Flowers and Fruit: 4 Years

Today the Mr. and I have been married for four years. Dude. Time flies. Four years ago we were in the US getting ready for our marriage ceremony at my Nana and Papa's house.

First we got married, then we kissed a lot, took a hell of a lot of pictures, and then we partied.

One of many, many kisses.

Want to see more pictures? Check them out here.

I almost named this blog Dancing Queen and Mr. Man...

...which wouldn't have been fair 'cause he can move.

One week later we celebrated in Germany. Back then, in 2009, we thought we knew what it was like to be busy and tired.

We are excited but also already tired. Who has two weddings in one week on different continents?!

Then in 2011 when our family expanded, we all learned what it the word 'tired' actually means. And I learned about good facial creams, but that's another story.

I call this picture "Bewildered I".

 

Some of us look cuter with 'tired' then others.

 

And in 2012, with us both working full-time and putting our first house together, we got a taste of 'busy'. I would post a picture of us busy but I was too busy to actually take one.

I'm supposing with the arrival of our little jelly bean in October, we only know the half of both 'tired' and 'busy'. I'm also thinking we may be a little nuts. We'll see. But either way, four years into this shared adventure of marriage with the Mr. (and nine of us being together), I know this is still My Good Life.

And how many people get to write that?


xo

Happily Married: House Rules Edition

I'm a pretty relaxed house keeper. So is the Mr.

That's a nice way of saying our apartment is (and soon our house) usually pretty darn not clean. Lord knows when the windows were cleaned last and there is no regularity in when or how we clean. In fact, while typing this a collection of dust went rolling past my toe.

But it drives me nuts when people put their shoes on the furniture. I'm good with bare feet but not shoes, even house shoes. Does it make sense? Maybe, maybe not but there you go: I don't like shoes on furniture.

We've talked it through and we've agreed no shoes on the furniture.

That's a nice way of saying I get pissy when shoes are on the furniture and the Mr. doesn't put his shoes on the furniture anymore....when I'm around.

I recently came home and I found the following pattern on our sofa.

What could that pattern possibly be from?

Hum....?

Can you believe that?! The Mr. has been stepping onto the sofa with his shoes for who knows how long to close the windows! Can you believe it!?! Yes, you've got to get up on the sofa to close the window, but with shoes? When I've made it very clear I hate shoes on the furniture?

I just can't believe it. Just. can't. believe. it.

Big, fat frustrated sigh.

On the other hand, the Mr. who is also a 'relaxed housekeeper,' goes nuts when anyone eats in their beds. Even in movies, he sighs and shakes his head, because that is "disgusting" and "who wants to sleep in crumbs?"


We've talked it through and we've agreed no eating in bed.

That's a nice way of saying he gets pissy when I eat in bed and I don't eat in bed anymore...when he's around.

But then I got caught red-handed.

Thank God one of us has a sense of humor.

May we still be laughing this often when we're 35, 45, 55, 80.



xo

Happily Married: Three Years!

The special days continue: the Steinbach clan is now three years old!

The Mr. is a big Quentin Tarantino fan and we both enjoyed the movie Inglourious Basterds.
So in honor of the infamous scene where the Americans out themselves by ordering three beers - don't know the scene? Check it out here if you want to cheat, but really you should watch the movie - we showed off our respective culture's "three":

Only thing is: the Mr. didn't get the reference at first...although my sister, brother-in-law, and I were all laughing about it. For a while. Like, minutes.

After more than ten takes to get a decent picture of us with our "three"s, he finally got the joke. And then he laughed,

and laughed,

and laughed.

Boy am I glad I married this one. Here's to the laughter sticking around.

xo

Congrats? Nine Years in Germany

This January marked a special anniversary for me: this, 2012, is my last year living in Germany with a single digit anniversary. Next year - and I have every reason to believe that we will still be living in Germany come 2013 - I will enter the double digits. As in, ten years in Germany.


