Ahhh...Barcelona. The sun, the sea, the balmy breezes...the freakishly high and persistent humidity. This place is damp. When we first moved here my normally straight hair got its feathers in a ruffle, puffing out twice its normal size. A phenomenon my hairdresser assured me was temporary until "my hair got used to it", which oddly enough, it did. Similarly, while we are normally slathering ourselves with moisturizer all year long in Boston, this place has you glowing with nary a drop of lotion. It's been nice not having to leave half a paycheck at the Origins counter every six months for skin care!
But there is the downside...all this humidity doesn't pair well with our basement like dwelling. We live in a Bajos (ground) level apartment that is encased in stone. And while the exposed brick and stone is beautiful, the only ventilation is at the front and the back of the apartment -- front doors, back patio, and the kids' windows upstairs. In the summer, when the windows are open, or the a/c is running, the humidity is kept in check. But this winter, it kind of snuck up on us and we were finding that the front door and windows were saturated with water in the mornings from the high levels of humidity inside. Gross. Even grosser, was the mold that started to grow as a result. At first it was a little patch here and there near the front door. It would grow, we would clean it off. It would grow back, we would clean it off. Finally it started to grow out of our control, and growing up the walls and ceiling and leaving the house with a musty smell.
Cue the wife freak out in 3...2...1...
"We need to leave NOW".
This was me last week, researching all the terrible things living with mold will do to you and your small children, and why it was imperative that we start scrambling to pack up, and ship out three months earlier than we planned. To the people in the US, it isn't just mold, it is Killer Black Mold. To the people in Barcelona, it is an annoying part of life that can pop up from time to time, but you get rid of it, dehumidify, and move on with your life.
Thankfully, my husband was the voice of reason. We first called our landlord, and while he didn't seem surprised, he was extremely helpful and told us he would get his handyman on it right away.
Now, we've met this handyman of his. He is nice. Friendly. But urgency is not in his vocabulary. If you are lucky enough to catch them when they are not on holiday for the month, the "dispatch" would typically go something like this: you call them with a problem, someone will come the following day. Person looks at the problem, and declares, "yes, it's a problem". Then they leave. The following day they come back with tools to fix said problem, only to declare, "these are not all the tools I need", and leave. The next day they come back with the tools they need, begin work, then leave an hour later to eat breakfast and/or take a nap. Once the project was complete, we would usually get a "talking to" about why the problem was mostly our fault, and we should be more careful. I was in no mood.
We decided to take the matter into our own hands and immediately started researching how to effectively kill mold. Chris checked us all into a temp/efficiency apartment down the street, hit up the hardware store for some supplies, and got to work killing off the mold . Up until now, we had been trying to be environmentally friendly using things like hydrogen peroxide or vinegar to clean the mold. Clearly not working, so we turned to the tried and true (environmentalists cover your ears) bleach. Bleach baby. That stuff works.
Mold-cation was actually kind of fun...felt like we were tourists in our own town. After the bleaching was done, we went out to dinner, played with the Nespresso machine the following morning, and had a laid back weekend. And honestly, for Evan and Mia it was worth it just for the bath tub alone, for them it is better than any toy or amusement park.
Just as the tiny quarters of the hotel were getting...not fun... it was time to go home. After two days of beaching down the apartment, an extra day to air it out, and 4 different dehumidifying devices placed strategically around the house, we came home to a fresh smelling, mold-free, DRY home. So it looks like we will be sticking it out here till the end after all and here's hoping our next adventure is further than 3 blocks away and isn't prompted by an infestation of fungus :)
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Friday, January 10, 2014
The Greatest Gift
So, I spend a fair amount of my limited down time on the Internet. I'm not proud of this, nor is it something I necessarily enjoy all of the time. Especially when I'm feeling exhausted, short-tempered, and overwhelmed with the daily grind at home...is computer time really the thing that will fill me back up? The answer is always a resounding, no. I am constantly in a state of mental reorganization...re-prioritizing activities to feel like I am not zoning out, but actually trying to invest in myself. Because when I don't, it's obvious. Inevitably, I'm faced with the fact that social media should be the first to go. But my reality is that I'm a stay-at-home mother living in a foreign country, and every time I tell myself its time to just cut it off completely, I think about how much easier it is to just pop up a picture of the kids or a blog update and know that everyone in our immediate and extended family can know what we are up to, and see the kids. Especially baby Jordi, who hasn't even been introduced in the flesh yet. And I love feeling like we are somehow still connected to our family's lives. It serves a purpose right now, and I can't ignore that.
