Creating Holiday Memories

In the past, major holidays used to invoke this uneasy feeling inside me.  It was that expectation something grand or exceptional must take place.  That, somehow, my traditions might not live up to the expectation of what the holidays were intended to be or what others around me were experiencing.

Then you grow up a bit, and realize life is not a Folger's commercial. The rest of the world is not in holiday ecstasy living a picture perfect holiday, nor is that even important.  Holidays are, in fact, very personal.  Not so much something that is happening to you, but rather, an empty jar ready to be filled with whatever you like.  A successful holiday for me, now, is dependant only on embracing the positives, creating the memories I hold close to my heart, and finding fulfillment and meaning in those precious moments when they happen.

The beauty is, I've realized so much of what I love and desire about the holidays is really just a result of making the conscious decision to live it.  To create it.  There's no other magic to it.  And really, isn't that what we all look forward to as we start our own families?  Embracing what we loved about our childhood, carrying on those traditions, and adding the things we as adults want to incorporate for the next generation.

Holiday time in Barcelona has been a brillant exercise in exactly this.  Thanksgiving morning I did have a few tears as I thought about my family -- it was always a day filled with happy memories as a child, a day our family loved in particular.  I missed my family this year, and it stung.  But, after a long hug from Chris, I decided to create the day I hoped to have.  A house smelling of turkey, sage, and butter.  A table set with the good dishes.  Candles lit.  Homemade desserts in the oven.  A drink in my hand. :)  And as I went about the day, creating the scene, the good feelings took over and I began to reflect on what it all really meant.  I especially appreciated that, while here in Barcelona, I am seeing this amazing holiday from afar and can appreciate its beauty at arm's length.  A whole new perspective.

Our actual Thanksgiving day was a quiet one, the four of us sitting around the table, talking about what it means to be thankful with the children.  We ate our turkey cutlet dinner, pausing to smile at each other and appreciate the moment....laughing at Mia's ice-cream mustache (and Chris' real one), and lingering at the table long after dinner was over, as Chris and I finished our bottle of wine and ignored the chaos of two toddlers on a sugar high.  It wasn't fancy, but was everything I wanted that day to be.  We were together as a family. 

 

That mustache...

 

The holiday extended into the weekend, as fellow American friends gathered together on Saturday for a large, more traditional day of feasting, laughing, drinking, and acknowledging a shared gratitude for life's incredible blessings.  A day hosted by some ex-pat friends, 3 years deep into life abroad, opening their home and doing what they do best -- offering friendship and support, celebrating this life abroad, and reminding us what it means to be part of a larger family.  Because, here -- this little community -- we are family.  In every sense of the word.  And it felt good to merge that new concept of family with an old tradition, miles away from the familiar faces we left behind.  It felt like we were exercising our emotional muscles, creating new relationships, finding the beauty, and making memories. 

Happy Holidays to all. 

Cheers XO

New Addition

Well, we fought the good fight, I think.  We came, we embraced, we sat idly by with infinite patience.  But, after 10 months, we have decided to expand our family...we are, once again, with dryer.  And is it pure heaven.

The new addition :)  She lives outside with her sister the washing machine, and brother the freezer. 

During the summer, I had no problems with drying our clothes hanging outside.  We got direct sun in the back yard starting in May, so a load of clothes would dry in the hot 90+ degree sun in the time it took for the next wash load to be done -- almost faster than an actual dryer would dry them.  I loved how the sun bleached the whites naturally, and the way the clothes smelled drying outside.  It really wasn't an issue...then October hit. 

The sun in back dissapeared, and I was left outside beside our perpetually sad, damp laundry, staring longingly up at the neighboring building behind us as their laundry flapped in wind and direct sun, almost mocking me with its vigor ...it's funny the things you start to envy.  It used to be nicely decorated houses with fancy seasonal hurricane glass displays.... now all I really want is sunlight and a stiff breeze.   For the past two months it has taken a solid 3 days to dry our clothes after they are washed.  And I use the term "dry" loosely, because they are never really dry.  Slightly damp at best.  And when I was having to plan my outfit 5 days in advance, and blow drying my children's pants in the morning while the laundry piled up to the ceiling, I finally had to pull the plug..or plug in the plug as it may be.  We bought an electric dryer.

