It is THAT time

It is that time. That time that is back-to-school and shifting from introvert brain to fake-extrovert brain (I try not to tell people what to do, but read Quiet. You'll understand the human race so much better.). It is the time when Gus's naughties go on over-drive because the adults in his life are busy and distracted. It is the time when everyone gets colds. It is the time when I say things I shouldn't. It is that time.

It is time to make soup!

And soup I made. I resurrected my Czech self and sliced cabbage and garlic and infused that pot with all the immunity boosting goodness of which I know. Celery root was replaced by enoki muchrooms, and I cut and chopped my way back to sanity:

These continue to be tiny times. Tiny times where in the words of Linda Sue Park via Betsy Hall we eke out nine tentative lines a day on our half-baked novel, we breathe deeply, we aim for kindness (because George Saunders changed our lives with this commencement address), and we make soup.

Last post I promised art. And here's what I came up with:

What's awful and hilarious about this stack of almost-in-the-card-business goodness is that there's a misprint on the back of every darn card. If I could learn to speak Mandarin, I might be able to swing this card gig in Singapore. But honestly, I'm not sure that's where my heart is. If what I do every day is what matters, then it's nine lines, scribbles for friends, and lots of chasing sweaty Gus.

It's THAT time.

 

Story telling

I've been thinking a lot about story lately. Dear friends were discussing a family phrase for recentering worrying in their house, "Is that the truth, or is that a story you're telling yourself?" It's a good barometer reading for self-imposed-suffering.

Since Deborah Wiles worked with my students (see yesterday's post), I've been thinking on how story tells the truth, even when what you're writing is fiction. It's helping me frame some of my own stories and giving me license to write. It's also providing a more compassionate lens.

(thank you for DW)

When P and I were recovering after the tsunami, we had our stories taken from us by two different people. One journalist published an email we didn't want seen and another author lifted quotes by P and used them in painful, derogatory ways in widely-read angry diatribes. Those violations made me quit talking and question my own reliability and experience. This week, an 8th grade student was doing a research project on the tsunami of 2004 in order to write a short story for her language arts class. She found one of those "shocking but true" books that tells tales of brushes with death. And of all the stories, in that book was the tale of the family that P helped rescue eight years ago. But, P wasn't in the tale. They shared an entirely different story with an entirely different hero. At first I was enraged. For the third time we were absent from our own life-changing experience. But then I thought about what Debbie Wiles taught us, and I stepped back. That story was what that family experienced. They were panicked--like us. They were in survival mode--like us. What they wrote is what they felt, hoped for, and lived through---even if it didn't really happen. Who am I to say I'm the reliable eye-witness? I spent enough years teaching social studies to know that no account is to be trusted when we examine history. Include me in it. I'm sad we're not in the story in the book, but it's only for petty reasons. Mostly, I'm happy that family had a shared narrative that leaves them stronger and that gives their children scaffolding for making sense of something very hard and scary. I'm grateful for story, and it's not mine to judge if it's fiction or not. 

That's all sort of heavy and weary-making, so I'll think about this: Today, while I continued to recover in bed, Gus brought me a coconut he picked up on his walk home from school. Things like that make me really dig Singapore. We shook it together, heard the milk slosh around and made plans to smash it open when his dad gets home. In Gus's story, he knows that you can't stand under trees laden with coconuts or one could fall. He also knows that there are different kinds, and we usually only drink from the green ones the street vendors hack into with machetes and poke with bendy straws. He knows every snail in his yard by family order ("that's the littlest brother and the almost biggest sister"), and he also remembers not to touch milipedes or yellow fuzzy caterpillars. The sting is outrageous. Yesterday, a green snake (mildly venemous) climbed the trees in our yard and got into a second story apartment. Gus knows that snakes are dangerous and that we run and get help when we see one. The condo "uncle" who caught it, also told Gus tales of a python he caught on the eighth story last year. Gus is learning his natural world even in a city of five million people, and he is creating memories that I had. Mine featured large mouth bass, ducks, and sunfish. I picked lilacs and goldenrod and not tropical fruit. The parrots in the trees we see here would have only existed at the zoo. When we moved overseas, I worried that we'd lose our footing with nature. Thankfully--hallelujah-- nothing has been lost: the storyline is the same, the elements have just altered. That gives me great joy.

So does smashing coconuts. 

Breathing soon

We've been having a quiet time that has felt very noisy.

P and I, ever list makers, have been feeling overwhelmed with lack of lists and Groundhog Day-ish surviving. Even after long post-holiday peptalks where we informed ourselves we were not too tired to be creative, we are still working our way through evenings of season two of NCIS when we could be scribbling. And darn that Downton Abbey. It's simply no good. 

