a few days, but I’m a disaster when it comes to airport goodbyes).

Then it was off to Trier to get my hair done (see “First Day” item number 1: ‘Reinvent my hair’), which was a welcome distraction from the airport. (Had I gone straight home afterwards, I would have spent the second day of my maternity leave wallowing in self pity.)

I sat in the hairstylist’s chair for 3 1/2 hours. I wanted the works – chopped, thinned, colored, highlighted, straightened - and it was fun, and just the sort of thing every pregnant lady should do for herself before the baby comes, but I had to keep reminding myself that it was okay for me to be sitting in a chair doing nothing for 3 solid hours. I kept thinking “I’ve really gotta get going,” even though I wasn’t on my lunch break, nor was I wasting a busy Saturday morning, nor did I have anyplace else to be or anyone else to see. About two hours into the appointment, I was restless and wanting to get going.

(Perhaps I would have been less restless if the stylist would have given me a proper trashy magazine to page through instead of something educational. Didn’t she realize that as a lady of leisure I must dedicate myself to turning my brain to total mush?)

After leaving the salon, I was determined to treat myself to an ice cream (which is what I always do when I’m in Germany for a day) and get some necessary shopping done. You know, like the perfect lady of leisure would do.

And yet I couldn’t let myself get any ice cream without buying myself something nutritious to eat first, even though I didn’t want anything. I kept hearing my doctor’s voice saying get plenty of fresh vegetables and lean meats. So I bought myself a cabbage-filled flatbread, which was good, but after that I had no room left in my super-squished stomach for any ice cream. So I decided to get my shopping done and get the ice cream afterwards.

Although my shopping mainly consisted of items I actually needed – although I do use the term “needed” rather loosely – a voice in my head kept saying, “Lovely, we HAVE to get going.” Then I would respond to the voice by saying, “Well, actually, we DON’T have to get going. We have all the time in the world.” To which the voice responded, “You don’t need this. Let’s go. Let’s get going.” To which I responded, “Why not? We’ve got time. We can stay here as long as we want.”

(This went on for a while.)

Eventually, after getting all of my shopping done, I decided I was in too much of a hurry to get ice cream. So I drove back to Lux with my need unfulfilled. All because I’m so bad – or so accustomed, to put it more gently – to being in a rush. What a pity!

Maybe the next eight weeks will be an excellent opportunity for me to learn how to slow down. I might as well try – Lord knows that as soon as I have a baby or a toddler, things will NOT be going as quickly as I would like them to be. I should probably start learning to be laid back right now. (Schlepping a 4-pound water balloon on my stomach is also an excellent pedagogical method to teach the art of being s l o w.)

On the other hand, as soon as I got back from Trier, I got a phone call saying that my ride to the movies tonight would be early in picking me up. So I did end up having to rush a bit to put on my makeup and change my clothes before she arrived. Maybe my inner voice telling me to hurry things up a bit in Trier was on to something after all.

Or maybe she was trying to keep me from having ice cream because she knew I would gorge on popcorn later on.

Whatever the reason, tomorrow is another day. And there’s another day after that.

And one after that.

Lots of opportunities for me to practice taking my time…and to shop and get ice cream.

Slowly.

First Day

2011-02-07T20:18:00.001+01:00

“Today is the first day of the rest of your life.”

The first time I ever read that expression was on a blue award certificate that I had received, along with a pencil, for doing something extraordinary (and long since forgotten) in kindergarten. It took me until at least the fifth grade to understand what “today is the first day of the rest of your life” actually meant.

And today, on the first day of my maternity leave (and of the rest of my life), it’s oh soooooo appropriate.

To be precise, I have EIGHT WEEKS.

EIGHT WEEKS.

Not eight weeks left to live, but rather eight weeks left until my due date.

Provided that no one decides to arrive ahead of schedule, I will have eight weeks of time to myself. To prepare. To sleep. To read. To relax.

To climb the walls and turn into the crazy cat lady (without any cats).

I know I shouldn’t complain. I really shouldn’t. This is the ONLY TIME between now and retirement that I will be able to do whatever I want without any obligations whatsoever, with full pay and with all of my mental faculties.

And when last Friday rolled around, I really was ready to be done with work. My belly was too big for me to sit comfortably at my desk. I couldn’t make sour faces even though I was getting kicked in the bladder. My crabbiness level seriously interfered with my ability to satisfy customers, my boss, or to keep friends.

So it was definitely time. Time to begin the eight weeks that I have been half craving, half dreading, since August.

Since lounging around and doing nothing are not exactly two of my many talents, I have prepared a short list of projects to keep me busy:

Reinvent my hair.
Paint two pictures for the living room – one watercolor, one acrylic.
Decide on a final motif for the nursery and paint the walls.
Learn how to properly care for orchids.
Finish reading my books about babies and about bilingual education.
Decorate the house.
Sew curtains for the office, bedrooms, guest bathroom, basement entry and kitchen.
Cover the electrical access boxes with white contact paper so they don’t look awful and industrial anymore.
Repaste the air pockets in the wallpaper in the kitchen and in the stairway.
Write thank-you notes for the baby shower.
Order photos and create photo albums for the last ten years’ worth of digital picture taking.
Use WD40 on the door of the fridge so it stops squeaking.
Learn how to cook deliciously and nutritiously without having a nervous breakdown in the process.
Blog daily.
Listen to music daily.
Take a nap daily.
Do yoga at least twice per week.
Repair the scratches on our entertainment center.
Reupholster the rocking chair for Baby Lovely’s room.
Order return address labels.

I figure that should keep me busy until at least Wednesday afternoon.

I’m just hoping that I can stay healthy and mobile enough to be able to accomplish everything on my list. And to be satisfied and content no matter what items I do not manage to get done – especially if Baby Lovely decides to come early.

As for today, I’ve had it easy - my husband was home and we’ve spent the day buying things at IKEA, which is where we now spend all of our free time.

Oh yes, and have I mentioned that having the Packers win the Super Bowl is a damn good way to start the first day of the rest of your life?

Well, it is.