Purchase day was actually kind of humorous.  We were like starving beasts in a room full of fresh meat.  As the very nice saleswoman tried to explain which of the units were the most energy efficient (clearly the top priority, as it should be for everyone, here in Spain) we couldn't be bothered.  After close to a year of living the earth friendly "no dryer" life, we really only cared about getting our clothes good and dry as fast as possible...

"Yeah yeah...energy efficient, we get it.  Which unit will scorch the living daylights out of our clothes in record time?" 

I kid. :)

That first load was like Christmas morning.  I held the hot, DRY clothes close, marveling that in just two hours, the clothes went from dirty to clean and dry.  Modern day miracle. 

I shall never take my dryer for granted again.  And while I will enjoy me some energy sucking laundering this winter, come May, I know we will resume our Earth friendly metal rack drying.  Until then, I am happily folding clean dry clothes inside, looking out the window at as it rains.  Ah, it is a good day indeed. 

Roaming Rome

The "Girls Trip".  

I can't remember a recent time back in the US when my girlfriends and I decided to pick up and take off for a two or three day trip somewhere alone.  Obviously, there are many reasons for this, the most obvious being that many of my close friends live so far away, the travel is mostly to get TO one another, not so much to see a new destination or have some much needed "girls-only" time away.  Add to this new babies, jobs, and hectic schedules to juggle, and it is clear why making these kinds of little getaways happen can be close to impossible while home in the US.  It seems it would take us weeks to plan just a dinner! (This needs to change!)

Here, we have a few things on our side...a simplified schedule, no little babies in the mix, close proximity to one another, and cheap travel!  In 90 minutes, and only 40€ for the flight (a measly 14€ each way minus the fees...seriously, we are taking the price for lunch!) we were in Italy.  Amazing.

With my rockstar husband happy hold down the fort so I can use this time to explore and recharge,  I headed out on a little mini-vacation with two new friends to Rome, Italy.

Looking down at the city from the top of the Spanish Steps

Rome was filled with several of those "I can't believe I'm here" moments...art and history books materializing at every turn, making it an almost impossible task to fully take in where I was and what I was seeing at any given moment.  Yet, there we were...standing inside the Sistine Chapel, staring up at that stunning ceiling...watching the Pope himself as he spoke to a crowd of thousands outside St. Peter's Basilica...wandering inside the Colosseum, looking down at the intricate paths once used by Gladiators.  Grateful, is the word the comes to mind, every time I think about this trip.  Grateful for the opportunity.

The Pantheon

The Colosseum

 

Fontana di Trevi

Inside The Colosseum

Julie and Chris mid audio-tour inside Colosseum

Inside The Colosseum

View of the Forum/Ruins from inside The Colosseum

My friends had both seen Rome previously, but thankfully they were more than happy to return.  As Chris put it, "I don't think it's possible to get Rome'd out."  Having now seen it myself, I must say, I couldn't agree with her more.

And so it began, as we walked and talked our way across the city -- impressively, not using any form of transportation, besides our own two feet, the entire three days we were there.  The walking was what I would classify as hardcore.  We are talking 8 hours of walking per day, with the first day starting at 3am to make a 6am flight, followed by a full day of walking/sightseeing and ending after dinner at 10pm.  However, it was well worth the small amount of physical pain, and it certainly made the incredible pasta, pizza, and gelato well earned and all that much more enjoyable. 

The plan was to see as much as we could, without too much advanced planning or sense of urgency.  This trip was about enjoying each other's company and just experiencing a change of pace as much as it was about sightseeing.  And so, walking and museums were punctuated with glasses of wine out in front of the Colosseum.  Lunches were long, and if we got lost, we sat by the side of the road, snapped a few pictures, and eventually found our way to the right path.  No big thing. 

View of St. Peter's Basilica looking down the Tiber River

Cause they can.  :)  This one is for my Mom.

The Pope out in front of St. Peter's 

Pope on TV

Vatican City Baby!