We're doing things. We work. We send a lot of house-buying emails. We have mandatory daily walks. We play with that wild Gus, and we changed four light bulbs on Tuesday. I had the rich pleasure of co-teaching (That's a lie. She did it all.) for three days in my classroom with Deborah Wiles, who reminded my students that they are not invisible voices and that our stories matter. I cried happy tears every day she was there. I've rushed through fleeting art moments. For his 37th birthday, P got a card I was too lazy to scan with a Carole King quote that did not look quite as sappy when I drew it in blue ink: "Funny how I feel, more myself with you, than anyone else that I ever knew..." He also got a from-scratch red velvet cake that stretched for five whole days.

I even sketched a collection of logo ideas (View this photo) for a friend that is doing admirable jewelry work. What's your vote?

And yesterday, I got my sinuses surgerized. My face feels like I should have ducked a little lower during that last shot, but I'm told my life will change. The new B will get so much oxygen to her brain that she'll only need four hours of sleep and will finally produce that novel. Or at least she'll make a list or two. On that list will be, "embarrassing hospital stories." They will include the doctor in Prague that ate his lunch in front of me while I sat pantless polietly listening to his diagnosis on a very cold chair. They will also include Wednesday's nurse, a lovely woman who apparently is from a far more conservative culture than mine, who had never heard of a tampon and caused me to have to explain what it was in front of six patients and several shy hospital staff. 

I will also have a list entitled, "community building 2013." We've had the rare rare rare Singapore opportunities lately to make people meals (gasp), walk their dog (wow), and send get well cards. In our insulated society of (for whom we are much grateful) domestic employees, you rarely get to open someone's refrigerator and get yourself a glass of water. To get to deliver the soup to the table is the community we crave, and I'm so happy the C family let us in this week. (I'm also embarrassed that it's all it takes). That same week, we found ourselves at 8:30pm getting in trouble from the condo security because an impromptu happy hour led to a dozen children drawing with chalk on the sidewalk (against the condo rules!) and playing fabulous rowdy games in the yard too loudly. It was such a welcome scolding to have enough kiddos around us that we could make a wild ruckus on a weekend night not from the adults on the patio but from the sweaty toddlers to teens in the yard. My biggest prayers when we moved here were that Gus would be loved by others and that there would be dirt in which to dig. He is hugged, and he is filthy. Praise God. To all my Singapore friends, you can look in my laundry basket anytime. Please, let's see one another's mess.

And man, once that oxygen starts flowing, who knows what creative genius will strike. Look out kids, chalk masterpieces are ahead!

Virtual Holiday Letter

We didn't write our annual Christmas letter this year. Our card (this photo--spoiler alert) just lists our blogs, as we're not very coherant (this post will attest to that in every regard) right now. Thoughts are scattered. What's interesting to us is universally mundane. We chuckled a little bit about what we'd even say: "Um, we are humbled at every turn?" "We moved, foolishly thinking it would be easy and are still trying to catch our breaths?" "We gained ten pounds?" "We spend our free time re-catching Gus's surprisingly speedy snail collection?" 

The skinny is that things are good. Just plain good. And there's a lot of learning--tiny learnings--but good learnings, nonetheless. They may say it all (though not as cleverly as P's holiday letters):

• Gus snacks regularly on Char Siew Pau, rice noodles, mango lassis, and dried seaweed. He avoids vegetables of any cuisine, french fries, chicken nuggets, or potato chips.


• Two years in Prague were long enough to make some life-long, much-missed friends and permanent cultural connections. It's been a happy return to our former lives here, but we're sorely missing our recent lives there.


• We can survive a snake in the house. Barely.


• Gus is allergic to all brands and all forms of sunscreen (Thanks to reoccurring rashes, he now has a phobia to boot).


• An extra million people in a country the size of Whatcom County is noticeable.


• Bike paths DO exist and are getting better every day (good job, Singapore!).


• Gus digs the water. He swims. He dives. He repeats.


• If you want to sleep well at night, don't think about how much the cheese you just bought would cost in another country.


• One doesn't seem to get as many spontaneous airline upgrades with a toddler in tow.


• Carve your Halloween pumpkins on the 31st to ensure that they survive the humid evening.


• If you want your son to be outgoing and friendly, you cannot be the wallflower at every party (sighhhhh).


• The wild pig population appears to have doubled on the island. Beware on dark morning runs and rides.


• For now, trips to the beach rather than adventurous backpacking expeditions are refreshingly all right.