What to expect when you're expecting...in Lux

2011-01-24T15:49:00.006+01:00

To all my readers: I’d like to apologize for my long blogging drought. Not only do I have baby on the brain and am surrounded by moving boxes waiting to be unpacked, our new house has no Internet connection – this has proven to be quite a hindrance to my blogging activities. Nevertheless, the lovely people at Expatica.com have asked for my thoughts on pre-natal care in Luxembourg, and that is what they – and you – shall have. Even if I’m disconnected from civilization as we know it until further notice.

Greetings from the Middle Ages,

Lovely

“I seem to remember you being here in April, when I said you would probably need hormone treatments when you decided you wanted to get pregnant. Well…….you’re pregnant. Any questions?”

Any questions? Any questions? My doctor might have just as well told me that my body had been invaded by aliens from outer space and that I had nine months left to live and I wouldn’t have had any more questions. Yet I was rendered so speechless by the entire situation that the only question I managed to ask was, “Is it safe to drink tea?”

Yes. Of all the things I wanted to ask, I asked if it was safe to drink tea. Blame the 30 odd websites I had been surfing over the previous few days, after taking a positive pregnancy test, warning of eggs, raw meat, unwashed vegetables, certain kinds of tea, and just about everything else otherwise fit for human consumption.

My doctor told me that I could drink tea, although I should avoid anise tea because it would cause me to overproduce, and thus leak, milk.

(This, my friends, is useless advice when you’re five weeks pregnant. You don’t even start producing milk until six months at the EARLIEST, much less start leaking by drinking anise tea.)

And so ended my first pre-natal appointment in Luxembourg; I left the office with heart racing, head absolutely spinning, and with a prescription in hand for pre-natal vitamins and some anti-nausea syrup. After spending €60 on the vitamins and getting instructions at an absolutely incomprehensible speed of French at the pharmacy, I drove home bawling: “I WANNA GO HOOMMME!!!!”

Of course, when you’re an expat, you don’t really know where home is. I think at that moment, I felt that “home” would have been Germany, where I at least knew what pre-natal care included, and where I assumed I would have a decent doctor who would have given me more support. And where I would understand what in the heck the pharmacist was saying about the pre-natal vitamins, which would have been more reasonably priced. Or maybe “home” would have been the US, where I would have eaten a huge Arby’s roast beef sandwich to calm my nerves. Unless of course it would have made me nauseous. (Crap, can I still eat roast beef?)

And thus my first item of business as a newly (shocked) pregnant woman was to change doctors. After seeking recommendations from friends, I found a German doctor who even had her own midwife on staff (and who looked awfully friendly on her website). And alas – I left my first appointment with her feeling much more informed, even if I was still a bit shocked and appalled that an uninvited stranger had taken it upon themselves to pitch camp inside my body and make me feel ill 24 hours a day.

Thank goodness for free choice when it comes to doctors! I can’t imagine having to choose a doctor based on a certain “plan” as in the states! Free choice of health provider is just one of the many benefits of Luxembourg’s medical system, which also includes frequent pre-natal visits, 3D and 4D ultrasounds at no extra charge, and coverage of virtually all medical costs (with the exception of the aforementioned pre-natal vitamins and, of course, the overly priced stretch mark prevention cream that I bought in a total panic during my 10^th week). (P.S. I have since switched to a much less expensive, much more pleasant-smelling body lotion and can report no stretch marks to date.)

In fact, Luxembourg is probably one of the easiest places for expats to have a baby. There are a wide variety of pre-natal and post-natal classes (including yoga and swimming for moms and babies) offered in English, most doctors here speak multiple languages, and there is a huge expat community of mothers and fathers who you can meet. And if you want your child to go to an English-language day care centre or school, there are dozens of them here – in proportion to the number of people who actually live in Luxembourg and how small of a country it is, it’s quite amazing how many different opportunities there are for English-speaking expats (if needed). Many local communes even organize a babysitting registry where local teenagers can offer their services to parents in desperate need of a night out.

I’ve also failed to mention a couple of ittttty bittttty perks to having a child in Luxembourg, ones that make my American friends and relatives’ jaws drop…maternity leave (with full pay) begins a whopping 8 weeks before the actual due date, and extends for another 8 weeks after the birth (12 weeks if you nurse). There’s also the opportunity to take parental leave for a period of six months after that with a portion of your salary, and if you choose to stop working altogether there is a monthly stipend of approximately €550 to help you out. And then there’s the “allocation prénatale”, “allocation de naissance”, and “allocation postnatale”, three €580 bonuses that you receive just for going to all of the required doctor’s visits during the pregnancy and after the birth (oh yes, and for actually giving birth, of course. I’m glad they have an incentive for that, otherwise I’d be tempted to skip labor altogether and just go straight from pregnancy to having a 2-year-old). And when you’re having nightly sweats worrying about all of your financial obligations as a soon-to-be parent, that “free money” sure makes you feel better.

If I were to give advice to any expat moms-to-be in Luxembourg, it would be the following:

1. The first trimester sucks. Don’t worry about too many things besides finding a GOOD doctor and getting your first scan; other than that you can worry about car seats and day care centers later. Things will get better soon. If you want, I can definitely recommend the birth groups at http://www.babycenter.com/ so that you can connect with other women who are experiencing the very same things as you. It’s incredibly comforting when you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed and/or alone.

2. Visit www.wellbabyclinic.lu and buy their book, “Having a Baby in Luxembourg” at Little Britain. Then visit all of their “Useful Links” (listed on the website) for more information about your financial allocations, child care, midwives in Luxembourg, etc. It’s an invaluable resource and will take away much of your anxiety!

3. Sign up for a pregnancy yoga class at www.yoga.lu or www.liewensufank.lu. You’ll thank yourself later!

4. Don’t take yourself too seriously. Have I always wanted an outie bellybutton? No. Did I realize that putting on shoes and socks would become difficult as soon as five months into pregnancy? No. But can I do this? Will I be alright? Absolutely YES!

To you, they're boots. To me, they're the final frontier.

Today in Numbers

2011-01-09T12:03:00.001+01:00

3mm           The amount by which my innie bellybutton was still an innie when I left for the states on December 8, 2010.
0mm           The amount by which it was an innie when I returned.
4mm           The amount by which my bellybutton is now protruding.