I moved here in 2003, a recent college graduate, dating another American, and planning to stay here for eight months, maybe 18, possibly 24 months at the very most. 

Here I am just a few days before I moved to Germany in December 2002.

Now I've been here for nine years - that's 108 months, which is 100 months more than I originally thought. And I am no longer the young, college graduate. Instead I'm an experienced professional, married to a handsome German, a first time mommy, and planning to stay here until - well, I don't know.  

As my months in Germany turned into years in Germany, I began to mark each annual anniversary. Each found me with clear, if sometimes conflicting, feelings: some years I really celebrated and other years I really grieved. But this year, my ninth, my feelings are, well, they are complicated. I'm not happy but I'm also not sad. I'm both. 

My feelings are so conflicted, so complicated that I've written, deleted, rewritten, and then edited again and again this blog entry. I still don't know if this is really how I feel and it certainly isn't the whole story. The short version, the Reader's Digest version, is that these days I'm too American for Germany and I'm too German for the US. 

I miss so much from the US: the welcoming and ready friendliness in almost every situation; the belief that everything is possible if you try hard enough; the shopping hours; the easy access to PopTarts; my beloved (and very missed) college friends; and, especially now that I am a mother, my baby's grandparents, aunt, and uncle.

My college girlfriends just a few months after I moved to Germany -
can you believe I thought I could lose weight back then???

But there is a lot in Germany that I don't know how I could give up: the fresh bread on every corner; the ability to travel to many different cultures and languages cheaply and easily; the 30 days of paid vacation, the wonderful health insurance, and all the other aspects of the incredible social net; and, especially now that I am a mother, my baby's grandparents, aunt, and uncle. 

The Mr. and I when we started dating in summer 2004.

Nine years. I'm not happy but I'm not sad. I'm both. So, congrats to me. Or congrats to me? Either way, congrats to us.

The Steinbach clan

xo

And, yes, I took pictures of pictures from back in the day. Feel free to make fun!

Superpapa

Last night the Mr. got home from a four-day business vacation*. PJ was already in bed, exhausted from the trials of cutting his first tooth that has led to more frequent night wakings, shorter naps, and more (justified but tiring for us both) whining and discomfort. I was starting to wilt from exhaustion on the couch. The best sound I've ever heard in my entire life was PJ's first healthy scream but the click of the Mr's key in our door is definitely on the top 10 list. Because that click means less work, more joy. For I have not just a husband, not just a friend, not just a partner-in-crime and a partner-in-silliness. I have a partner-in-parenting.

For a variety of reasons, I didn't grow up with a consistent, positive male in my life. As a teenager I didn't quite know how to act in a home with an engaged father but watching from the outside I knew that if I ever had children I wanted them to have at least one. I knew I wanted my potential children's father to be more than just "there" but "there" would be a good place to start. I hoped for more and as I got to know the Mr and his family** better I grew a quiet, strong belief that he would absolutely be "there" - and he would be and do so much more.

I was right. I am now married to a man who gratefully and whole-heartily takes up his share and sometimes more. He does big things like:

• sleeping two nights in the hospital with his family to share those precious first hours with us
• signing up for months of parental leave
  
• skipping meals because he was so busy supporting us and walking countless kilometers with PJ in his arms (losing weight too quickly as a result)
• holding tight to me throughout the breast feeding issues and post-partum shocks that induced post-partum depression
• taking over feeding PJ when I just couldn't anymore
• being fully responsible for PJ's bedtime routine over a period of weeks when all I needed was sleep
• reminding me often that I'm doing a good job, that PJ is lucky to have me

And smaller things like:

• taking out the trash before I notice it needs to be done
• ensuring that we have groceries in the house
• cleaning the kitchen
• rubbing my neck
• telling me I look beautiful
  
• calling while at work just to "see how things are"
• replacing world of warcraft as his blackberry background image with a picture of PJ and I
  

And amazing things like waking up frequently throughout the night to screen if PJ is awake because he needs hugs while his mouth aches or if he is really hungry. As a result I was up only three times last night, sleeping an almost five hour stretch and getting almost 8 hours of broken sleep.