• Good libraries do a lot for this family's happiness factor. We heart you, SAS libraries.


• Driving on the left side of the road just comes right back to you. And after a few months of practicing, reciprocated patience, and several close calls, we CAN reverse the car into parking spots with ease.


• The world is small and grand folks abound on all continents.

Some of those grand folks on an adventure race in Krabi, Thailand. And one of the many reasons I was humbled this year (hoooooo boy...not quite up to pace with the old running crew)

A happy puddle-jumper.

My two best friends mid-MOvember. See P's FB page for a too-cute-for-my-blog shaving video. 

Our legacy of tragically awkward couple shots continues. We just don't have "act casual" in us. Soon after, the photograper gave up.

MERRY CHRISTMAS and happy, happy holidays. Wishing you and yours a wonderful new year with good people, good learnings, and good times. Please buy a big ol' block of cheddar cheese for us and savor that it's not a billion dollars. May joy abound.

Overdoing it

Sometimes, a lot of times, I overuse words. And I think the overused words of any given season are a sign of my mental state. Right now I have to work hard not to say, "billion", "tragic," and "spectacular". That's because I'm wired way high and everything feels big and out of proportion and BILLIONS of things are happening and some of them are SPECTACULAR and too many are also TRAGIC. But plenty of them are also mundane and dumb and truly no big deal. And maybe that's why it's been weeks since I was able to think about writing, or maybe it's because there's too much to write, or perhaps it's because the times-are-a-changin' and a new blog is brewing or new something is brewing or it's time to break up or whatever. 

So here's a few of the  random billion, spectacular and tragic things I know:

1. David Rakoff died this week. His writing and his voice impacted my life and made me laugh and think and want to grow as a writer. His passing is sad.

2. I've had 47 (billion) hilarious cultural encounters that remind me why I both adore Singapore and audibly groan so often. It's good. And tiring. Today, at 9:13am, I found myself in my bikini at the zoo shouting into my phone because the splash pad was 13 minutes late turning on. "Hello sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but the waterpark sign says it opens at 9:00, but it's not working." "What? You are working?" "No, sir, I'd like the splash pad to be working." "Who is working at the splash pad?" (17 more exchanges until my Singlish kicked in). "On the splash pad, can?" "Oh, sorry, ma'am! We'll send someone right over to on the splash pad."

3. Gus is fine. I go to work, and he's fine. Part of me would like to be a little more important and part of me is really relieved.

4. Our daily routines involve swimming pools, talking to the neighbor's cockatoo, chasing geckos, eating dried mango, and begging for more fried dumplings. Gus is friends with a dog named Cookie, devoted to a kindly uncle who manages the condo security office, smitten with his nanny, and entertained by about two dozen older kids in our condo. Singapore is grand when you are two.

5. I am fighting to keep my design brain churning. It's tough. My IQ has dropped pretty significantly since I last taught language arts, so I'm working right now to just make sure my students don't get any dumber. Once I master that, I'll think about art and writing and where I'm headed. For now, all I've produced is a Babushka fairy to grant me my every wish during this first week with a class full of kiddos:

6. I nearly alienated my family by being completely insane during my first two weeks of work. It was the first time I'd ever had a sniff of mother's guilt and woweeee! Powerful stuff! I drove Gus nuts with my list of (a billion) things to do when I came home every day. In a span of 90 minutes I'd have managed to drive us both to tears with alphabet time, number time, outdoor time, ball time, bike time, singing time, art time, etc. etc. etc. Yesterday I rushed home early to be with him and took note that as soon as he saw me he barricaded himself in his room and shouted through the closed door, "I'd just like a little time with my tractors!" Hm. When the two-year-old is able to articulate that you are smothering him, it's time to take stock. 

So. I'm missing my quiet Prague life and loving the buzz of Singapore. We're settling into our life of contrasts and working towards a balance that is neither spectacular nor tragic but is just right where we're supposed to be. We'll give that time and we'll heed Gus's wisdom to just slow down and relax and retreat to the things we love. 

In-Between

Gus and I are celebrating one month in the loveliest of limbos today. We left Praha behind (and apparently this blog) for the mountain views, mud puddles, tractors, sprinklers, sandboxes, lakes, good dogs, small town parades, snakes, fresh picked raspberries, Mexican food, hikes, and overall amazingness of many good Grandmas and Grampas. If you are under the age of three, clothing is optional and you've probably added the phrase M & Ms to your vocabulary as well as an inch and or two to your height. Gus has had his first dental appointment (Success and smiles thanks to the best dentists on the planet), chicken nuggets, fish-catching, bear-sighting, and fire truck ride. Life is good in the Wenatchee Valley.