Inside the Vatican Museum

St. Peter's Basilica

Inside the Vatican Museum

Trastevere -- quaint little neighborhood, more locals less tourists

Julie and Chris contemplating life a top the Spanish steps :)

Trastevere

Pantheon at night

Our delicious "snack dinner" of local wine, salami, and cheese

Inside the Forum

Inside the Forum

Gelato!

The week wrapped up, and before I knew it, we were sitting on the floor of the dodgy Ciampino Airport, once again taking part in the Ryanair cattle call.  Sigh...

A fantastic three days, filled with great conversation and company.  I was happy to come home to hugs and lovin' from my favorite faces here in Barcelona, but already looking forward to our next adventure together.  Until next time ladies!


No Mail for You

There are many more important, meaningful things to write about right now...my trip to Rome, future planning, the upcoming holidays...

But, I need to share this.

Let me start by saying that there are many parts of Spainish life that are well organized, and logical.  For starters, the city is immaculate -- a fact that is made more evident the more I travel around Europe.  The city workers are out all day, every day, clearing the streets and parks of trash, washing roads, trimming trees, repairing and repaving sidewalks...hell, I even saw one guy yesterday meticulously replacing tiny tiles on a decorative mosaic sculpture at one of the parks down by the ocean.  And no...this was not a tourist site, or famous sculpture...just another sculpture with a little tile missing.  Decorative sculptures and structures are everywhere.  I kid you not.  This city is an artistic masterpiece, just gorgeous. 

The holidays come around, and, on cue, the city's decorations go up.  As we speak, neighborhoods throughout Barcelona are systematically being strung with lights and festive illuminated images.  Barcelona parties hard, after every city-wide fiesta and/or parade (which there are many...usually involving explosives) there is inevitably an army of cleaning trucks and workers, blasting through the mess with water, and sweeping up the debauchery leaving Barcelona the gleaming beauty she is, once again. 

And the cabs?  Amazing.  Just amazing.  Not only are they all marked exactly the same as yellow and black Priuses, they are plentiful and pretty much always spotless inside and out.  Unlike in the US, the driver isn't on his cell phone screaming in another language while simultaneously smoking and ripping you off.  Here the drivers are professionals -- always well dressed and groomed, they look like your uncle and are usually very friendly and willing to let you practice your sad Spanish skills with them.  At the airport they are lined up, and because there is only one taxi service and they do not receive tips, there is no one soliciting or trying to drag you away to their own service.  You just walk to the stand, let the guy know how many people/bags, and they point to the next available taxi.  NO other city I have traveled to has an airport taxi system quite like it.  It is heaven.  Is it possible the taxi driver will take you on a tour of the city if you clearly don't know where you are going to jack up the price?  Yes.  But I haven't had an issue with this yet.

While we are on the subject -- the public transportation also kicks ass.  I can firmly say that Barcelona is probably one of the most child friendly cities in the world.  Now that I'm savvy enough to understand and use the bus system, I'm obsessed.  The buses, also spotless, go EVERYWHERE, and are absolutely huge inside, room enough for 2 or 3 strollers to be wheeled right on.  Plus there is a tram system, also huge and big enough for strollers, and I think something like 80% of the subways have elevators (Poblenou, my stop, unfortunately does not). 

Now, on to the postal system.

Mail here, in my humble opinion, is kind of a joke.  Ain't nothing gettin' in...and today I've realized, ain't nothin' getting out, either.

Let's take it back to April, when my sister kindly tried to send us two care packages to our home address.  I had already received a package at our house previously, so I had no idea that having mail sent to a residential address can sometimes not work out so well.  When the weeks ticked by, and the packages still had not arrived, I checked the tracking online to find that both packages were in Madrid, stuck in customs.  "Great!"  I thought.  They are in Spain!  It will probably just be a couple days before they are released, and I'll have my stuff.

Yeah, no.

I won't bore you with the details, but what followed was a hair pulling charade of faxing, emailing, re-faxing, emailing, and playing cat and mouse with Spanish customs office over what seems to me to be an obnoxious amount of paperwork in order to have two small boxes of stuff delivered.  I would give them what they want, they would email a week later asking me to fax it again.  I would give them what they want, and they would email saying they had nothing.  I would give them what they want, and then they finally informed me IN JULY (this went on for three full months) that my stuff was on its way back to the United States.  Sigh.

