Half Empty This Week

I try, for the most part, to stay on the sunny side of life.  We all have the dark and ugly moments in our lives, that's a given.  Why not choose to capture and remember the positive, inspiring moments instead?

This isn't one of those kind of posts.

I'm a little done with Spain this week.  (Sorry, Spain...this isn't all your fault).

Maybe it's the month long string of illnesses circling this family like a possessed tornado...kicked off by a round of bronchitis, followed by conjunctivitis, and capped off with a charming case of gastritis.  This delightful germ trio led us directly into the eighteen day long winter break for the big kids from pre-school.
 
24/7 with all three go a little something like this:

8pm-8pm:  The hungriest, albeit cutest, little human on earth latched on to me like a tick every two hours.

8am-8pm:   Cleaning the same messes all day long set to a soundtrack going something like this:

"What's after Monday?"
"Tuesday."
"What's after Tuesday?"
"Wednesday."
"What's after Wednesday?"
"Thursday."
"Is it Thursday?"
"No, it's Tuesday."
"Is it Wednesday?"
"No, it's Tuesday."
"Is it Monday?"
"No, I just told you twice, it's Tuesday."
"I'm hungry."
*eye twitch*

Ok, so we get out of the house in an attempt to avoid the mess-clean-mess cycle of hell, and we get...the stares.

I'm so over the stares.  The non-stop stares I get when I'm out with all three.  I'll break it down.  Sextuplets :: United States as Three Kids :: Barcelona.  While we do get a lot of positive smiles and head pats for the kids as we walk by, there is also the head shakes, forehead slaps,  "Madre Mia!" (construction worker), to "Tres!  Oy!".  I used to smile and offer some witty little comment.  This slowly faded into just a smile, now I'm starting to just stare back.

I'm over paying Amazon UK my weight in British Pounds just to get something I need shipped here without getting stuck in Spanish customs, which is where EVERY SINGLE PACKAGE coming from the United States goes to die. I would like 5 minutes alone in a room with the organizer of Spanish Customs in Madrid.  They need a swift slap upside the head.  They are currently holding my mother-in-law's Christmas presents  to the kids hostage, along with my magical jeans from NYC -- promised to make me look like I'm not a haggard mother of three and take the place of yoga pants as my new daily uniform.  Yes, I needed those.  "You should embrace the clothing here" my happy Barcelona folks will say.   Um, according to Spanish clothing standards, I'm morbidly obese.  Not a fact well faced by a postpartum woman.

I'm over holidays away from my family.  I tried to overcompensate this year by planning elaborate meals for us to make it seem "special".  Christmas Eve shrimp scampi and baked artichokes went well, but in my effort to simplify the process and plan ahead, I bought the Christmas turkey two days in advance.  TWO DAYS.  Tuesday night I go to plop it in the carefully crafted brine I made, which took me one day and five stores to gather the ingredients to make, and find the turkey has already gone bad.  "Oh", my sunny Barcelona friends will say, "that is because they don't pump all those nasty American preservatives, antibiotics, and hormones in the food here."  Fine.  But seriously, two days?!  It wasn't even near the "sell by" date.  So we had Christmas cookies and champagne/milk for dinner...which actually wasn't so bad.

We've been in a rut since Jordi was born.  Rightfully so, but a rut nonetheless.  After spending our beautiful Saturday this week in our PJs until 1pm, with our big "outing" as a walk to Chris' office to pick up a piece of mail, we realized we needed to motivate.  Time's wasting, and life is challenging no matter what we are doing....we might as well be out seeing what we can as a family.  We made a plan that night to venture out of Barcelona the following day, and were up and out of the house by 8am on Sunday, hopping the Renfe train to Tarragona to see Port Aventura, the biggest theme park in this region.  That seemed to inject some life into us again, reminding us why we are here, and that we are capable of carrying on the adventure as a family of five.

Hopefully next week it will be back to the regularly scheduled sunny disposition....holiday homesickness over, week day routine reinstated, with the accompanying time to breathe and reboot.  Until then, I plan to combat the moody by cranking up the Spotify, stocking some Cava, and getting out of town this weekend on another day trip.

A big cheers to everyone at home, have a safe and Happy New Year.    :)

Do I Kiss the Vet?

"Do I kiss the Vet?"

Actual question I asked to Chris just before our vet arrived at our home.  Sounds crazy, right?  Who kisses their vet?  I'll tell you.

People in Spain.

I told myself I wasn't going to do this.  I wasn't going to blog about the double kiss.  Cause blogging about the double kiss means I put thought into the double kiss, and putting thought into the double kiss means I'm not cool and natural when it comes to the double kiss.  However, after I almost kissed an Italian (female) relative of Chris's co-worker on the lips at a wedding this summer after a double kiss crash and burn, I'm pretty sure the cat was way out of the bag that I'm neither cool nor natural when it comes to European greetings.

And you ask yourself..."What was she doing kissing her husband's, co-worker's, brother's, wife in the first place?"  Exactly.

You'd think my semester abroad back in college would have helped school me on the rules and etiquette, especially since the French throw in a whole new level of difficulty with THREE kisses instead of two.  But, no.  Here I am, twelve years later, and just as clueless as I was back then. In case anyone out there is wondering, the double kiss is the air kiss greeting when you basically bump both cheeks and make a kissing smacking sound as you do it.  Harmless enough, yet it isn't the act of air kissing that boggles my mind...it's the who and when of it all.

Thing is, I like guidelines.  Rules.  Something you can learn, then follow.  For instance:  Handshakes or Hugs = Double kisses.  Replace one for the other.  Simple, easy.  NOPE.  I arrive at Chris's work one day to pick up a set of keys because I had locked myself out.  I was annoyed and sweaty.  I creep up to Chris's desk, tap him on the shoulder and quietly ask him for the keys.  Next thing I know, every guy Chris works with within a 10 meter radius is hopping up from their desk to come over and kiss me hello.  In hindsight this was a sweet and wonderful  "ain't Europe grand" kinds of experiences, but in that moment I'm thinking...seriously?  We're doing this now?

That's just it.  There's no rhyme or reason.  I think this whole kiss thing is a secret language that no one wants to teach because they all secretly enjoy watching us (me?) squirm.  When we start to pick up the trail, they throw us off with a curve ball...like changing up the kissing from left to right, to right to left (the patented move of my Italian buddy at the wedding).  Even better -- different countries have different rules, so then you are faced with the even more complicated issue of figuring out if you follow the rule of the country you are IN or the country they are FROM.  I know, I know, there is way too much thought put into this, but seriously, it is freakishly awkward.  All this needs to be thought about and decided before you actually go in for the greeting, otherwise, you end up in a half hug/half kiss situation, or worse, a kiss on the lips situation -- which, trust me, ain't cool.

I asked my husband what he thinks the rules are, and his reply?   "Just kiss everyone".  Humph.

So maybe I'm over thinking this.  But for anyone that plans to make a home over here, be warned.  Practice the air kissing, and be prepared to use it on just about everyone you meet.  As for me, the hugs will be flowing like water when I come home to the US out of sheer relief. :)

Kiss kiss.  Adios.