P arrived a few days ago, and the fun factor has only increased. We are tan and can't find our shoes. There are Northwest microbrews in the fridge and neighbors with warm swimming pools. Our family can't be beat, and baby M is one day away from being overdue. Goodness abounds.

It's not just little M that's on the horizon, it's Singapore too. I usually want time to slow down here at the ranch, but this year I'm torn. We've landed a condo we long coveted and that was long occupied by some of the very best folks we know, so good juju fills those walls and good living awaits. I am anxious to move my boys into it, to show Gus the geckos that will share our home, and to take him to all of our favorite haunts. There is so much for him to eat and see and so few days before I'm no longer a stay-at-home mom. I'm trying to savor here and ready myself for savoring there. It's an odd balance.

But it's been an odd balance from the start--leaving dear friends in Prague and settling in to a few weeks of dear friends and family in the states and moving on to dear friends and colleagues in Singapore. At the playground, moms I meet ask where I live, and the answer is so complicated their eyes just glaze over and they shuffle their kids over to the slide and away from the awkward lady. I can't blame them. 

I always wonder if we're doing the right thing during these times of transition, and this morning, at one of my less-awkward playground gatherings, a friend of P's quizzed us on overseas life. He and his family are teachers and contemplating a similar leap, and as we talked, P and I both got more animated and more excited. On the car ride home we enjoyed the buzz of knowing that whether in Singapore or Washington, we're doing what we love.

There is so much to love:

Lake Wenatchee. Sigh.

My attempt at Czech pickled hermelin.

Lucky, lucky boy.

 

Last weeks thought salad

It's list city around here. (Which makes me pause and think on Loretta Lynn's "Fist City." It is thankfully, NOT Fist City) It's goodbye parties and last beergardens and why-is-it-three-degrees-in-May. Things are both ridiculously organized and tragically dicombobulated. Gus is a mess. We're all waking before alarms because we're too tired to keep sleeping. Do you know that waking? It only happens when things are on the edge. 

But, despite messy toddlers and loose ends and a fine balance of too-social and too-serious, we are getting things done. There is a lot of tossing and sorting and throwing away. As we do that, we're mindful of what to save. And it comes down to the people. And such people there are. I've made quick tributes this week to a gaggle of folks that really deserve a lot of hugging and that we truly hope will plan vacations in Southeast Asia:

There are so many good people here. I think on them as I clean lampshades and pack breakables and woo Gus from his tantrums. As messy as we are right now, we're leaving Prague so much richer in spirit---and it's all because of the folks that were quick to love us. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------

And with one foot in Prague and one foot in Singapore, I also play a little continental Twister and land a hand on the US. There are commissions to deliver during our short time there, and this one is for a sweet baby M:

Today's theme

Things have seemed a bit gray. Not bad. Not glorious. Gus and I had a few too many nights of collective coughs. We went to IKEA (yechh). Our accomplishments of late are boring: criminal record checks, shipping insurance forms, and short-term medical insurance. And yesterday at 11:00am, the bank said the money hadn't arrived yet and I should come back tomorrow. It was reminiscent of when we stopped by Burger King on a student field trip while living in Singapore and they said, "Oh, sorry--we don't have any burgers." 

But today, after the wonder of a good-night's-rest (thank you Husband of the Year), Gus and I woke up to sun and color and choosing-joy. Some folks even decided to dress like it: 

Keeping with the theme, I started my next sketchbook project. This book's theme is "The little things in life".

There are lots of little things looking good today. The lilacs are blooming, Neighbor B made homemade peanut butter cups, I may or may not have ordered this Waylon Jennings necklace, and there's a painting project underway:

To add to the synchronicity, a friend sent a link to a bucket list for kids under twelve, and it's inspired me to think on our family bucket list. That's good fodder for dinner time conversation in a household of seasoned list-makers.

And finally, as I putter in my office and with my paints and listen to my podcasts on this happy-shiny Tuesday, I savor a BIG thing, which is my dear Father's (slightly belated) birthday. Happy Birthday, Dad!

(it seems rubber boots are a theme as well)

Roar!

March went out roaring. There was so much to do and clean. But it was all for very very good reasons:

A miniature raspberry pie was baked. From scratch.

And then put inside a cake to become the trendy and surprisingly tasty (but still sort of embarrassing) piecaken. A birthday girl was happy.