45 The seconds of sheer bliss I have every morning when I use my new “chocolate toffee” body wash.

6 The number of days before we move into our new house.

49 The number of boxes we have packed so far.

19 The number of working days left until my maternity leave.

8 minutes The amount of time it will probably take for me to want to stop being on maternity leave and go back to work.

1 The number of blogs I hope to write per day so that my maternity leave has some continuity.

2 hours Length of the Friday morning commute for my sweetie because of flooding and closed roads in Luxembourg.

7 The number of times Baby Lovely has hiccupped during the composition of this blog.

Thank you to my wonderful co-worker who gave me this body wash for Christmas. What a great calorie-free way to indulge.

A view from my current blogging space. Cozy, ain’t it?

A common sight around Luxembourg this week. Hope you passed swimming class in high school.

To an amazing 2010!

2010-12-31T16:26:00.001+01:00

Friends,

On this, the eve of a new year, I feel compelled to express my gratitude for the amazing things I’ve been able to attract this year. I’ve been bursting at the seams to tell you this earlier, but I wanted to wait until December 31st.

At the beginning of this year, I made the following goals for myself and recorded them in my journal with the following heading:

“Universe, I am counting on you to bring me the following by the end of 2010, and I know this will be true!

My dream car
The perfect house
The perfect job
Getting pregnant
Getting my blog published.”

I then wrote: “I am letting go of all attachment to the form of these dreams and am letting the Universe handle it!! I will merely follow its “bread crumbs” and concentrate on being high energy!! It is a DONE deal!!”

(I usually write things like that after I’ve listened to something about the Law of Attraction, and this time was no different.)

I totally realized that these were quite lofty dreams…things that most people spend their entire lives waiting for, not just a year. But I wrote them in my journal, proclaimed them to be true, and then went on with life knowing that they would be given. (Okay, I did just a few other things, too…)

But on this, December 31st, I can actually report that all of these things have been provided for me. Some things, like getting my dream car or getting my blog published (on Expatica.com – this is just an online publication, but for me, it counts!) really fell into my lap without any work necessary. Getting such a great job, on the other hand, was something that necessitated faith – I was scared to death to go to the interview, but said “I’m just following the bread crumbs!” the whole way there. Getting pregnant was a complete surprise that happened at an unexpected time (be careful what you wish for – I’m not sure I knew what I was getting into when I wrote that one in my journal!) and finding the perfect house was truly a nerve-wracking experience that also required a lot of faith that things would be handled even without my control or intervention.

Why am I telling you this? Because even though I haven’t provided you with much reading material over the past few months, I did want to tell everyone about the wonderful things that can happen when you make a declaration to the world and then focus on being happy! This of course required a lot of continued studying and journeying on my part, but look at what was possible in just ONE YEAR!!

If I manage to stay awake until midnight (which is pretty unlikely) I will certainly bless 2010 with love and then bid it farewell. Of course I have a whole new list of things to attract in 2011 – as Abraham Hicks says, “You can’t get it wrong and you will never get it done.”

And even though I’m not a fan of New Year’s resolutions, I do hope that 2011 will mean a return to the blogging world for me. I’m hoping to use blogging to keep me sane while I begin a new adventure – maternity leave!!! Ahhh!

I wish all of my friends and readers a wonderful start to 2011 – may all of your wishes come true! Ask and it shall be given!!

What I’ve been doing

2010-11-16T22:05:00.001+01:00

HI everybody!!

I thought it would only be fair for me to write you a quick hello and let you know that I haven’t died or anything. All is well!!

I’ve been so busy manifesting things that I haven’t caught my breath enough to tell you about them. Life sure is exciting at the moment! It looks like we’ve finally found a great house to live in, I’m making preparations for the next Ultimate Thanksgiving (this Saturday!), and tomorrow we may find out if Baby Lovely is a boy or a girl.

Although I’m not counting on it. My last ultrasound was Monday, and the baby was laying like this

which means we won’t get to see a darn thing.

But whatever. I figure we’ll find out what it is sooner or later.

Preparations for the Ultimate Thanksgiving II are going well. On Sunday I made the crust for the pumpkin pie, practiced setting the table (yes, we must practice these things!), cooked the cranberries, and made the stuffing.

Tonight I’ve been folding napkins, ironing the table cloth, and doing the leaf place cards:

No, I’m not gold foiling pears like I did last year! Had a lot more time on my hands back then!

(Plus my theme is silver this year, so gold just wouldn’t match.)

Other than all of that, the only other thing consuming all of my time this week has been determining what baby items we need so that the generous folks over in the states don’t get all in a tizzy. Problem is, everyone has apparently forgotten that [gasp] I’ve never had kids before!! I don’t have the faintest clue of what we’ll need! Diapers?! Frankly, I think the people WITH kids should register the parenting amateurs for baby stuff. They’d probably be way better at it.

So I’ve decided to do a new type of registry where I don’t pick out specific items NOW (when I neither have the time nor the knowledge to compare brands, prices, or features!) but rather do a registry where people put money toward items like “crib”, “baby carrier”, or “diaper pail”. Plus, this way we save on shipping to Europe and we get to go to the store and actually pick some things out in person rather than ordering them online (or – OMG! – buy some things secondhand!). The catch is that it takes hours to put your own registry together (of course Miss Perfectionist Yours Truly needs to find cute pictures and write comments about everything!) and I don’t think half of my relatives will really get the idea. But hey – I tried!

So that, my friends, is more or less what I’ve been up to. Hoping the Universe continues to be just as generous as it has been and gives me a bit of extra time over the next few days!

Life is good!

The Morning After

2010-11-03T19:44:00.001+01:00

I began today like I begin every day: by turning over in bed, turning on my nightstand lamp, and checking Facebook on my iPhone.

Yes. I admit this is mildly pathetic. But I do expect at least a few brownie points for being so honest about it.

I really shouldn’t have looked today. I believe the first status update I saw was something about Russ Feingold losing the election in Wisconsin.

Whereupon I didn’t know whether to cry, vomit, scream, post a passive-aggressive remark, or flush the poor iPhone down the toilet.

I decided to do neither; instead I believe I repeated “Oh my God” a few times, let out a few melodramatic loud sighs, and told my husband that I didn’t really feel like pursuing dual citizenship for our child anymore, but rather that a German passport alone would be more than good enough.