I am an awesome mommy; he is Superpapa.

 

Together we are Family Steinbach.

xo
*These days anything with one or more nights of uninterrupted sleep is a vacation. Don't argue.
**Single ladies, I offer two pieces of unrequested advice.
1. Be friends for a while first; even if you think he is totally hot and he thinks you rock, men speak and act differently to and with girl friends. You also speak and act differently if you aren't sleeping together. You'll both learn about each other's character, way of life, and maybe save yourselves a lot of time by either staying together or skipping the drama.
2. Meet his parents as soon as you think "hey, I could be with this guy for a while". Then study them. They are his normal and you're going to get that for better or for worse. Mr. is loyal, devoted to family, good with money, responsible, and solid. He also tends towards impatience, eats fast, and hears "chaos" instead of "change". Basically, while still unique, he is like his dad.

Mommy's Night Out

Last night mommy had another first: she left the house without PJ for over 45 minutes. The Mothers of Pre-Schoolers (MOPS) group that is helping rescue my sanity, I mean, I am involved with here had a mommy's night out. My husband, my sister, and all of the women at MOPS encouraged me to go, get out of the house, just be a girl again for a few hours. With some hesitation and trepidation - and just raw fear - I accepted the invitation, pumped like crazy all week to get two bottles for the Mr while I was gone, and last night I had my very first mommy's night out. All 2.5 hours of it.

When I got to the party, I felt naked, alone, missing a heavy car seat and a plunging diaper bag. On a positive note, I felt unbelievably thin too. I was greeted with a sunny "You made it!" and tears started rolling down my face. Thankfully I was in a welcoming, supportive, and totally understanding environment. I got two hugs almost instantly and then some concentrated distraction from the ladies. And these are Good People; I was laughing, goofing, and learning from war stories within minutes. Two and a half hours flew by and before I knew it, I had to get going.

I came home to a quiet apartment, a sleeping little boy, and a husband who welcomed me with a big smile and an understanding "I didn't get ANYTHING done."

Lets be honest, it couldn't have been any better.


xo

Appreciating the Little Moments

PJ was born in July 2011. It is now September 2011. Between then and now – and unlike the mythology of motherhood – there have been more dark moments than moments of joy. Going into pregnancy I knew that I was at high risk for postpartum depression but what I did not know was that the support I thought I would need was far from what I really needed. I was also ignorant that breastfeeding, something I had planned on doing since I watched my mother breastfeed my sister, was a learned skill for both myself and my son and it is a difficult skill for us both to learn at that. There were other things I had failed to understand: the power and the pain of short bursts of sleep; what colic is; how much a new mother needs her mommy.

To say we struggled would be an understatement not unlike saying the Grand Canyon is „big“ and German „a little tough to learn at first“.

Thankfully, my husband was also able and willing to take the first month of our little boy's life off of work. I'm not sure what would have happened had I been alone. With him in the house, cooking, cleaning, shopping, encouraging, reassuring me and PJ (often literally at the same time), I could yell at him, slam doors at him, cry at him, and – most importantly – blame him for all this insanity instead of our little boy, just days and then weeks old.

Not that our son remained untouched by all of this. Breastfeeding was so difficult and so painful that I exuded fear every time he cried and every time I held him in my arms. Infants, like animals, react to our feelings and PJ's reaction was natural: my arms were not a safe place and he screamed for safety. Based on the bad advice we got during his first few weeks, I'm pretty sure he was also screaming out of hunger but that's another story.

I cried on the phone, I cried on skype, I cried going to the bathroom. Everything was too much and my world was wrapped in dark fog, a fog I hadn't seen in years since my last true depressive episode. I got scared and so did my husband.

"What do you need? How can I help you?" he kept asking over and over again, desperately ready to do anything to help Fix This.

"I don't know," I kept answering in many vague ways. Like so much, I didn't know what I needed or what would help.