And there was a last minute weekend to Poland where I may or may not have purchased Polish pottery for my son (What does this mean? What would Werner Herzog say? Have I crossed the line of rational pottery thinking?).

Someone awfully special went from baby to boy and had to celebrate his birthday at school since his parents are too ridiculous (lazy? wise? terrified-of-other-toddlers?) to throw him a proper party.

Amazing folks flew all the way from the US to play legos and give thoughtful presents and take long, windy, cold walks through Praha. We are missing them already.

And, as we wait (change sheets, wash towels, bake gluten-free muffins, etc etc etc) for the second round of guests to arrive this weekend (yay Meehans!), we're thankful for this recent purchase. Yup. We gave into the Man. But--we got it third-hand, so it doesn't upset me as much as it should. That and the espresso it makes is absolutely delicious.

There's no time for art with all this goodness, but we're making memories!

 

Babushka for you

Gus has inspired me to paint again. He prefers to watercolor his arm, but I'm finding paper works fine for me. 

I'm going to layer this with colored pencil and marker and see what happens. Lynda Barry tells us to doodle images of our past to unlock our creativity, and at some point in college I took comfort in doodling "Magic Babushka." She isn't afraid to say the hard things and never makes you feel bad about your sensible shoes. I'm having a Babushka revival living in near-Eastern Europe. She continues to know just what to tell me.

I wish I had a Magic Babushka to send my sister K right now. Her family's beloved Pete passed away this weekend, and these are sad times. Pete was a good kitty (and sometimes Facebook friend). He is missed. Babushka would be full of comforting things to say.

 

Balancing bikes and writing

All of Prague was in a good mood and too many layers today. The weather soared above 50 degrees, the horse stables put out their beer garden benches, and despite collective bronchitis we hit the trails with Gus on his Strider bike. Everyone in town had the same idea, and we all grinned like sun-bedazzled fools in a sea of dogs, horses, bikes, scooters, walkers, strollers, and shockingly white arms. 

The elation that taking off our coats brings us is only slightly above the elation this recipe brings us. It cleans out my fridge and allows for rampant substitutions. No sour cream? Try buttermilk or tvaroh or cream cheese. No basil? Cilantro, spinach, parsley, whatever. I grate in carrots, sweet potato, and zucchini. I double the broccoli and toss in pine nuts. I add whatever cheeses need finishing. I use spiral noodles and shells and whole wheat bow ties. It comes together in a jiffy and is one of the very few vegetable laden dishes that inspires Gus to praise.

As we sat at our little table in our little kitchen with our little man eating our mac and cheese today, we were awfully grateful for these little lives. It could be the delirium from seeing the sun for the first time in five months, but neither P or I knew that we were the kind of folks that would find joy and satisfaction in a long morning spent keeping a wild balance biker out of the river. We dig it. We dig it a lot. 

Our Prague time is winding up, and we'll soon both be employed on a new continent. I've been thinking on whether I will continue to capture these little goodnesses in this personal blog while balancing writing about my work and also balancing just working on my writing. I'm in balancing conundrum. This blog existed to help me find joy in the ordinary and to keep me artisitically productive here in a new life in Praha. It has served me well, but it was never really intended for an audience. There are other things I need to write. I teach writers and believe very strongly they need to see me actively producing. Yet, it alarms me to put all my time into a blog for their benefits and not into the writing I hope may someday turn into a something. I'm just not sure how a teacher balances modeling writing while protecting his or her own writing space. One could wear themselves a little thin with too many blogs or too many articles or too many whatevers spread out in all directions for all audiences (and really...let's be honest...how many folks really want to read what's being said?). Neighbor B was kind enough to listen to me process earlier this week and she assured me I'm not the first teacher to ask these questions, but I cannot think of what to type into Google to find the answers: "How can I write and publish things I don't want to show my student communities and yet have the energy to professionally blog and offer writing samples that my students can read and also still feel like I have artistic direction and maybe maintain a personal blog..." Hmm. Thoughts, teacher friends? This will sort itself out. For now, I don't know what will be being typed next Spring, but for today, we are happy in our record of the littles. 

Digital coloring of the last post's drawing. I think I prefer it.