I then went on to type “For Sale: one American passport and Wisconsin driver’s license. Will sell to biggest idiot.”

But I didn’t press “Post”.

The reason I didn’t press “Post” is because of something I have learned, time and again, from Abraham-Hicks. And that is: what you resist persists. The more I resist external conditions and try to push against life circumstances, the more I attract experiences that are exactly what I don’t want. And ultimately, this rule can be applied to everything on both a national and global level.

In fact, the only thing that kept me from being a complete and total crabby pants today – besides the fact that all of my co-workers are on vacation this week so I could listen to my Charlie Brown Christmas album while doing my filing at work – was the knowledge and vibrancy and hope I have gained from Abraham-Hicks’ best lecture ever (IMHO), which I watch repeatedly whenever I need to lift my spirits. (This has been viewed 84,418 times on YouTube, and I think about 70,231 of those viewings were from me.)

Now. I definitely don’t want to use this blog as an arena for political debate as there are plenty of other places on the Internet where people can voice their opinion. (Usually with atrocious grammar and anti-social etiquette, but that’s beside the point.) But I think this clip goes so far beyond the topic she’s discussing – which happens to be gay marriage – to cover ANY issue that ANYONE could POSSIBLY have. That is why I watch it no matter what problem I tend to be having, because it’s so applicable to everything. It’s even applicable to Democrats and Republicans. And to health care. And to the death penalty. And to every woman’s right to find a comfortable yet stylish pair of well-fitting jeans at a reasonable price.

For those of you who have never experienced Abraham-Hicks before, don’t be put off by Esther Hicks’ rather brash way of addressing her audience. That’s all part of the package. Also don’t be confused when she refers to the “vortex” or “vibrational escrow”, those are all things you’ve already heard about on this blog but just in other terms.* What’s important is the central message – that we are unlimited beings capable of being perfectly in alignment with exactly the life that we want…no matter what they’re doing in Washington. Or Madison. Or H&M.

So here you go…my all-time favorite, most uplifting Abraham-Hicks video. Watch the entire 10 minutes, as the best part is at the very end. I hope it speaks to you today…especially today. Judging from everyone’s Facebook statuses, you need it just as much as I do.

*If the jargon on the video really does distract you, check out other videos by Abraham-Hicks on YouTube to find explanation of these terms. Warning – it gets addictive!

My REAL Excuse

2010-10-31T17:16:00.001+01:00

Okay, blogging friends, I think it’s time that I reveal my real excuse for not writing very much over the past, oh, four months or so. I’ve really wanted to share this with you many times over the course of the last few months, because I really HAVE wanted to write more often and give the masses all of the blog entries that they were requesting and yearning for and ever-so-much deserved. But I couldn’t.

My excuse is quite simple, really.

Aliens have invaded my body.

Okay, an alien has invaded my body.

A really cute, quite humanesque, pretty much invited alien.

Here’s some photographic evidence taken at the last sighting:

So…I was unfortunately feeling too sick and distracted to write much during August and September, and now I’m often too tired and overwhelmed in the evenings to write much either. Although I’ve really wanted to.

I promise – things will be the same again around…April.

Oh, that’s right. Things will never be the same again.

Gee whiz.

My first three months of living with my little space invader – let’s call him/her Baby Lovely – were pretty much miserable. When telling friends the news of our pregnancy, most of them said, “Well you don’t seem very excited about it,” and they were right. Who can be excited about feeling nauseated and gross all the time? What’s exciting about half of your clothes not fitting anymore, not being able to stomach half of the items in the fridge, and having to suddenly drop coffee, soft cheese, and alcohol cold turkey? Not me!! I had been living a pretty good life and the first few months of unexpected sickness, crabbiness, and self-discipline were not all that great! Not to mention all of the horror stories and uninvited advice you get when you tell people you’re pregnant…geez Louise!!*

Now things are much better. The sickness has subsided (leaving more peculiar, but less restrictive, symptoms in its place), I’ve got the beginnings of a nice little belly to rub, and sometimes I even get a few tiny nudges from the inside. Pretty cool! Yes, just like all of the books said I would be, I’m finally getting used to this pregnancy thing. All is truly well!

Which brings me back to blogging. When I first found out I was expecting, I thought, “what about my blog? Is it going to turn into a baby blog, a motherhood blog, a pregnancy blog? Will my readers really want to read that when they’ve come to read about life in Lux? What about after the birth? Will I have time to keep blogging, or will I run out of content?” And the answer is: I have no idea. I’ve never done this before. I would like to keep blogging about life in Luxembourg for the most part (and boy, do I have some stories about things that have happened since August!), although I’m sure that things will change somewhat now that Lovely is going to be a mom. But we’re all in this together, right? I hope you’ll still join me for all of the adventures to come. Even if they don’t come quite so often.

And with that, I will leave you for today…I just finished sorting through my wardrobe (or what’s left of it, that is) and got rid of all the pants I can no longer wear. Dismal. All of the sorting has left me quite pooped and needing a bit of R&R…think I’ll take the opportunity to paint my toenails while I can still see them.

*P.S. I WILL delete any reader comments asking me if I’ve been lifting heavy boxes or putting down my love for Macaroni and Cheese! A little orange food coloring never hurt anybody, and I’m sure Baby Lovely is just loving it!!

Lovely on strike

2010-10-22T19:02:00.001+02:00

I’m really sorry, friends. I have to have a little rant now.

Those of you who are friends with me on Facebook know that “I HATE LUXEMBOURG TODAY!!”. Yes, even though I try to avoid using the word “hate” whenever possible (what you resist persists, after all!), I couldn’t find any other word for it today.

Basically, an important doctor’s appointment that I had made weeks ago got cancelled because the doctors in Luxembourg went on strike. (This seems incomprehensible to many of you, I know.) I guess the appointment itself isn’t that big of a deal (nevermind the prescriptions I need!), except that they don’t let you rebook the appointment, you’re just shit out of luck. If I want, the doctor said, I can come on Monday from 8-12 and sit there like a mill worker in communist China for four hours hoping to get in to see her, but they’re closing the practice at 12 whether everyone’s been served or not. So that means I’ve taken off of work for the first appointment, how am I supposed to explain a four-hour absence from work again on Monday, praytell? THANK YOU, Luxembourg!