But I have to say, I hate what seems to be happening as a result of the social media craze. I have read a handful of articles and blogs recently, linked from facebook accounts, commenting on the overall feeling of inadequacy folks are feeling as a result of social media. Declaring mothers who choose to post pictures of their children happily doing art projects "fakes" or "posers", who aren't telling the real story of parenting. Because they aren't snapping pictures of their children having meltdowns or tantrums. Bloggers calling out these bragging, liars who choose to pass along inspiration rather than the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Articles about Pinterest overload, and folks feeling like the onslaught of outfits, room decor, and baked goods is screaming at them "get off your ass and start creating, you uninspired sloth!".
I don't get it. Honestly, I just don't. When was social media ever intended to be a complete and total representation of someones life? And what parent in their right mind would ever assume that what they see photographed by another parent somehow represents the minute to minute reality of that family? Chris and I have a running joke. He is convinced only our children have meltdowns and tantrums because he never sees other kids on the street screaming or yelling. I now make sure I point out every tantrum I see as we walk by, but more than that, I always ask him how it is possible to use the 30 seconds it takes for us to pass a child as the barometer for their entire lives. Similarly, how can we take the newsfeed of information and photos online as a complete picture? We can't. Because it was never intended to be. The bad is a given. Anyone who believes otherwise is setting themselves up for a life of misery.
Similarly, why the pressure from Pinterest? Granted, I don't use Pinterest a ton...mostly to get ideas for outfits and recipes. And when I do log on, I kind of like the little mosaic of pictures that have recently been posted from other people. But it seems there is a common perception that we can't use some great piece of technology, intended to connect the world with ideas, thoughts, and inspiration, without somehow feeling like we are missing out big time, or failing, in our own lives.
Now, I'm not about to get up on a high horse and play the "I'm so worldly" card. I'm not. Far from it. But I have to say, spending time abroad, more specifically in Barcelona, has changed the way I look at these kinds of issues. It has made me a happier, less anxious person because it has allowed me to step back and see that, with all else stripped away, I am enough. Having a granite kitchen and Pottery Barn distressed coffee table isn't a measure of life. Because as we've all seen from social media, even those with "the most" end up wanting more because they are under the illusion someone else has it.
It's just so different here.
No one cares if you have a mosaic tiled back splash because they are more concerned with using the kitchen to cook a meal to share with friends. Moreover, they prefer to get up and out altogether, meeting at cafes and spending time outside. Apartments are tiny, kitchens are admired only for their functionality, and no one gives a rat's ass how someone else's home is decorated or if you made designer cupcakes for your kid's birthday party. Terraces, on the other hand, seem to be the biggest source of envy!
No one cares what kind of purse you have, or how expensive your boots are, or whether your sunglasses are designer or not. Fashion is about what inspires you, a kind of self expression that it seems only the Spanish know how to pull off. Their beauty lies in their confidence, which is created only in a atmosphere that isn't constantly barraging them with reminders that what they look like, or how they dress, isn't good enough.
Cars are used only on an as needed basis, and again, are meant to serve a function only, not to send a statement to the world about how much money you have.
I could go on for pages. Bottom line, the message here is: do your damn thing. Whatever that may be. We won't bother you.
We won't judge you.
We won't compare ourselves to you.
We don't expect you to compare yourself to us.
If you think it is beautiful, then it is.
If you think it is fun, then it is.
If you think it's crap, then it is.
If you think that is how it is best to raise your kids, then it is.
Because it's YOUR life.
This alone, this message, has been the greatest gift I've received while on this adventure.
Do your damn thing, people. Whatever that may be.
We can use these images of perfection on social media simply as tiny pieces of art presented to us. Meant only to inspire and admire, choose what we like, then move on knowing our life is filled with exactly the people and things that are important only to US, and that is enough.
But I have to say, I hate what seems to be happening as a result of the social media craze. I have read a handful of articles and blogs recently, linked from facebook accounts, commenting on the overall feeling of inadequacy folks are feeling as a result of social media. Declaring mothers who choose to post pictures of their children happily doing art projects "fakes" or "posers", who aren't telling the real story of parenting. Because they aren't snapping pictures of their children having meltdowns or tantrums. Bloggers calling out these bragging, liars who choose to pass along inspiration rather than the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Articles about Pinterest overload, and folks feeling like the onslaught of outfits, room decor, and baked goods is screaming at them "get off your ass and start creating, you uninspired sloth!".