After that debacle, I wised up.  If anything needed to be sent to us, it needed to be sent to Chris's work where professional Spanish speakers at his company can deal with customs issues should they arise. 

Since that time, we've had a few successful deliveries -- however, my mother recently mailed a birthday present to Mia, paying extra to have it delivered on time for her birthday (October 21st), and it still isn't here.  We got the dreaded customs "notice" in the mail a few weeks ago, faxed what they needed immediately...and guess what...we still haven't received her gift.  I'll bet you all the money in Spain that if I called them today, they'd ask me to fax exactly what we already faxed to them in order to get our stuff.  I would love to see that fax machine in the customs office.  I picture a lone fax machine, in an empty room, overflowing with paperwork sent by all the poor foreign schmucks like myself.

So basically, if stuff is sent here, about 50% makes it past customs unscathed.  The rest is caught in the web, and so far, we haven't been successful in getting it out of customs when it does get caught. 

OK, OK.  Can't win them all.  So I can't count on shipping here in Spain.  I can roll with it. 

But today I attempted to do my first mailing OUT of Spain.  And it was priceless. 

So, I had ordered some new glasses online from a great American website Warby Parker.  Somehow, I knew trying to order prescription glasses here in Spain would end up being more work than it was worth, and Warby Parker has fab glasses, amazingly good prices, and does all the work for you in terms of finding out your current prescription.  To me, it made sense to order them online, have them sent to my mother in law Judie, and have Judie ship them to me here. 

Well, the Spain Mail Gods were good to me, and we got the packages Judie so nicely sent us -- nothing caught in customs!!!!  Hooray!!!  Except, the glasses did not fit the way I hoped, and decided to call Warby to see if I could exchange -- which they were totally cool with.  Not only were they cool with it, they immediately mailed different pair, and told me just to ship the glasses I had back as soon as I could. 

Hmmm...I hadn't mailed anything from Spain yet.  It has been, what, 9 months?  The post office here isn't my favorite place, for obvious reasons.  They really, really don't like to speak English, even if they are able, and there is usually a line of angry people (just like in the US) behind me who aren't super excited that I'm stumbling along in my broken Spanish holding everything up.  So I avoid that place like the plague.  I had passed a Mailboxes, Etc. many times here in Poblenou, and always made a mental note that it was there.  We had one back in Rowley, that I loved -- they used UPS, and it was always so easy to just pop in, drop off what I needed to have mailed, and run out. 

So, today, I headed over there to the Mailboxes, Etc. to send my tiny little 1oz. glasses box back to New York, NY.  Now, I had just received an email yesterday from Judie saying the new glasses were on their way to Barcelona by way of USPS, they cost just $11 to ship. 

I could tell immediately when I walked in, this isn't like the Mailboxes, Etc. in the US.  Now, from what I understand, the only way to ship internationally to the US is through UPS or FedEx -- and this place uses UPS.  First off, there are no prices listed anywhere like they are in most UPS or FedEx stores.  I was handed off to what appeared to be the owner, and he informed me he had to take the destination address "in back" and do some figuring to find out the best price for me.  Ok....

After filling out the UPS form, showing him my minuscule glasses box, and waiting 10 minutes for him to write down three figures on a piece of paper, he comes back with a series of prices.  All between 90 - 110 euros (around $125).  Mind you, the glasses I'm sending back are $95.  I kind of smile, and explain that what I'm mailing back is not worth the cost of shipping, and I can't pay that much for shipping. 

I'm ready to get my box and leave, when he comes back with:

"What about 85 euros?  That's as low as I can go..."

Um, since when is postage negotiable?  I get the fact that I'm in a private company offering shipping services, but seriously? 

I'm kind of taken off guard, and everyone in the place is staring at me at this point...

"Um, no thank you.  I really, really appreciate you taking the time to find options for me, but the cost is way too high.  It costs $11 to ship this exact box from the US to Barcelona."