Perhaps what bothered me the most was that my doctor said, “Our receptionist has tried several times to notify you by phone, Mrs Lovely,” which was a bunch of bull – in the days of cell phones, people SEE when they’ve had a missed call! And obviously my doctor got through to me just fine, so they had my phone number correct! But this wouldn’t be the first time that someone has claimed they tried to reach me but couldn’t. In fact, it happens here all the time. Not only are they crappy at following through with their work, they have the audacity to blame people for allegedly not being reachable! Then, she topped it off with, “Instead of coming to your appointment, you should definitely watch the news and become informed about why the doctors are striking today. Don’t you watch the news?”

Gee, thanks Mrs. Head Teacher. Now that you’ve cancelled my much-awaited appointment, did you ever think I may have even less interest in whatever pathetic plight you’re striking for? Perhaps the fact that you only make €250,000 a year instead of €300,000? Or that you have to work more than 30 hours a week? BOO. FREAKIN. HOO. You should have tried to win over my sympathies BEFORE you cancelled my appointment!

Whew. There. Glad I got that out of my system, although I do feel bad that it was at your expense.

To compensate for the outpouring of negative energy, I request that you all watch this video of a hedgehog eating a carrot:

At least I can be glad I don’t live in France. I think even their hedgehogs are on strike right now.

Our new fireplace

2010-10-19T19:21:00.001+02:00

I really have to get going on making the Sloppy Joes I am craving, but I just wanted to mention that I absolutely LOVE the fact that a lot of homes in Luxembourg have fireplaces. There is nothing better than enjoying crisp fall air, pretty leaves, and smelling smoke rise out of chimneys. I’ve always wanted to live in a neighborhood that smelled of fireplace smoke in the winter, and that definitely came true here.

Which does remind me that I’m pining away for a house. I could live with a house that didn’t have a fireplace (although why settle for less?), as long as it was in good shape and had a garden.

Finding a house to rent is the only objective I have left on the list of demands I placed on the Universe at the beginning of the year. Now that the Universe has granted some pretty amazing wishes (the complete list will be revealed at the end of the year!) now I’m starting to get antsy waiting for the last thing I wanted. That’s sad, because I’ve had so much proof that manifesting dreams really does work, and that everything works out just as it’s supposed to.

[Sigh] So why do limiting beliefs and thoughts of scarcity always get in the way of tapping into our own abundance?

Tonight, I’m going to contemplate the fact that our house is all ready for us. Maybe the fireplace is even full of wood, and the current renters are packing boxes and enjoying their last few days in anticipation for their new place. The Universe is setting all kinds of things into motion so that it’s alllll ready for us to move in.

We just have to be willing to let go and let it come to us.

In the meantime, I will aid the Universe in that I will think good thoughts about our current home and will continue to fill it with warmth.

Such as the warmth from Sloppy Joes.

Deprived

2010-10-18T20:57:00.001+02:00

Okay, so I know it’s been a while.

A long while.

A really, really long while.

But I have excuses. Really, I do. Really good ones.

But I’m not going to bore you with them. Okay, maybe with just one: When you take the car to work in the morning, it’s harder to find things to write about.

I’m not joking. I knew this would happen. I honestly worried when I took my new job that I would start taking the car to work instead of the train, and my brain would be so deprived of stimuli that I wouldn’t have anything worthwhile to write about anymore.

And you know what? I was right.

This became painfully obvious to me last weekend. I was attempting a feat that, if successful, would have gone down into train commuter history:

I was attempting to get from Luxembourg to Erfurt, Germany on the train. In one evening. In one piece. And on time.

Let me begin with the end of the story first (just to save you the suspense): I didn’t make it.

But it was worth a try.

The train connection from Luxembourg to Erfurt is really quite good. There are some cities in Germany that are physically impossible to reach by train in any sane amount of time; you would almost get there quicker and more reliably hitchhiking than taking the train. It’s not really the German train system’s fault, it’s just that Luxembourg is kinda in the middle of nowhere and basically you always have to go someplace else in order to get to where you’re going. Logical.

Anyway, the connection from Luxembourg to Erfurt was only supposed to take six hours – which isn’t too much more than you would need in a car – and only involved two connections, one in Koblenz and one in Frankfurt. My plan was to leave at 4:30 and arrive at 10:40. Now of course I knew that the odds were about 100,000 to 1 that this would actually work out (I have four years of extensive Deutsche Bahn experience under my belt!), but I had a lot of positive energy and was in pretty high spirits, so I thought the Universe just might have been on my side.

As was to be expected, however, my second train had a 10 minute delay which meant that I missed the third train (the last train of the day going to Erfurt, by the way!!) so I didn’t end up in Erfurt after all. I wasn’t particularly sad, upset, or surprised. In fact, I was just thankful that my brother-in-law was at home in another city (Würzburg) on the second train’s route, and was willing to pick me up at the train station (and watch the Germany game and eat pizza with me afterwards). So All’s Well that Ends Well.

But that’s not why I wanted to tell you this story. I wanted to elaborate on the fact that taking the car to work deprives me of important stimuli that are necessary for the regularly scheduled composition of this blog.

You see, the minute I got on the train, my brain started spinning at a mile a minute. There was a Portuguese family in front of me that I wanted to write about. There was an older German couple next to me (that was driving me nuts) that I wanted to write about. The scenery whizzing by was gorgeous, a whirr of fall leaves in tiny Luxembourgish and German villages along the Moselle and the Rhine, Tudor architecture and tiny, twisted cobblestone streets. There were castles in the distance. Groups of teenagers that had obviously time-warped from the 80s punk movement stood on all the train platforms. In the train to Frankfurt, I had my own seat by the window with a special little place just for my suitcase. The young guy in the row behind me was absolutely slaughtering the poor woman stuck sitting next to him with tremendously boring stories of 1970s soccer stars. The 20-something university students in the row ahead had only reserved seats for four of the six people in their group and spent the whole ride taking turns standing. The bored Spanish kids ahead of me secluded themselves with headphones and video games.

