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. 

Babes in Catalunya

The kids. 

I'd say they are thriving.

It was sort of a blessing and a curse that they are so young while we are having this adventure.  A blessing that they are too young to have close friendships or ties to school that would make this transition hard for them, but a curse because they really won't remember much of this experience looking back.  But I have to think, by being here in a big city and traveling together as a family, we are creating an environment that is conducive to learning and growing -- they may not remember every detail, or leave speaking fluent Spanish, but they will have the opportunity to see and experience things that expand their minds and encourage their curiosity.  At least, I hope this is the case. 

In their little love bug at Poblenou's summer carnival

Overall, the transition for them was fairly seamless due to their ages.   However, I will say, coming back from our US visit this summer was a bit sad.  Evan started crying when he saw our front door in Barcelona as we pulled up in the cab from the airport, and it broke my heart.  He is a family man, that Evan, and loved the time spent with his grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  I think it was hard for him to see our house here, and realize that meant we were far away again and wouldn't be back for a while.  He did readjust quickly though, and we make sure to talk about family, show pictures, and remind him we can always talk on the computer with everyone whenever he wants.  Though, those two have Skype ADD, and the time change with their early bedtimes will forever make it difficult.  We will keep at it though, because I know how important ongoing contact is for us all...it is always something I want to keep working at improving on.

But then there are the positives...

Here in Barcelona, and perhaps Spain in general, people have a special affection for children.  I've mentioned this before, but I'd say 8 out of 10 people we pass on the street either stop to talk, or at least smile and pat the children's heads, as we walk by.  When they have little fits on the metro, there is usually an elderly woman near by who scoots down to distract Mia with her hand fan, or tickle her legs to make her laugh.  It's a nice way to grow up, in my opinion.  Having the whole world smile at you.  Children are included in everything...it doesn't matter how nice the restaurant is, how dangerous the festival is, or how late in the evening it is, children are there.  Families are together.  And while I, personally, enjoy a nice adult meal without the kids now and then, and know when it is better (for my own sanity) to leave them home...I can really appreciate the inclusion, acceptance, and love people have for children here. 

People from home ask me a lot if they are learning Spanish -- yes, but only a little.  They have their greetings down, and Evan completely recognizes what is Spanish and what is English as it is spoken.  It is true, at their age they are little language sponges ripe for learning and absorbing.  However, since we speak English at home, it really only works if they are put into a native school.  Here in Barcelona, the vast majority of children start school at age 3 -- and it is not "pre-school", they go to school just like 1st graders, all day everyday.  Additionally, the public schools here are all in Catalan -- pretty much a completely different language from Spanish. So, while technically Evan could be enrolled in public school here in Barcelona at his age, I wasn't thrilled with him spending 8 hours a day, every day, at school at age 3, and also wasn't super concerned with him learning Catalan since it is really only spoken in this region of the world.  Last spring, after we arrived, we had him enrolled in an international pre-school in the mornings.  They had four language groups: Spanish, Catalan, German, and English.  He loved it, but since they strongly urged us to stick with the English group, he wasn't hearing a whole lot of Spanish other than from the other kids on the playground. 

This school year we decided to just forgo pre-school altogether and send Evan to the pre-school of life :)  Diverting the tuition cost towards extra travel seemed prudent at this stage of the game -- especially since I'm home entertaining Mia all day anyway.  We figure, if we can show them more of the world in exchange for giving up circle time and runny noses, then we want to do it.  Kindergarten will still be there waiting for him when we return to the US in a few years.

So I'm up to my ears in toddlers these days, but, in a way they are entering a really nice stage making it easier when they are both together doing the same things, eating, and napping together.  They fight, of course, but I'm also starting to notice more and more that they really look to have the other close by at all times, and are finally starting to engage each other in play.  Mia will always adore Evan, but it took Evan a solid two years to accept that Mia, is indeed, here to stay and he might as well play with her, or at the very least, try and keep her alive.  They are starting to ask lots of questions about they way the world works, and making up their own little scenarios and ideas.  I'm no longer spending the day with little grunting, tottering little blobs (and I mean that with the greatest of affection), they are actually their own little people now and I feel very lucky to be able witness this. 

It is never boring.  Never.  We have a lot of parks and playgrounds close by, we run errands, we go to bookstores, and also have a playgroup we recently started going to one day per week.  It is a lot of balancing getting household stuff done, providing some stimulating activity for them (this does not always happen), and getting every one's basic needs met.  I will say it is MUCH easier now that we have almost fully adjusted to living here.  We have our routines, we know what we need, and where to get it.   I'm quickly forgetting those early weeks here when it felt like our entire world was turned upside down, and I didn't know which way was up...Life feels manageable, and dare I say it, normal?

 

 

Like every mother, I have moments of the day when I am one tantrum away from curling up in a ball and rocking myself in the corner of the room.  And for a while, it was easy to sort of get lost in that, especially when it was compounded by the frustrations that come with moving abroad.  But I've recently started trying to look at each day as an opportunity to make something great -- if I don't, I start to drown in the squabbles and the routines and to me, that is a waste of our time here and my time with my children. Yeah, it is damn hard, but, it is also hilarious and rewarding spending all day with two of my favorite people in the world. If we make chocolate chip cookies, we shall eat them in a fort.  If it is raining and we have cabin fever, then we will put on our crocs and bathing suits and find puddles to splash in.  And if all else fails, I pour a glass of wine and turn on Pocoyo.  Because sometimes that is pretty great too.  I will do the best I can, make the most of what I can, and forgive myself when I don't. 

Bottom line is, they are happy.  They are doing what almost 2 year-olds and 3 year olds do.  They are finding their independence, spreading their wings, and peeing all over the toilet seat.  Life is good.



Loving their new popcorn maker -- seriously, this is their favorite toy ever, thanks to my friend cleaning out her kitchen!



Catching kernals as they fly out