Tunis comes to us this time

Lauren of North Africa is here! (Hey, L.O.N.A. is not a bad acronym for someone that Gus calls Aunt Lola. It just might stick!) Her arrival brings many things:

To begin, she got us out of the house in the afternoon. I can't remember the last time I saw the 4:30pm skies. Normally at 4:38 dinner prep has reached a delicate point and Gus is snacking on playdough and delivery men are buzzing and people are texting and I am running to the window to see if my backpack-wearing husband is on the corner and twenty seven seconds away. Once he's home, I don't like to mess with a good thing and we stay put. And today, after leaving Gus's play date because "if you are not going to treat your friends nicely we are going", I wasn't feeling too spunky. But Lauren brought revival and got us walking (or rather, we drug her on an errand in an effort to be fun and hip Prague-sters). The result was beyond our fathoming----a new and better beer store. And by beer, I mean Aventinus (Tap 6! Tap 6!) from Munich and Delirium Tremens from Belgium and gigantic Kocour bottles that we all carried home in floral shopping bags with glee.

She also brought this:

How can you not befriend someone that juxtaposes French champagne, canned mechouia, and halvah? It's not a complete photo. There was fierce and lively textured art created by one (or both?) of her talented young men. There was also a bag of macarons from a French bakery that Gus and I frequented last week near her Tunisian seaside home. And then there's her. Lauren is all goodness and real conversation and things familiar and deeply loved. She is family, that wicked-smart L, and we are happy to host her in the evenings while she visits Patrick's school during the daytimes to get even smarter.

Lastly, she brought a little organization. I spent Friday's naptime not napping and instead cleaned up a bit and made meals and snacks (I was all about leeks and spinach, so it's Rebar cookbook's Apple, blue cheese, spinach tart and SmittenKitchen baked potato--with leek and added spinach--soup). It's good to have weekend foods and someone with whom we can share them. Lona got me planning ahead, so Monday's sketchbook deadline is met, and we've nothing but free evenings (and possibly a few brews) to savor. Yippee!

 

I've loved you more

P and I don't have an official song, but we do cook up some fine, off-key duets. Our best is Emmylou Harris and Mark Knopfler singing 'This is Us.' (it seems that they get the lyrics about as right as we do in this version) Although we are big Emmylou and Mark fans, at our hearts, at our hearts we are Johnny Cash people. We holler a good, 'Jackson', but you'd get raised eyebrows if you called that your song. And I'd feel awkward since P has a mean crush on June Carter. So, when choosing a tune for my P this Valentine's Day, I turn to a favorite Cash album: American IV: The Man Comes Around. He's singing solo on this one, and he does a beautiful cover of the Beatles'  'In My Life.' (are these links legal?) (It's powerful enough to make me consider abandoning my go-to karaoke classic, 'Total Eclipse of the Heart'. Almost.)

P and I are terrible at celebrating holidays that institute forced love (and awfully good at making fun of them), but I'm feeling especially soft for that good egg this year. I think there will be sincere heart-shaped pancakes at breakfast and a little Johnny on the stereo.

"There is no one compares with you."

Photo credit to the amazing dRops. He captured this image on the John Lennon Wall in Prague earlier this fall, and he also sang in public with tone-deaf me. That's mighty good friendship when you're musically talented and willing to harmonize with the musically inept. Thanks, Dave and Tracy!

What lies ahead

A friend shared a blog article today, and it was talking about how situations that drive us to go within---often end up limiting us. I don't think I agree with the article's greater point, but I did think about how the city of Prague---or my ability to survive in the city of Prague given my limitations, fears, and idiosyncrasies---drives me within. I work to limit my interactions with others, and I try to hide from what is uniquely and wonderfully Praha. (all self-imposed, mind you! No fault of Prague's!) But---and this is absolutely not a comparison of cultures or a weigh-in on whether one is better than the other, it's simply the result of my dreadful shortcomings interacting with the aspects of a culture---in Southeast Asia, the cultures I explored and lived in were ones that complemented my weaknesses and pushed me to be braver and to seek out interactions with others. (Again, all self-imposed choices and actions!) I could lose myself outside of myself-----and I really really miss that. I haven't been able to articulate what has been so hard about living here for me, and I think this is the crux. 

I appreciate where I am so much and am so very grateful for these two years. Given the choice, I'd live them over again. And I could return. But for now, in this phase of my life with a toddler in tow and a tentative spirit, I'm very much looking forward to the change that lies ahead.

Speaking of what lies ahead, it's already February!

 

Hallelujahing and Hiding

It's all hallelujahs and hiding spinach around here. Almost 11 months ago, I found myself unable to get out of bed or pick up my baby or hold a cup of coffee. A pesky joint disease altered life for this family. Altered it a lot. It hit when I was finally gaining a little confidence after a bucketload of bewildering newness: We'd kept the baby alive for nearly a year and survived our first months on a new continent. I was back clocking happy kilometers on long runs, and our first winter in seven years--a long and gray one--was starting to lift. It was a cruel time to find myself abruptly bed-ridden, and I let that disease knock the hope right out of me.