I don't get it. Honestly, I just don't. When was social media ever intended to be a complete and total representation of someones life? And what parent in their right mind would ever assume that what they see photographed by another parent somehow represents the minute to minute reality of that family? Chris and I have a running joke. He is convinced only our children have meltdowns and tantrums because he never sees other kids on the street screaming or yelling. I now make sure I point out every tantrum I see as we walk by, but more than that, I always ask him how it is possible to use the 30 seconds it takes for us to pass a child as the barometer for their entire lives. Similarly, how can we take the newsfeed of information and photos online as a complete picture? We can't. Because it was never intended to be. The bad is a given. Anyone who believes otherwise is setting themselves up for a life of misery.
Similarly, why the pressure from Pinterest? Granted, I don't use Pinterest a ton...mostly to get ideas for outfits and recipes. And when I do log on, I kind of like the little mosaic of pictures that have recently been posted from other people. But it seems there is a common perception that we can't use some great piece of technology, intended to connect the world with ideas, thoughts, and inspiration, without somehow feeling like we are missing out big time, or failing, in our own lives.
Now, I'm not about to get up on a high horse and play the "I'm so worldly" card. I'm not. Far from it. But I have to say, spending time abroad, more specifically in Barcelona, has changed the way I look at these kinds of issues. It has made me a happier, less anxious person because it has allowed me to step back and see that, with all else stripped away, I am enough. Having a granite kitchen and Pottery Barn distressed coffee table isn't a measure of life. Because as we've all seen from social media, even those with "the most" end up wanting more because they are under the illusion someone else has it.
It's just so different here.
No one cares if you have a mosaic tiled back splash because they are more concerned with using the kitchen to cook a meal to share with friends. Moreover, they prefer to get up and out altogether, meeting at cafes and spending time outside. Apartments are tiny, kitchens are admired only for their functionality, and no one gives a rat's ass how someone else's home is decorated or if you made designer cupcakes for your kid's birthday party. Terraces, on the other hand, seem to be the biggest source of envy!
No one cares what kind of purse you have, or how expensive your boots are, or whether your sunglasses are designer or not. Fashion is about what inspires you, a kind of self expression that it seems only the Spanish know how to pull off. Their beauty lies in their confidence, which is created only in a atmosphere that isn't constantly barraging them with reminders that what they look like, or how they dress, isn't good enough.
Cars are used only on an as needed basis, and again, are meant to serve a function only, not to send a statement to the world about how much money you have.
I could go on for pages. Bottom line, the message here is: do your damn thing. Whatever that may be. We won't bother you.
We won't judge you.
We won't compare ourselves to you.
We don't expect you to compare yourself to us.
If you think it is beautiful, then it is.
If you think it is fun, then it is.
If you think it's crap, then it is.
If you think that is how it is best to raise your kids, then it is.
Because it's YOUR life.
This alone, this message, has been the greatest gift I've received while on this adventure.
Do your damn thing, people. Whatever that may be.
We can use these images of perfection on social media simply as tiny pieces of art presented to us. Meant only to inspire and admire, choose what we like, then move on knowing our life is filled with exactly the people and things that are important only to US, and that is enough.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Holiday Wrap-Up and News
Is it bad that I'm relieved the holidays are over? I don't know...this month was just...exhausting. If my last post was any indication, we've all been dragging lately. If we don't have the familiar holiday comforts and family around us during this time of year, we ideally try to fill our holiday cups with travel and/or new adventures. But with a newborn part of our world this year, it just felt like we were spinning our wheels as we tried to use all our energy reserves to shop, cook, clean, craft, and plan little outings. Even though this year we were surrounded by a bigger, more developed "Spanish Family" of friends and neighbors, it still felt a little lackluster as we just didn't have the energy we did last year, when we were able to enjoy this season with a little more gusto. I had high hopes for this month...I think I actually blogged about squeezing the life out of this holiday season by hitting up all the festivals and fairs in the city. And if the past has taught me one thing, if I declare something in this blog, it will not happen.