He THEN comes back with:

"Ok, Ok.  I have another company that does shipping.  I could ship it through them for 60 euros.  How about that?"

I felt like I was at a Toyota dealership, and this guy was trying to sell me a new Camry.  We are talking about postage here people.

I, again, politely declined, and asked for my box back...and get out of there, and everyone in the place seemed shocked and somewhat pissed I wasn't going to ship it with them. 

Where are we?  Antarctica?  How could it cost over $100 to send a little box to NYC? 

I fully get that there is likely a cheaper option, and I am being scammed...but I guess postage is one of those things that I assume isn't gouged too much -- you pay for speed or weight, but generally don't expect an owner to adjust the price depending on how naive you might be. 

I am now faced with the task of finding some Vistaprinters traveling back to the US soon to smuggle this to the US for me, or braving Correos, the local post office, to see if they are a little more fair and honest.  Sheeesh. 

And thus is the story of the hustlin' postal man. 

The Roller Coaster

My mother gave a beautiful speech at our wedding.  It was unprompted, unrehearsed, and unscripted...it was from her heart, and was full of love and gentle advice for the future.  She quoted one of her favorite movies, using a variation of this monologue:

"You know, when I was nineteen, Grandpa took me on a roller coaster... Up, down, up, down. Oh, what a ride!... I always wanted to go again. You know, it was just so interesting to me that a ride could make me so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, and so thrilled all together! Some didn't like it. They went on the merry-go-round. That just goes around. Nothing. I like the roller coaster. You get more out of it."
-- Parenthood, the movie.

My mother then lifted her glass and told us, "Here's to always choosing the roller coaster."

So, Mom?  Last week was all your fault.  (Kidding)

Her speech, and that quote, have been on my mind lately.

I could almost feel the physical fall last Monday.  I had clanked... clanked... clanked... clanked all the way to the crest in Andorra, feeling the excitement and thrill as I looked around...the world was beautiful, and we were in it...then felt the ultimate rush of the initial free fall letting the happiness wash over me...

Then, down I came.  Falling faster, faster, finding myself at the bottom again.  Where was the bottom?  Oh, that's easy.  It was bawling crying in the middle of my Spanish tutor session on Friday.  In the middle of a crowded cafe.  Because I couldn't think of the words in Spanish to describe my morning.  Yeah, I'd say that was my rock bottom last week. 

It was a wacky, crazy, emotional week. 

I can't explain the ups and downs here.  Well, OK, that's not entirely true.  Sometimes I can.  The trips to cool new places, and the temper tantrums on the subways -- those kinds of ups and downs are easy to spot.  But the low this week wasn't so easy to spot.  It was unexpected, unexplainable, and unwelcome.  Especially after such a great weekend together on vacation and looking ahead to Mia's birthday weekend at the end of the week...where was this coming from?

Perhaps it was lack of sleep as Mia tries to figure out exactly how sleeping-through-the-night works without a pacifier.  Clearly, sleep deprivation doesn't do great things to one's psyche. 

Or maybe it was the fact that sometimes I just simply don't want to be learning another language from scratch.  Of course, I want to speak Spanish.  Hell, while I'm at it, I want to speak Italian and German too.  I just don't necessarily want to learn to do these things.  I just want to do it.   I don't want to use the last neuron synapses I have left at the end of the day to try and figure out which of the four past tenses I should be using in Spanish (I want to be belly up on the sofa watching all four seasons of Felicity in their entirety, in case you were wondering). 

Or maybe it was because the mean checkout lady at Mercadona is still mean.  Still.  After 8 months.

Or maybe I was just lonely.

Or maybe there just wasn't an explanation.  Maybe it just was a bad week, and I felt like crying.  And I had to accept it, and push through... onward and upward to the next crest, however big or small.   

We made that decision.  We got on the roller coaster. 

Thankfully, Mia's birthday celebration on Sunday was exactly what I needed to lift the funk.  A big bowl of spaghetti and meatballs topped off with a piece of birthday cake will likely pull anyone out of a funk.  And watching a little someone prancing around in a blue sequined tutu didn't hurt either :)

And now, back to that Spanish homework.  Here's hoping for a better week.
 