But I've got good peeps and Grace and This Too Shall Pass. And it did. It's not the same body; there are joints that will never quit growling, but I can move. Hallelujah, I can move! Today marked a milestone of moving---18 glorious kilometers through Praha with a dear friend. It was hard, but it was beautiful, and I never ever ever thought it possible. I am one grateful girl.

Tomorrow will be Advil and ice and spinach muffins. That's right. I'll take this poor transition from what really is an awfully Big Deal to explain that I obsess over iron intake, and so we've been eating Rebar's Broccoli Soup (take the time to make a pesto to swirl in, toss in some steamed florets and you will never ever ever make any other creamed brocolli soup--or possibly any other soup at all. You'll find the bare bones of it here.), which should really be called spinach soup, and finding other creative uses for the green stuff.

The boys have no idea there is wilted spinach in these delish carrot muffins. 

And tomorrow's fruit smoothies.

Bad photography aside, you have no idea how happy this all makes me. 

I hope I am able to be kind

Since we returned to Prague, Gus and I have been having a hard time speaking each other's love language. He's hid all of my winter accessories. My hands are freezing. He gave me a bloody nose and dropped his oatmeal in my coffee. And then there was Wednesday. When someone you love hands you their own poop, you know your relationship needs some attention.

That night, before he went to bed, we prayed together as a family. Well, I prayed and he poked his father in his closed eye (it really hasn't been easy for any of us). I asked for a little help around here. Help learning to parent with joy.

I've been getting all sorts of appropriate parenting advice and notes and insights from folks, and it's felt sort of bleak to have well-intentioned people say such lovely things like, "Don't you feel like you're just living the best life has to offer?" when I'm scrubbing the toy excavator my son has just filled with his own urine. I've really questioned (and probably will forever) my ability to execute and endure the dirt and grime and nuts and bolts of parenting. 

Thursday Gus and I left early for school. This walk was rich with the giddy anticipation of a breather from one another. And so it was surprising when we found ourselves missing our bus in order to crunch ice. All the puddles from the day before had frozen over, and we are people who do not miss an opportunity to smash things without consequence. So we smashed and hopped and slid and skated and reminded ourselves not to eat dirty ice or to lick the tempting pieces that look like candy. (I thought of you fondly, MS, and all the times we watched the movie Beautiful Girls. I always liked the scene where Natalie Portman is just stomping snow. I share her pleasure in a good snow stomp). While ice chunks flew and Gus learned to land on his knees for a really good ice ride, a neighbor walked by and took in our mayhem. She is not a parent, but she has more parenting mojo than I'll ever muster. I'm bewildered by this girl's kid-magnetism. Kids love her. She loves kids. Oscar is totally smitten. I was pretty sure she walked off making a mental note to investigate Czech child protective services as I yelled things like, "Run over here, this puddle is REALLY slippery!" But I was wrong. Instead she later emailed that she just wanted to share her joy in "witnessing kairos (she and I must read the same blogs)", and how she was so happy to have seen such a beautiful parenting moment.

Argh. What a stinker. I wanted to tell her, "That's parenting? That's the crap Gus and I waste our time doing all day when we should be learning to cut with scissors and sing our ABCs and put on our own coat. That's the stuff that distracts him from eating vegetables and bathing properly. That's the fun stuff I do when I want to avoid what parents should be doing. That is NOT parenting." But, I got it. I get it. Thank-you-very-much pre-eye-poke prayer.

I was pretty happy to pick up Oscar after school and get my buddy back. Affirmed now in our aimless ways, we did all the voices to The Pout Pout fish together when we were supposed to be learning to tie our shoes and may or may not have hung up our jackets. And can you believe it? He even asked to use the potty and not his own hand or the Nepalese carpets. I was shocked.

This is a strange gig, this endeavor growing a human. In an On Being podast from NPR with Sylvia Boorstein, two phrases recently stuck in my head (poorly quoted):

"Your measuring stick that you're thinking clearly is that you are able to be kind."

and

"In this moment, am I able to care?"

I'm looking forward to putting those up on the wall and trying them out on the next day where I find myself gritting my teeth. And while I'm not super keen on the amount of attention fecal matter gets around here, I am pretty keen on living hopefully and on watching someone grow so admirably despite my best efforts at messing up this process. I am grateful for a community of outspoken women who remind me what I am doing and remind me what I should be doing and give me pause. I don't always agree with them, but I am happy to be walking in this path if it is one where Gus and I can take a break from the horror that is learning-to-zip-your-own-coat with an impromptu ice skate.