And when I missed the train in Erfurt and had to give up the pleasures of a reserved seat, I was thrown into an aisle packed with people and suitcases, all trying to find seats and not lose track of relatives or baggage, felt like a piece of cattle being herded into the barn at night, and finally found a place to sit in a packed 6-person compartment with a long-haired guy in a Metallica t-shirt, a girl reading a novel with headphones on, and a smelly, kind of creepy man who thought he would abuse us all by watching a Quentin Tarantino movie on his laptop whose main subjects seemed to be (although I was trying to ignore it), drinking blood and raping girls.

Oh joy of joys.

Have I mentioned that I really, truly HATE Quentin Tarantino movies?

But you have to admit – missing a train and being treated like a barnyard animal is far more interesting than driving just about anywhere in your car. So many different sights and sounds really get the creative juices flowing.

Heck, I have to fight just to stay awake when I’m standing in traffic in the same place every single morning (which also just happens to be the place where I don’t have any Internet radio signal because it’s in the middle of nowhere).

Borrrrrr-ing.

So please, please excuse the long draughts of nothing here at Lovely in Lux. I promise I’m still alive and well.

Just…a tad on the dull side.

Back to Connected

2010-10-04T20:53:00.001+02:00

Guess what!? I’m back! The old Lovely is back! The Law-of-Attraction-loving, positive-thinking, affirmation-using, spiritually connected Lovely is back! I almost thought she would be gone forever. But I’m happy to say that I’m back to feeling JOY!

I have felt in a rut for a good couple of months now. Low energy, disconnected spiritually…I went from manifesting exciting things on a daily, monthly and weekly basis to forgetting about manifesting and focusing my energy altogether. I was frustrated and I had forgotten my techniques for feeling good, was trying to write and practice effective affirmations but wasn’t really getting into it, and was spending a lot of energy fighting against the current instead of swimming with it. And now – okay, it’s only been a few days since I’ve felt different, but we’re going to celebrate anyway – I feel like I’m back in sync again! HIP HIP, HOORAY!!

I began my Saturday with tears. My husband left for a business trip to Las Vegas (lucky duck!!!!) and I was a big wreck. Our long-distance relationship in college has, I think, traumatized me for life and I absolutely hate saying goodbye as it is! That, and the fact that I was still pretty kaputt from a week of influenza left me feeling very low-energy. After a nap and a good cry, I became determined to pick up my vibration and tuned into a teleclass by Sonia Miller, one that I had been looking forward to for a while, and took some notes. Then I lit a bunch of candles to make the house seem more cozy, curled up with a blanket and read a book about personality types based on the anneagram (I’m type 1, “The Reformer!”), then continued reading my book Wired for Joy, watched a feel-good movie with my friend (thanks for coming over!), texted goodnight to my husband (eating his heart out in Chicago, the lucky bum!), and went to bed.

The next morning, I began a new morning ritual that I will hopefully be able to keep up for some time. I adapted it from a technique that Sonia shared in her class called S.A.P., where I began first by expressing gratitude for anything I could think of, then moved on to Surrendering all of my worries, fears, and anxieties, Acknowledging that there is an all-loving, all-knowing, all-encompassing whole of which I am a part, and then calling on Partnership with this being to emphasize that I will do my part to keep positive energy flowing, but that I am also counting on the universe to work with me and send good things my way.

And boy, is that a much better way to start off the morning rather than crabbing around, dragging my feet on the way to the shower! My husband called right away at 9:00am, I made myself a lovely breakfast of French Toast and bacon, spent a beautiful sunny fall day on the balcony planting bulbs for the spring, and then continued to read my book in the afternoon (and there were definitely a few episodes of the Golden Girls and a bit of the Packers game online in there).

Most exciting, however, are the new techniques that I am learning in Wired for Joy. I was able to start putting them into practice already today, and what a difference they made! I was quite anxious to go back to work after being off sick because I knew what would be waiting for me: 105 emails in my inbox. A desk full of notes and papers. A crabby boss. But I was able to use what I had learned just the day before, and kept my energy and my mood up all day, despite little conflicts and stressors. Yay!

And on the way home, I listened to Joni Mitchell (okay, belted Joni Mitchell is more accurate), felt joy for one of the last warm days of autumn, felt joy that I had my little Smart to get me around, felt joy about my spaghetti dinner, and felt joy about the fact that I was so darn joyful. Not even a pesky Mazda that honked at me on the way home could get me down (he wouldn’t have honked if he would understand that my little Smart can’t turn out in front of cars like he probably does because it doesn’t accelerate fast enough! So rather than get upset about it, I just patted my little Smart and thought, “You’re doing a good job.” Okay, so I might have made a slight hand gesture to the Mazda in the process. But it was in no way violent or crude. I swear.)

One of the things I’m really enjoying about Wired for Joy is that it acknowledges the fact that we can be crabby – or even hideously crabby – at times, and gives practical tips for those times as well as for the ones where you’re feeling good. Other books tend to emphasize the feeling-good part, which is good, but don’t offer as much help in terms of getting there. So it’s comforting to know that I now have the tools to get back up when things have bothered me.

Now that the day is done, I’m going to go through the same ritual as I did this morning and go to bed feeling good. Feeling good sure does feel good.

Feeling good again sure feels good, that is.

Happy Birthday Nana

2010-10-01T19:11:00.001+02:00

Perhaps because I’ve been home sick this week – which has unfortunately kept me from blogging, for which I do apologize – I have been thinking a lot about my late grandma, who coincidentally would have turned 92 years old today. I know a lot of us have lovely memories of our grandparents who have passed away, and that the memories may be more special to us that to non-relatives, but since I’ve been thinking a lot about her, I feel compelled to blog about her.

I find it slightly disturbing that most of the grandmother-related memories I have been humoring this week have been food-related. (Especially due to the fact that for some parts of the week, I haven’t been able to even keep food down!) Now I’m sure the majority of people have memories of their grandmother’s wonderful home cooking, but the funny thing is that I’m thinking about the other foods that I had at her house that weren’t even home-cooked. What is it about grandma’s house that makes food taste magically better than it does anywhere else? Does becoming a grandmother suddenly bless your house and all of your food with super-yummy-grandma-flavor enhancers that make everything taste absolutely lip-smacking fabulous?