Time crept past and after four weeks my husband went back to work. I learned about the La Leche league and got the patience, understanding, support, and expert guidance I needed for breastfeeding to become successful. I went onto Facebook and asked for support between 12 and 5, when my son was the most upset and I was alone. People - some of them surprising - started coming. I got up the courage to go to mommy groups. My mommy came for a visit. I went to my first MOPS meeting. My sister arrived to help.

And things got and are getting better. Breastfeeding is established and going well. My son has almost doubled his weight, grown out of his 0-3 month clothing, and had learned to smile and coo. And I have proven to him that my arms are the safest place to be. We all sleep a little more. The colic is basically gone. My husband is and continues to be an outstanding husband and father. I see and feel now that I am not alone.

Which brings us to a recent morning, 11 weeks into this adventure. After a rocky night, my husband, son, and I all laid down for an early morning nap. I nursed our little man to sleep and then I gently rocked onto my back, placing one hand on my husband's thigh. My right arm was wrapped around my son and my left hand was resting on my husband. Both of my men were peacefully, deeply breathing in their sleep in our dark bedroom and I looked at them both and tears rolled down my cheeks as I thought, "This. I really like this moment."

Here's to appreciating more of these moments. 

 xo

14 Days – But Who’s Counting?

Oh, right: me. That’s who’s counting.

It’s not that I’m not having a good time, although I wouldn’t say this is the most comfortable I’ve ever been in my life. It is true that I’m not sleeping well or long; that I have some, um, mobility issues turning over in bed or bending over or getting up from the couch and chairs; and I’m cursing my strong organizational skills because I have to be relatively creative to find new projects to complete. But the reality is that the worm and I are both healthy; friends are entertaining me in good style; I just got a delivery of new books to read; and the Mr. is doing a great job of keeping me well-fed and entertained.

Speaking of which, ever heard of grilled watermelon? A while ago (like two years ago) the Mr. saw someone grilling watermelon on TV. Last night he gave it a shot and it was excellent. Yummy, yummy, yummy and it looked easy to make. Two thumbs up:

AND – as if grilled watermelon wasn’t highlight enough – the e. coli scare in Germany has calmed down and we are now free to eat most fresh vegetables and fruits. So for the first time in weeks a salad graced our table. A salad!

Needless to say, I was a very happy big belly woman.

xo

Colorado in the House

This week a Colorado cousin and two of her college friends stopped over in Heidelberg as part of their six week trip around Europe. Together we took a quick tour of the Thingstätte (in German only) and the monastery ruins above Heidelberg, followed by the mandatory Heidelberg castle tour by yours truly.

It was good fun to meet two new good people and get to know my cousin a little bit more. Listening to their stories and their plans, I was reminded of the awesome trips from my late teens and 20 around the US and the world, first to Spain, Bolivia, and then all over Europe with a short pop to India, and finally New Zealand (link leads to collection of all New Zealand related posts) and Australia. Those trips changed my life: it changed how I think, feel, and act. They opened my eyes and my heart, leading me away from where I shouldn’t and couldn’t be and bringing me to where I should be - which is here with my Mr. Onion awaiting our first little bundle of joy.

Looking back the trip that I carry with me the most was also my first time out of the US when I went to Spain to study abroad. It was tough and lonely and frustrating and a hell of a lot of fun. It was also the first time I realized that just because I’m American doesn’t mean I’m right. That my normal isn’t necessarily normal to everyone and sometimes my normal is just super weird. That history is written by the victor but that doesn’t mean the victims or the losers or the not-quite-victors have lost their voice or have nothing to say. And that sometimes I will be the victor and sometimes I won’t.

What about you - what trip(s) do you carry with you?



xo

Two Beautiful Mommas-to-Be

I’m super lucky: I get to share my first pregnancy not just with the loving, excited, and totally involved Mr, but also with a close friend who is just as pregnant. As in, our projected due dates are two days apart: mine very end of June, hers very start of July.