About twenty blissful seconds before he poured hot chocolate on my shoe.

A door opened this week

Gus and I have been walking Stromovka as often as we can. The ice is creeping across the lake and the ducks are huddling in the corners; frosty mornings are now the norm. We have to savor these mornings of silvered trees because they will soon end. Winter will of course linger until May, but after that it could be quite a stretch of hot, welcome years.

Yesterday, P and I accepted jobs back in Singapore. I haven't found my footing yet as to how to explain this to people. There is no short answer. We like it here. We could love it here. I'd return to Prague. There's of course the hassle of snowsuits and cold hands and lost mittens and gray days. But that's not reason to go. And that's what I try to explain to people---there's not reason to leave except that Singapore offers us something that not many other places can in the toddler years of our lives. It offers us festivals and colors and diversity. It offers us monkeys and jungle walks and 365 days a year where we can go outside (granted, often in suffocating heat). It offers us Cambodia and service and travel to places to see things that Gus isn't old enough yet to complain about. I think I better take advantage of the fact that he's too young to gripe about the tuk-tuks and the holidays to places where all we do is wander and not a tv screen is to be found. And then there are the professional gains. And the hope of medical gains. BUT. There is the loss of Prague, and that is a large loss. We chose Europe not as parents and moved here as new ones. We had no idea how parenting would impact where we wanted to work and live (I know. I know. We're the dumbest people on the planet. Believe me. I KNOW.) When Gus is old enough to let me finish my coffee in a cafe or bike beside me on a river path, I'd really like to return. He and I will rip up the trails and sample every offering in the pastry shops. I can't wait.

In the meantime, we'll savor Stromovka and snowfalls and holiday markets and hot candied almonds. We'll get cocoa at every farmer's market and laugh our way through layering up to head outside. 

------------------------

This month's sketchbook entry had to be hurried-up since G and I are off to visit the beloved grandparents soon and won't be at the drawing table. The theme of this book was "colors" and I was given black. I sketched up some nocturnal animals hidden behind inked doors. Doors seemed appropriate in this season of Advent. Man, I really love things with doors.

November is ending well

We had a lovely post-Thanksgiving weekend. I baked my first turkey, which we enjoyed with the truly wonderful Rops clan. There were Christmas markets and sunny mornings and gluhwein and chocolate bars and singalongs. Everyone was tolerant of both Gus's runny nose and his hollering. It was good.

Perhaps because of the tryptophan, the good company, Starbucks Christmas espresso blend, the German beers, or the new (and simply glorious) pottery Advent wreath P bought me at the Dejvicka market, this morning we entered the week of Decisions with lighter hearts, which I am also enjoying. 

In the afternoon, I made the Colophon Cafe's African peanut soup with our leftover turkey, which turned out to be a splendid move. It was totally unthanksgiving-dinner-like, and it used up a lot of the bird.

And tonight, I'm packaging cards to sell. 

 

Pillarbox

I enjoyed the first day of November with a morning stroll in downtown Prague (alone!), dropping off cards at a new shop in Vinohrady. Pillarbox is not only kind enough to carry my wares, but it is also carrying other fabulous cards, toys, and giftwrap. The owner has created a very expat friendly store with lovely gifts and stationery from the UK and Czech Republic. She's only five minutes from the Muzeum metro stop---pop in!

Happy to have been and happy to be back

We are back from lands of chocolate, cheese, hiking trails, and really great people. A weeklong road trip to Munich and Zurich proved to be exactly what this family needed to gain a little clarity and lose a little Euro (Take note travellers, it's not just Switzerland that requires a toll sticker. The Austrian fine is hefty!).

(fondue--followed by chocolate--with the lovely Rops)

Gus was a champ, sleeping like he'd never slept before and recovering from bronchitis in unfamiliar places. He mooed at Swiss cows and marveled at German forests. Our hosts were all amazing and our weight gains evident. What a great trip.

And now we're back and sorting out some big decisions with lighter hearts and darker German beers. Life is good in Prague. Fall has settled in with freezing temperatures, and homemade soup was on last night's menu. This is a season to savor.

I got a little gutsy and posted some designs to sell, but it's mostly to avoid over or under printing. I'm still not comfortable with seeing doodles in print, but maybe this will all work out. We'll see. In the meantime, I've got a sketchbook project this week and three amazing birthdays to celebrate (Steelie Dan, Bekah, and Annika--Woop woop!). With only six weeks left in the CZ before Oscar and I take full advantage of all the love Grandma and Grampa have to offer, we're living it up!