So Long Old Pal

 

It is the end of an era.  Dinkie's gone.

I had wondered how this story ended...I guess I figured that, when it was time, it would be clear to us when the pacifier days were over.

And it happened this past weekend while in Andorra..

Evan had picked up her pacifier while we were in the hotel room, and popped it in his mouth running around to get our attention.  He never does this, and when I noticed he was loudly gnawing on the thing, I grabbed it out of his mouth.  That night, and for the rest of the weekend, I noticed dinkie was making a racket as Mia sucked away.  I figured it was because we were all sharing a hotel room, and we weren't used to hearing it so closely...but....on closer look, I saw that the nipple part had two cracks in it.  Likely from Evan chewing on it, but who knows.  That giraffe has been in a mouth for two years now, it was bound to wear out sooner or later.  On the 3hr drive home, after noticing sleeping Mia was completely covered in drool in her car seat from the stupid dinkie losing its suction, Chris and I agreed...it was time.  Dinkie was broken, and in addition to being a choking hazard at this point with all the cracks, we knew we couldn't replace it.  As I had mentioned before , Mia won't accept a replacement as this point in her life (we had even tried to introduce an identical Wubbanub giraffe match during our visit to the US in August, she wanted NOTHING to do it, going as far as crying and throwing it across the room at its very sight).  The last dink standing was fatally wounded.  We needed to pull the plug. 

After we got home, I started to have second thoughts...maybe we didn't need to do this TONIGHT...until Chris grabbed the beloved giraffe, and said, "You ready?"

"Uh, I'm not sure----"

*SNIP* 

Off came the entire nipple.  I won't lie, it was kind of like a gun shot.  For the past two years, especially the last 6 months, I have guarded this little piece of cotton and plastic with my life.  Constantly looking to see if it was still in the stroller, still in the car, still in her hand, still in her mouth...searching for it before bed, worrying if needed a wash or not...It was like working as a private body guard, then suddenly given the job of assassinating the same person you had sworn to protect. 

After we cut off the nipple, we handed it to her, and Chris hugged me as we watched and I fought back tears (I'm a wuss).

She tried to put it in her mouth a few times, then pulled it out, confused, and stared at it.

"Dinkie's broken.  Dinkie's broken."  she repeated, over and over.

She wasn't upset, per se.  I'd say she was equal parts shocked and confused.   

There were no tears, just wide eyes, and declarations of the new turn of events.   All in all, it seemed I was the one who took it the hardest.  And I was even shocked when, after only 15-20 minutes of extra stories and soothing, she was fast asleep in her crib, for the first time in her life, without a pacifier at bedtime.  

That was the calm before the storm. 

9pm hit, and she was up screaming bloody murder.  Nothing we did helped, and together Chris and I sat by her crib, rubbing her back trying to soothe her as she mourned the loss of her friend. 

"Diiiiinkie's broooooken....Diiiiiinkie's brooooken..." she sobbed.

Until...finally.... finally...she fell back to sleep.

After this heart wrenching episode, I broke one of my cardinal rules.  I started googling.  Never google parenting stuff.  No good comes of this. 

Apparently, taking away the pacifier cold turkey is traumatizing.  Apparently you are supposed to slowly snip away parts of the pacifier, or start by limiting it to certain times of day.  Or make believe little fairies took it.  Or just let her have it until she is 10.  Why didn't I plan this better?  My heart ached...I just ripped away her happy place.  And I couldn't take it back.

Unfortunately, I've never been a slow drip kind of a girl.  I dive in a pool.  When I make up my mind, I pull the trigger, I don't hem and haw.

The next morning, I kept trying to offering the stuffed animal portion of dinkie, hoping she would befriend him and find comfort in his presence alone, but she was DONE.  If he couldn't deliver what she wanted, she wanted nothing to do with him.  So we had a good bye party.  I told her, since he was broken, we should tell him good-bye, and send him where he could live with other broken dinkies (my weak attempt at the little fairy scenario I think?).  Evan informed me dinkie should be sent back to his mom and dad, which seemed reasonable.  Regardless, all this seemed to resonate with Mia, so she hugged him, kissed him, and put him in a bag to send away.  We said good-bye...and I think it really helped, because she seems to be a lot more at peace, and has rarely talked about him since.  Only around bedtimes, and after she wakes up.