Take SpaghettiOs, for example. Now my grandma would probably be embarrassed by the fact that she ever served me SpaghettiOs, because she really was a great cook and she would have been capable of making me all kinds of yummy things, but she often made a can of Spaghetti-Os for me at lunchtime and they were soooo delicious! The funny thing was that whenever I ate them at home, I didn’t like the taste of them!* I’m telling you, grandmas have special powers!

(Check out Jaleel White, by the way, aka Steve Urkel!)

I’m also drooling at the thought of the hot dogs (a-hem…natural casing wieners, to be more specific) she made (she used a toaster oven instead of a microwave, which I have to say makes all the difference), her buttered toast, her cookies – both the ones she baked herself and the ones she bought at the store by Archway, which I have since learned has gone out of business! Noo! – her spiced applesauce, and even the macaroni and cheese she would make…which also wasn’t homemade, but rather was the generic “Leonardo” brand, which I have since looked up on the Internet to see if it still exists and it does, much to my excitement…

But the specific foods themselves aren’t all that important. I think my reminiscing about the food I used to eat at Nana’s is more about the good feelings I had at her house than the food I was eating. And it’s sad in a way that we can never go back to being a kid, or feeling exactly that way again. On the other hand, we can just close our eyes and revel in the fact that we had those wonderful childhood experiences at all, and that they’ve enriched our present lives with pure positive energy…and that never goes away.

Although on the other hand, stepping away from childhood is probably not such a bad thing. Did you ever notice how much sodium and sugar is in a can of SpaghettiOs?

For anyone who is interested, this is the video I made for my grandmother’s surprise 90th birthday party two years ago.

*My canned spaghetti-like product of choice at home was Chef Boyardee’s “ABCs and 123s” with meatballs. I am assuming that my mother chose them for their superior educational value, as any child should learn at an early age that the alphabet consists of more letters than just the letter O.

**In the process of trying to find the products that we used to buy and just reminiscing about childhood summers and sick days spent with my grandma in general, I stumbled upon this amazing 80’s nostalgia website which you really have to check out if you grew up in the 80s in the states – imremembering.com! You could spend hours on it!

Expat Border Patrol

2010-09-20T21:17:00.001+02:00

We went to Switzerland this weekend. Again. To pick up a car for my husband. Again.

It was good. The car made it back to Luxembourg (it’s a miracle! Hallelujah!), I reacquainted myself with the likes of Ben Folds, Ani DiFranco, Rusted Root, Björk, and – yes, I admit it – Titanic! the Musical on the way back home (I haven’t belted in the car in ages!!), and we enjoyed great weather in Switzerland.

In fact, the only point of tension the entire day was crossing the Swiss border.

Since I was driving our family car back home, this was the first time I had to cross the Swiss border by myself.

Me no likey Swiss border patrol.

Can you blame me? I’ve got an American passport with a Luxembourg residence permit, which is contingent upon an EU citizen who wasn’t traveling with me, driving a car registered in Germany.*

Driving a car alone out of the land of private bank hideaways, military paraphernalia, and Swiss Army knives.

I have to admit – if I were an over-zealous, government-loving Swiss border patrolwoman, I’d definitely have me get out of the car for a pat down.

Now if I tried explaining this to, say, my Great Aunt Irene, I don’t think she would understand what I was talking about. First of all, I think many people don’t realize that Switzerland is not in the EU and does not have open borders. Nor do they realize that being married to a German man gets you absolutely nowhere in terms of status, so sometimes you’re just S.O.L.

When we first got married, I was constantly asked, “So, are you, like, a German citizen now?”

The answer is, as you now know, no. You do not automatically become a citizen just by getting married or by moving here. In fact, I’m not able to work as a teacher, policewoman, state employee, or politician. In Luxembourg, I wouldn’t even be able to work for the post office or become a bus driver. I can’t vote, can’t get an official ID card, and can even be deported (although who would want to deport little ol’ me?).

So no, I’m not a German citizen. And I’m even farther away from becoming a Luxembourg citizen. I don’t even speak the required languages, for Heaven’s sake.

But as an expat, there’s one thing I CAN do – I can still vote for the American president, can still vote for Congress, can still cross the American border without being held at gunpoint and having guard dogs sniffing at my unmentionables, and can return to the States whenever I like.

Which is why I took the opportunity to register for my absentee ballot today. I figure, even if I don’t pay American taxes anymore (or much of them, anyway), I should exercise my right to vote somewhere, right? Especially for a country that’s as screwed up as the States right now! ;-)

Yes, I think they need my vote.

Other expat readers out there should definitely take 10 minutes and register. It’s very easy and doesn’t take long, and the deadline is already at the end of September: https://www.overseasvotefoundation.org/

Oh yeah, and I almost forgot – I didn’t get stopped at the Swiss border. Maybe I looked too innocent in my huge sunglasses, screaming out the words to a Ben Folds song with my mouth full of potato chips.

Or maybe that was all part of my evil plan to NOT get stopped…

The world may never know.

*Yes, yes, I know it could be much worse. I could have a Lebanese passport with an Egyptian residence permit, be married to a Libyan, and be driving a car registered in Poland that was loaded with explosives. But still.

Happy First Day of School

2010-09-15T19:44:00.001+02:00

Today was the first day of school, (or la rentrée) in Luxembourg. How exciting!

I used to love the first day of school.

Adore it, is more like it.

My preparations already began in July. I was one of the nerdy over-achiever kids who needed a full month to decide what color notebook I would use for which subject, reorganized my pencil box about 37,000 times while watching Gilligan’s Island on TV, packed and repacked my backpack at least 7 times a day, and catalogued all of my school clothes (preferring the new items purchased for the new school year, of course) for the entire last month of my summer vacation.

And no, I’m not kidding.

Look, I said I was nerdy, so lay off, all right?

Mills Fleet Farm was always our Back-to-School retailer of choice. Cheap notebooks, a complete free-for-all school supplies section, and cheap bags of re-packed circus peanuts. Ahhhhhhh……I can still smell the pencils (and the rubber tires) now.