The Christmas turkey went bad before I could cook it (see previous post), my Christmas morning cinnamon buns didn't rise and ended up as sugary sweet hockey pucks (FACT: cinnamon buns are, and always will be, an "eat from a tube" food), and Chris was so sick on New Year's Eve he fell asleep at 7pm with the kids. The house was a perpetual mess, and most of the week Chris had off of work was spent lazying around the house in our PJs. So it wasn't perfect...and I know, holidays never are. But alas...we are in Spain. The sun is shining, the weather is mild, we are together, and we did actually manage to get a tree and make some sugar cookies somewhere in there. We took a lot of long walks, wandered our neighborhood at night...all lit up with angels and stars. We invested in a case of Beaujolais Nouveau, which we enjoyed thoroughly. The kids were SUPER psyched about Santa. Overall, I think we did OK for weary parents.
 |
| Christmas Eve...note that Mia is wearing a Jimmy Hendrix T shirt as her "Christmas Eve PJs" That about sums it up. |
We did make it to the huge Christmas Market downtown, but, true to Misfit Christmas 2013 form, we chose the wrong night. It was a holiday weekend on a Friday night, and I think three quarters of Europe was there. Wall to wall people, we could barely get near the stalls. We left almost immediately, but did take some time to check out the huge Christmas tree in Plaza Catalunya.
The day after Christmas we headed over to some friends' house just outside the city for a wonderful Catalan lunch. Dario and Delphine came also, and it was a really great day. I was a little weary about showing up at a brand new, adults-only, apartment right at nap time with our crew of little people, but the incredibly sweet hosts insisted we all come together as a family. The kids were actually pretty good minus some end of evening melting down, which comes with the no-nap territory.
 |
| Slippers all around! These hosts had it all! |
 |
| Elisenda Setting up Caga Tio -- A Catalan tradition when the children beat this little wooden log "pet" while singing a song, and it poops candy. Brilliant. |
 |
| Caga Tio |
 |
| Fantastic lunch! |
 |
| Daddy and J Man |
 |
| Marti explaining to Evan how it all works... |
 |
| He pooped! |
 |
| Who gave this one a weapon?! |
 |
| So excited! |
New Years Eve came around and I tucked my children and poor sick husband in bed, unloaded some of my overtired, holiday blues frustration into the blog, poured myself a mimosa, then had an awesome Skype session with a good friend until just after midnight -- a friend I had met here in Barcelona, who has since moved back to Boston. I forgot how important it is to actually talk with good friends at home, and not just rely on email or Facebook...to see their faces, and laugh, and just unload. I needed that.
In other news...we finally applied for Jordi's USA paperwork and passport! The littlest is now a USA citizen, and we are awaiting his passport any day now. The process was shockingly easy. There was a hefty amount of paperwork that needed to be filled out, but it was all in English which is always a nice treat. Once it was filled out and presented, the whole process took less than 20 minutes at the USA embassy, which was actually super cool to see here in Barcelona. Security gates lead the way into a pristine and private little courtyard encircling a beautiful villa, which is where the offices are located. We ended up taking Jordi's picture at home ourselves, then altering it at a local photo shop, and I have to say it turned out quite well! The Mohawk was captured for all time in all its baby fine glory.
In MORE news, we have officially been extended to stay here in Barcelona an additional four months. This is big. Originally we were slotted to head back to Boston mid-February, but for many reasons, decided to extend until June. Chris had some ongoing work projects to finish up here, the kids can finish out their year of pre-school, and moving in June is a whole lot easier and more enjoyable than moving in February...especially with all the snow NE seems to be getting lately, I think our new thin Spanish skin would have been shocked into a state of panic if we transitioned back to New England weather in the heart of a long, cold winter. As much as I am missing my family, and it kills me that no one has met Jordi yet, I am relieved about the extension as it just makes more sense for us...more importantly, it also gives me some extra stay at home time with my new little man. And although four additional months seems like a lot, I know how quickly the time will fly, so we are already starting to weed out stuff to sell, throw some stuff in boxes here and there, and think about the what's next.
What's next.
We talk about this incessantly. I'd be lying if I said it didn't cross our minds daily to find some way to either stay in Spain longer, or move to another country entirely to start a new life there. Many nights have been spent with a glass of wine, Chris and I, scheming ways to keep it going. The places, the kind of life we want for ourselves and our children. How we could make it happen. There are days when it seems a complete shame to give it all up - this wonderfully simple lifestyle. I love living in a closely bound neighborhood within a huge city. I love the culture of happiness and love of family. I love that the kids are finally picking up some Spanish, and that they are aware of a world outside of what they were born into. I love Barcelona. But, ultimately, it just feels like it is time to go home. And what I've come to realize is that, while traveling and experiencing other cultures has opened my mind to new possibilities, the United States provides opportunities to carry out those possibilities, and live how I choose. Anything is possible. Chris and I agree, we have our life ahead of us, and if we continue to live with open hearts and open minds, grounded with a commitment to our (not so little) family, I feel confident life will continue to fall into place. Right now, this year, our life belongs back in Boston.
