Happy New Year!

So, they say you should make New Year’s resolutions that are attainable. Break them down, make them reasonable. yada yada…

So my goal this year is to give birth. At 40 weeks and 6 days pregnant, I am confident that I can reach that goal. And won’t I feel accomplished when I do!

Gah. Seriously, I enjoyed a few extra days of just being O’s mom. Especially because he came down with a little virus and was all sick-y and needed mommy to take care of his fever. But I am ready for this baby to come on out already. I’ve had contractions for about a week now. They get real steady and then they’ll quit. And let’s not get started on the excruciating pain in my back from all the contractions. I’ve tried everything on my end: praying, eating pineapple, long walks, rich food, spicy food, cleaning the house, visualizing, seducing my husband, short walks, relaxing, eating more spicy food. So far all I have accomplished is heartburn….

But here in Germany it’s typical to make a woman wait it out. The lady near us at the clinic today was 9 days overdue, she was also late with her first 2 children as well. (Although, she looked very comfortable and relaxed, I must say, lacking that weary wild-eyed look I’m starting to permanently wear.) Pretty much doctors wait until there’s some sort of medical reason, or the woman goes crazy and demands and induction. But the doctor today offered a glimmer of hope. Maybe an induction tomorrow, if I want it.

I have never been so excited to drink castor oil in all my life y’all. We’ll see how it goes…


Bugging Out

I am not adapting well these days.


Ugh. Some cultural differences are easy to just get over. Some are not. Where I come from, if there’s a bug or a rodent in the house, you get rid of it. Or you call a guy and he gets rid of it. Or he comes and sprays something that probably will someday kill him, too, but then all the little unwanted things are dead and you forget to worry about the exterminator’s health.

But. Here. Here in this godforsaken hell-hole of a bunch of nature-loving freaks….

Oh mah gawd. GAAAHHHHH!!!!!!! We have spiders in the garage the size of my palm– OK, not that big more like O’s palm- larger than anything I am comfortable with. My husband argues “they aren’t poisonous”. Well, no, technically, they are venomous, not poisonous. And maybe, as he says, they rarely bite people. (I don’t believe that he’s never been bit by one because he doesn’t pay that much attention to what’s going on around him or even on his body and he probably wouldn’t have noticed it was a spider bite just a red itchy spot that went away after some time.) But this guy proves they can bite and it will hurt, even if you won’t die from it. Ick. But Germans still seem to embrace these disgusting things.


Now, moving on to to other lawfully protected species. Wasps. Did you know that in Germany you aren’t supposed to kill a wasp’s nest?

Wait, whut?


Are you serious? Are you freaking kidding me? They are F—ing WASPS for crying out loud. And they have nested in the rolling shudders on O’s window. Our landlord told us to just roll the shudders up and down a lot and hope they go away on their own. You know what that does? Pisses them off. Like, a lot.

I do not understand Germans. Wasps serve no purpose in life other than to screw things up. They kill bees. Don’t you freaking hippies know that there’s a bee shortage in the world right now???? Kill the wasps. Oh, but no. If you google it in German, you’ll find on every forum where someone needs to get rid of a nest that “wasps are important predators in our ecosystem and it would be a shame to kill them”. Well, guess what. They never ate the damn aphids that killed my cilantro, so they really serve no important purpose in my ecosystem.


This is what my life has come to. I am seriously losing my shit over insects. And my husband could care less. Being so intellectually evolved and all, he has no caveman instincts to protect his cave. Grrrr…..

If they weren’t in the bleeping wall of O’s room, I’d go all redneck and fashion a makeshift blowtorch and burn their nest to nothingness. As it is, I’m going to put on something low-cut and flirt with the fire department. Internet rumors say they “might” help you if you can prove that the wasps are a danger or if the nest is too close to where children are. Let’s just hope they don’t tell me to just keep his window shut…


Time marches on…


No make up, wrinkles just hanging out there for the world to see.

I’m getting older. It’s obvious. I can see the little lines around my eyes when I smile or laugh. We celebrated my baby’s 3rd birthday (and my own 3-0 is marked with both frowney and smiley faces on the calendar sooner than I’d like). I’ve owned a dog of my own long enough that she’s now taking arthritis pills with her kibbles. But nothing tells me that more than the way my body feels. In the mornings I can feel just a hint of stiffness in these old joints. I’ve had a nagging pain in my back on and off since O was a a newborn. I’m tired after ambling around in the heat without AC on these lovely German summer days. My knees ache after kneeling in church or when O climbs on them. My face may sometimes hide my age, but this week my body told me just how old I really am. After several days of staying up late and waking up early planning for the greatest pirate birthday party Germany has ever seen, it was very near shutting down on me. Everything just hurt. I was so tired last night I almost felt drunk (before my celebratory piƱa colada).

I was thankful for the rain today. It gave me a chance to recover after such a fun/festive/feverish week. We stayed inside and just snuggled/rested on the sofa for the most part. But I’m wondering, if you stay in your pajamas all day, do you just go to bed in those same pajamas? I’m thinking it might be less sad if I at least put on a fresh pair…

cue the ominous music

It’s almost my birthday. I’m 20 minutes shy of 29. I used to not feel old, I used to look quite a bit younger than my age. I find lately, though, I’ve been looking and feeling more my age. Part of it is the climate here, I think. It’s already a bit cold, which would lend some explanation as to why I wake up stiff some mornings. And the air is dryer. I need to up the face cream application. My haircut doesn’t help, I look like the grandmother from the Gilmore Girls (which by the way, the crazy lady cut one side shorter than the other, wtf? just add it to my list of complaints).

It’s not just the getting older that I dislike, it’s the getting uglier. I look in the mirror and this face is not the one I had before. My legs look like tree trunks wrapped in denim. I put on an old (too small) bra today and actually had the effect of perky boobs with cleavage. It took 3 minutes before I realized that nothing was wrong with my shirt. Boobs are actually supposed to look like that! What a wonderful blessing it is to get older! We forget the beauty of youth, so we don’t get too depressed by the degradation of old age.

Ok, I know I am being a bit melodramatic about turning TWENTY-NINE. I’m going put my cold cream on and go to bed. God knows I need that good beauty sleep.

What a man, what a man…

I’m sitting here, seething. Waiting for the coffee to finish and resisting the urge to walk into the bedroom and suffocate my husband with a pillow. The only thing keeping me from doing so at the moment is the thought that I might accidentally wake up our son sleeping so peacefully (finally) next to him.

So, let me take a deep breath and reflect on some reasons why I love my husband… hmmm…. well… uhhh…

I’m only slightly kidding. Lack of sleep usually puts me in a nasty, bitchy mood (who would have guessed?). He does have his moments of glory. Like last week when he killed an intruder. Well, it was more along the lines of squishing a bug… But still, hubs really stepped up to the plate. I walked into the kitchen to find a huge roach on top of the refridgerator. I ran out screaming like Gaddafi’s army had just stormed the place ( I have a completely irrational fear of those things, and we live in the very deep South, so they are huge and no matter how much you pay for pest control, you will inevitably see them in your home once or twice a year). Hubs just shooed me away from the kitchen. He then proceeded to knock it onto the floor and smash it with something (disposable, he promised). Then he sprayed down the area with Tilex and assured me it was now safe to go back into the kitchen.

Alright, now that I think about it, Hubs isn’t so bad. I guess I’ll let him live. At least for today…