There is something to be said about being able to share this experience with another first-time mom who I was already close to before we both got pregnant. We’re wandering into and through body and lifestyle changes for the first time, together. And while our pregnancy couldn’t have been more different from the physical symptom side – she’s had none of my nausea or food issues and I’ve been a great sleeper in significant contrast to her continued insomnia – we share many of the same emotional experiences: hopes, fears, confusions, surprises, and the immense responsibility of naming (let alone raising!) another human being.

Thankfully we’ve been able to visit each other three times during our pregnancies. As great as email, facebook, phone calls, and skype may be, there is nothing better than sharing a time zone, couch, and good gab. Hopefully we’ll continue to share our friendship and our pathway through motherhood for years to come.

Until then, we compare bellies. If I may say so myself and for the both of us: we’re two seriously hot mommas-to-be.

xo

Thank God for Carnival

Its carnival!

For the non-initiated, carnival is a week of last-minute partying before Ash Wednesday arrives bringing along weeks of party-free Lent. Although most people don’t celebrate (is that the right word? I’m sure my nana will let me know) Lent anymore, few who grew up with carnival allow this opportunity to pass by without joining in on the costumes (some clever and some bizarre); the small and large parades with or without floats but always with drunken participants and by-standers; and the wild parties that last until…well, I don’t know because I’ve always left before they were anywhere near the end.

For the Record: The Mr. grew up with carnival and he’s been known to complain when more than a handful of the parties tried to end when he was still going strong. Opposites attract, right?

Which brings us to the point – thank God for carnival because it gives us pictures of the Mr. dressed up as none other than Captain America.

Does it get any better?




xo

For the Record: Cher Got It Wrong

Its January, we’re in Moscow visiting a friend and – surprise, surprise – its freezing cold. Free-zee-ing cold (and that is the nice version). When we leave the apartment each day, I’m wearing at least thick wool tights with feet, jeans, t-shirt, sweater, winter coat, scarf, hat, gloves and wool lined boots. Most days I have another layer on top, like a second jacket under my thick winter coat, as well as an additional pair of socks. Yet, I still find myself shivering within ten minutes of being outside. 

This picture was taken 5 steps away from the apartment. Yes, I’m already cold. Yes, my dear friend - lets just call her the Cold Snob - is laughing AT me.

But I plead basic sanity in my defense. It is cold here and I offer four pieces of evidence to prove my argument.

A - This is a city that clears its snow with a digger. A digger.

B - This is also a city that has an army of men who spend their entire day cleaning snow off of the top of buildings. 

C - This is a city covered in ice for a good part of each year. There is so much of it, that the sidewalks would be better purposed as skating rings.*  

D – This is a city that has to cordon off parts of sidewalks to protect pedestrians from getting killed by the “small” icicles hanging around in the city. 

So its free-zee-ing cold here. 

Which brings me to: For the record – Cher got it wrong. Love isn’t in his kiss – its in his willingness to swap his much warmer hat for your far too thin one just because your head is cold. That’s love.  

xo

*The women of Moscow have the incredible talent of bucking basic physics and walking on ice in stiletto boots. This was just one of many, many woman who gracefully and quickly tour around the city balancing on….what exactly are they balancing on?

For the Record: Lovely Surprises

The Mr. recently surprised me with my absolute, hands-down, favorite flowers. Don't ask me how he got a hold of tulips at this time of year but he did. For the record, the view of spring flowers while snow is still on the ground has a multiplying effect on my personal joy. In short, it goes from super awesome to super, super awesome.

And since there are now two of us in this body of mine - goofy picture included - I (we?) got TWO bunches of tulips!

 
 
 
xo

Goodbye 2010 - You Were Good to Us

2010 is coming to an end and I, for one, cannot believe that it has already been one complete year since we celebrated the beginning of 2010. So much happened this year, most of it really good and some of it, eh, well, not so good. But like all good personal historians and people who chose to remain sane, I find myself concentrating on the positive.