In fact, I loved going Back to School so much that I chose to get my degree in Education. Sure, I also did it because I had always desperately wanted to teach school (is there a better reason for an education degree?), but also because I honestly wanted to go Back to School every August for the rest of my life.

But when I found myself in Germany right after college, where I wasn’t allowed to teach school, working at a job that obviously was no different in August than it was in November, or February, or June, I definitely felt like I was missing out on something huge. When the mornings started getting darker and colder and the air smelled brisk and windy, I started getting my same usual yearning to go Back to School.

(Okay, I also started getting a yearning for Packers games, Beer Dip and Caramel Apple Pops, but I digress.)

But there was no school to go back to.

So I missed out on Back to School. Not just then, but for the next few years in Europe, despite various teaching jobs, where the adults that I taught took courses that weren’t based on any school calendar.

[Sigh]

But I’m proud to say that this year, for the first time in a long time, I was able to have a Back to School experience again. (Myself, and about 800,000 other drivers on Luxembourg’s roads, who experienced the annual traffic chaos that is rentrée in Luxembourg.) Although I’m still not teaching, I now have the privilege to work in a school – a real one, with children! – who alllll had their first day today.

There really was excitement in the air. It was absolutely wonderful.

And as each class toured the school with their teacher, and played outside on the new playground, and as many children – and even a few parents – cried when it was time to be dropped off, and as teachers prepared for their students to arrive, I almost felt as if I were experiencing about 700 first days of school all at once.

And it was almost as good as going Back to School myself.

Well… almost.

But now I realize that even if I’m not teaching, I’ll have the opportunity to experience the first day of school again. Not only for myself, but I’ll also be able to get excited with my own children when they go off to school someday.

I hope one of them wants a robot backpack, because I saw one today that was really super cool.

Wonder if they’d mind much if I reorganized their pencil box for them.

Probably, huh?

Back (to Baking)

2010-09-13T21:08:00.001+02:00

The positive thinker in me is saying that the first line of this post should be “We’re back from Denmark!!!!!!!! Whooopiiiee!!!”

but the crab who has to go back to work tomorrow feels more like “I know, I know. We’re back. Whoopdie stinkin’ do.”

Which obviously isn’t a nice or appropriate greeting for my dear cheerful readers now, is it?

Indeed…we’re back from a wonderful vacation in Denmark, which I’m afraid to say hasn’t really left us raring to get back to life as usual in Lux, but what can you do? Every vacation has to end sometime.

I spent Sunday trying to get my spirits up by focusing on all of the things I appreciated about being back home:

my own bed
my own shower
a selection of clean clothes

But since none of those things was particularly exciting, I did what I always do when I’m feeling a bit down…

I baked.

A pretty challenging recipe for giant-sized iced lemon cookies…

and homemade macaroni and cheese.

Took me the entire day, but afterwards I was pleasantly exhausted and my belly was full. And I’m sure my first day back to work will go just fine.

If not, I think my coworkers will be treated to poppyseed cake on Wednesday. Or Key Lime Pie.

Or Chex Mix made without actual Chex, as these are not available in Lux (but should be! :-) ).

I think I should probably go to bed. This blog is making me hungry, and tomorrow will be an eeeeeaaaarly morning compared to my vacation 9:00 wake-up time.

Is it Friday yet?

Voices from Denmark IV

2010-09-09T19:54:00.000+02:00

And finally, today we will be reading an excerpt from one of my favorite children’s books.

An excerpt from

I WISH that I had DUCK FEET
by Theo. LeSieg

I wish
that I had duck feet.
And I can tell you why.
You can splash around in duck feet.
You don’t have to keep them dry.

I wish that I had duck feet.
No more shoes!
No shoes for me!
The man down at the shoe store
would not have my size, you see.

If I had two duck feet,
I could laugh at Big Bill Brown.
I would say, “YOU don’t have duck feet!
These are all there are in town!”

I think it would be very good
to have them when I play.
Only kids with duck feet on
can ever play this way.

BUT…
My mother would not like them.
She would say, “Get off my floor!”
She would say, “You take your duck feet
and you take them out that door!”

“Don’t ever come in here again
with duck feet on. Now, DON’T.”
SO…
I guess I can’t have duck feet.
I would like to. But I won’t.

In this picture, Yours Truly would have loved some duck feet to protect her from the near-freezing water temperatures of the place where the Baltic Sea meets the North Sea.

Although rubber galoshes would have been pretty cool, too.

Voices from Denmark III

2010-09-07T20:07:00.000+02:00

Today, a limerick about my favorite Danish friend, Schaf.

There once was a small Danish sheep
Whose going price was pretty cheap.
Said Lovely to Husband,
“He doesn’t say much,
but still waters always run deep.”

Voices from Denmark II

2010-09-02T20:02:00.000+02:00

Today’s picture and poetry corner features an acrostic poem (oh, didn’t we all just love elementary school?) and one of my favorite pictures from Denmark (which I have, perhaps, posted before):

TRAIN SIGN

To go to the trains, go this way.

Ruh roh, there are no trains that way.

At least the sign is cute. Even if there are no trains that way.

In some ways, this sign is more interesting than this damn bunker museum that my husband dragged me to.

Not only are there no trains that way, there’s nothing to see. Perhaps this

Sign is just here to amuse poor bored women who think it is adorable. Or maybe there used to be trains here.

I hope we don’t have to go to the bunker museum again this time.

Gee, that sure would suck.

Nuts.

Voices from Denmark I

2010-08-31T20:52:00.000+02:00

What? What’s this? Lovely is writing her blog from Denmark, even though she said her farewells last week? That’s scary! Wrong! Impossible! Amazing!

Naaa…actually, it’s just advance planning.

You are now reading a pre-written blog, which I hope you enjoy as a voice from “beyond” (“beyond” of course indicating the North Jutlandic Island, that is).

Because I definitely don’t want to deprive you of reading and visual material during my holiday, I’ve decided to do a bit of writing in advance. Hope you’re not offended.

Really, I did this for your own good.

Today’s Voices from Denmark blog:

Ice Cream in Denmark – a haiku

Long-awaited friend

Sigh – then lick – brief pause – a CRUNCH

The awesome-est lunch.