Anyway, I have to say.  I am pleasantly surprised, and very proud of my girl since dinkie's departure.  Don't get me wrong, I'm still wracked with guilt, and wonder if my abrupt decision has now caused her permanent mental damage...that one day she will be laying on the proverbial therapists chair trying to figure out where her issues with trust came from... (these thoughts cross my mind too often)...that somehow I've robbed her of the biggest joy of her life thus far. 

But the changes I've seen in her in just the few short days of being dinkie free have reassured me.  Never mind the fact that her front teeth now actually have a fighting chance to, um, descend.  She is talking up a STORM.  It was almost as if the binkie was some kind of sedative for her...keeping her on mute.  But now that dink is out of the picture, she is more expressive.  In a good way.  She somehow seems more animated, using sentences describing everything she sees, and finding comfort in other more demonstrative ways.  Like hugging and kissing her dollies.  And sitting for extended periods of time petting the dog, and snuggling her blankets.  And maybe I'm just making this up, because I'm clinging to the positives in all of this, but it really seems as though she has gained some confidence knowing she doesn't need an object to make her happy.  Yes, her main comfort item is now gone, but that isn't to say she will never be comforted again...she is surrounded by people and objects there to make her smile. 

The sleep issue is an issue, but to be honest, it is always an issue with her.  If the wind blows in the wrong direction, she has sleep issues.    For now, immediately post dink, it takes her a while to be reassured enough to slowly drift to sleep...but she does.  She does it.  It still amazes me, and every day gets easier for her.  And I have to say, I love staring at her while she sleeps now.  You can actually see her beautiful face, peaceful and still, arms folded across her chest relaxed. 

So that's it.  Maybe it's not a big deal is most people's books, but it is a big deal around here.  My baby is not a baby anymore, and as we fast approach her 2nd birthday in less than a week, I am seeing my little girl with new eyes.  I'm so proud of her. 

Finding Fall in Andorra

I knew it was coming.  September 1st.  When the emails, pictures, and facebook posts would start rolling in, something along the lines of:

"Off to the apple orchard in my jeans and sweater to drink pumpkin coffee and eat cider donuts whilst sitting on a hay bale."

I'd be reading this, while the little a/c unit that could hummed alongside me, wondering how it is possible that it is October and I'm still wearing tank tops and sweating like a banshee.   

I know everyone loves fall.  But I really love fall. 

I'm a corn stalk buyin', pumpkin hoardin', apple pickin' freak.  Never mind that 3/4 of our little family here have birthdays in the fall, I just love the change...that feeling of hunkering down together inside, watching the cold wind whip the leaves around.  It's cozy, it's comfortable.  It's home.

Yes, I know missing fall is a small price to pay for living in a temperate climate abroad year round...and while we here in Barcelona will be having 65 degree sunny picnics in the park in March, everyone back home will be have changed their facebook posts to something along the lines of:

"Dear Winter:  If you could please pack your sh*t and leave, that would be great.  Thanks"

So I know this woe-is-me feeling will pass, but still...I had to do something.

I decided that if fall doesn't exist here in Barcelona, then I will make a fall.  The first order of business was paraphernalia.  The hand-print-leaf wreath the kids and I made wasn't quite cutting it.  Oddly enough...pumpkins are hard to find here.  Only just now, mid-October, am I seeing them, and they are not for decoration.  There are pumpkins sitting in the produce shop windows with huge chunks hacked out of them.  People actually go to a store, and order a certain gram amount of pumpkin, then the store owner chops it off, and gives it to them to cook.  Um, that's no fun.  I don't want some ugly, hacked into pumpkin, thanks.  I don't want to cook the damn thing, I just want to stare at it on my deck until it rots.  Why can't you people understand this?!