The Steinbach Clan celebrated our first year of happy matrimony as well as many small moments of shared happiness like this one, this one, and this one. The Mr. also finally revealed to the world his dance moves.

2010 brought some pretty significant changes to how I view myself:

• I started responding to “Frau Steinbach” with the understanding that its me.
• I finally got unlimited German visa, more than seven years into this adventure.
• I started writing again – even trying some new stuff like fiction and attending two excellent workshops one in Scotland with Joanna Paterson and one in Ireland with Irene Graham
• I started growing towards the role of mother.

2010 did include a few sad moments. I lost a dear friend and faithful writing fan. The Mr. and I also said goodbye to our little Peewee. Happily, I reached 30 and finally broke the curse of crappy even birthdays. Thanks again to everyone who helped celebrate my new decade!

But we sure did travel a heck of a lot this year:

• Ireland
• Italy (where we came home with a little bun in the oven)
• Vancouver and unlimited Sushi (yes, it turns out this was my highlight looking back)
• Our honeymoon in New Zealand – there are so many blogs, but I chose the one that remained in my heart at the highlight
• London
• Scotland

xo

Home Improvement Part II

Last week the Mr. and I finally bowed to extreme, continuous, and universal peer pressure. After 1149 days of living in the apartment we now own we took the leap and hung up a living room ceiling lamp.

We really should have tallied the number of people who asked us when we were "going to hang up a lamp already". The offending before picture:

The during picture (are there other countries where hanging up a lamp is considered a normal skill?):

Since we were into home improvement again, we decided to jump with both feet in and conquer the book chaos which was significantly worse than the already conquered towel chaos of Summer 2010. I read a lot, and I have a lot of books. Without book shelves, that meant we had a significant amount of books in piles all around the apartment. So, the Mr. spared himself more bruised toes and surprised me with book shelves for my 30th birthday!

It has been a treasure hunt to locate all the piles of books. I've discovered that I have quite the skill in creatively misusing space for books. By the time we locate them all - and who knows when that will be - those shelves will be bursting full. Do you think the Mr. will start talking about getting rid of some of them then?

*shudder*

Back to happier thoughts: surprisingly for anything IKEA, not one single argument took place during the ‘building’ of these shelves, there were no missing pieces, and it took less than half our lives to put together.

Thanks again to the Mr for the amazing birthday gift.


xo

Ps. Torsten – this one’s for you. Special requests will always be listened to and sometimes acted upon.

The First 3-0 Is In The House

I celebrated the mystical turn into the big 3-0 recently with tons of chili, peanut butter cookies with chocolate chips, and friends dear and near. It was a good party and I thoroughly enjoyed my entry into the next decade.

I was expecting 30 to be good; I recall when both my mother and my youngest aunt hit 30. Back then a new decade seemed like a good thing, like life got somewhat easier (gimme a break - I was 10 when I mom celebrated her birthday and across the ocean when my aunt did). In reality, their lives didn’t magically get easier and mine didn’t either...but there is something to be said about 30.

30 found me with a partner-in-crime and in life that I enjoy being around and respect; good relationships with my core family members; a network of people that I care about and that care about me all over the world; and a property owner with enough money to finance the life we’re living and still save. And importantly 30 didn’t find me filled with that searching, that yearning that defined my teens and 20s. That yearning was necessary to get me to where I am today and it is still here, within me but it isn’t the core of my emotional platform. Instead my life is based on feeling good about myself with all of the stuff that maybe other people would like to change and feeling good about others with all of that stuff that maybe I’d like to change.

Long story, short: I’m not so wobbly anymore.

Thanks to the family and the friends who helped celebrate my special day. I thought Facebook might crash or the neighbors would call the cops. I’m lucky and I’m thankful I get to share my life with you.

The theme: It took me 30 years to look this fabulous.

The Chili - 3 flavours: spicy, spicier, spiciest. All three pots were gone before the night was over.

The Friends

The Fresh 30-Year-Old

xo