You will find our interpretation of an autumn leaf wreath on top

So you can imagine my delight when, last weekend, I found a street vendor on the main drag in Poblenou selling full on gourds and mini-pumpkins!  I think I freaked the poor woman out, wondering why anyone would be this freaking excited to buy oblong, wart covered gourds.  Regardless, I got a bowl full, and -- voila -- fall ambiance has been achieved.  This, coupled with my Yankee candle and some contraband US canned pumpkin, and we are practically a little Vermont orchard up in here. 

I also knew, in addition to making a fall, we also needed to find it.  Somewhere.  Taking the advice of a well traveled friend here in Barcelona, we had decided to book a trip to Andorra for mid-October for this exact reason.  I knew, back when we booked it, that I would be home-sick and fall-sick this time of year, and in need of some cold weather and a good hard "this-is-why-we-live here" slap in the face.

Boy did we get it.

Andorra was AMAZING.  This tiny little country is just a 3 hour drive from Barcelona, but feels like a different continent.  Set amid the Pyrenees mountains, this country is essentially a mountain range, with little towns dotted along the narrow valleys between them.  And while it is still technically within the region of Catalonia, it just looked and felt so incredibly different.  I watched with delight as the temperature kept dropping as we drove further and further from the coast, and into the mountains towards Andorra.  When we arrived, I have to say, even I was shocked by the change.  When we left Barcelona, it was 25 C (77 F)...in Andorra, it was 7 C (44 F).  Craziness.
   

We opted to stay on the French side of Andorra, taking advantage of the off-season prices of an insanely beautiful ski-resort.  The massive lobby was filled with over sized cushioned armchairs circling heavy wooden tables...and there were grandly decorated wings filled with mahogany bars and twinkling chandeliers.  It was spectacular, yet had a little of that creepy Shining-esque feeling to it, since it was kind of deserted up there.  Summer and winter are the big tourist seasons in Andorra, so we essentially had the place to ourselves.  All the more space for toddlers to run.  It was perfect. 

 

We introduced the kids to the concept of cocktail hour that first night -- relaxing in the lounge arm chairs with two glasses of wine for Chris and I, and two fancy little bottles of OJ with straws for the kids (Mia was especially taken with this practice, and announced she wanted to "have drinks" every night for the rest of the trip).  Yes, there was a fair bit of chasing the kids around the hotel, apologizing to the other patrons trying to enjoy their solitude as my children chased each other shrieking, but overall I think the kids charmed the pants off our fellow hotel guests and staff.  They can turn on the charm when they want to. 

It was just a great weekend.

Full of outdoor walks in the woods. 

And a trip up to a wonderful little outdoorsy themed amusement part called Naturlandia.  This place is set on a mountain peak with breathtaking views and great attractions for kids like pony rides, bouncy houses, tiny little battery run jeeps, and trampolines. 

There were more activities for bigger kids, like archery and in-line skating, plus -- the coolest ride I've been on in my life.  Tobotronic.  The longest Alpine coaster on earth.

You board this little sleigh-like contraption, and proceed to be pulled up to the top of the mountain -- it takes over 15 minutes to get to the top, and the ride down is 5km of track, flying down around 20mph.  Click here to see a sweet you tube video someone took on the ride down.  Some friends of ours from Barcelona had joined us for a couple of the days in Andorra, and had very nicely offered to watch the kids while Chris and I experienced Tobotronic together.  In that time, I think Mia fell in love with our friend Dario, and Evan got unlimited jeep and pony rides.

We drank mulled wine, ate fondue, had hot chocolate, and even got a few hours at the amazing hotel spa. 

The weekend was capped off with a snow dusted morning on Monday, giving us that grand-fall finale we needed to feel fully rejuvenated and ready to head back to the tropics...I mean, Barcelona.

Yet, it is actually starting to feel like fall here in Barcelona too...you just have to know where to look.  Like noticing the covers have been taken off the Chiringuitos (beach bars) allowing the weakening sun to access all the tables all day long.  And the restaurant signs along the beaches are all back in Catalan instead of English signaling the end of tourist season.  Hey, it's not pumpkin coffee, but it is a sign that the seasons are a-changin'.  I'll take it.