I'm excited about it. My mother always said the sign of a good vacation is that you are ready to come home at the end of it. I could get myself going on lessons and plans...ideas and hopes. But I don't think I'm there yet, after all, two seasons separate Boston and I.
So here we are...January 2nd. Five more months left. Unbelievable. In the spirit of remembering a great year, I'm going to steal my sister Emily's idea and put together a little slideshow of the highlights:
 |
 |
| Customize a free slideshow design |
Here's to 2014. I have NO idea what it holds...where we will live, where I will work, what it might look like. What I do know is that I'll be surrounded by the people that mean the world to me, which, ultimately, is more important than anything else.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
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. :)
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. :)
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
The Third is for Enjoying
I love Jordi's pediatrician. He is a wonderful German man, equal parts stern and softie, periodically dropping jokes in his German accent with such a straight poker face, you are constantly asking yourself: "Is he kidding? Do I smile, or nod seriously?" It is old school doctoring. You make an appointment with the doctor himself, check in at the scheduled time, and walk right into his office. His actual sit-at-a-desk office, which is attached to a little exam room all his own. Then you talk. To the doctor. For, like, as long as you need to. While he is actually looking at you, and not at a screen or a chart. It is revolutionary.
What I love most about this man is that he is perceptive about family dynamics. He picks up on things like family demeanor, bonding, and parenting styles. When I had asked him at our first appointment about possible long term effects to children born to mothers with HELLP syndrome, he assured me there was nothing in the studies to worry about, but that likely we will have a different kind of bond than I had with my other children. I may feel more protective, and that my attachment to him will be exactly what he needs to thrive. He told me he could see that I was relaxed with him, that I was calm and attentive, and it was that kind of interaction that will make the longest lasting effect on a child moving forward. I liked that answer.
Anyway, on our last visit to Jordi's pediatrician, he said something I thought was pretty spot on. He said first children were for learning, second children were for applying what you learned, and third children were simply for enjoying.
So far, I couldn't agree more.
There is chaos. Oh, is there chaos. We are a family of five tucked not-so-neatly into a loft-style apartment, essentially living in one room down stairs. The Living Room is the Dining Room is the Kitchen is the Playroom is the Office. (I dream of finished basements and mud rooms) It gets loud and messy. The first six weeks took...adjusting. New discipline styles were introduced, we realized more one-on-one time needed to happen with each child, and there is certainly less down-time and WAAAAAAY more laundry. I find that my children's outfits on any given day are pretty much the barometer for life that week. Mismatched socks with warm-up pants and PJ tops to school = not enough coffee in the world. Neat little braids, cute tights and matching outfits = winning!
This time I want to trust and enjoy the process for once. Granted, so far he is a pretty laid back little guy, so it's easy to put on the calm, cool, and collected hat. Still, I want to remember what it feels like to hold a little 10 lb baby in my arms, looking at me with milk on his face and wide eyes. I want to remember what it is like to have his little fist clasp my hand tightly while he nurses, and fall asleep in my arms. Someday soon, he won't sleep in my arms anymore. He will nap on a schedule, and sleep through the night, and sleep in a crib, and feed himself food. I know I don't have to worry about that. I've replaced those worries, those panicked "when will it happen" thoughts, with trying to continually remind myself to be present, get to know this new little person, and enjoy what is happening TODAY.
Our mornings alone make it easy.
Something else I've learned over the past couple months is that my children are happy when I am happy. Simple as that. If we spring a leak, we find a way to fix it, and keep sailing. The point is, I like it on this boat. I wouldn't trade it for the world.
End corny metaphor here.
Insert cute pictures.
We're moving into the Christmas season here in Barcelona...by far my favorite time of year here. We had high hopes of pushing ourselves to make a trip to Bavaria, Germany to tour the Christmas Markets, but once again those travel plans were nixed. We weren't able to get Jordi's USA paperwork completed in time to travel. So, in the spirit of embracing last experiences, we plan to squeeze the life out of this Christmas season here in Barcelona. I went through as many websites as possible to find the good happenings, put them in the calendar, and am ready to hit them all. Or, as many as we can barring any tantrums, meltdowns, hunger fits, or nap deprivation. This is it, our last winter here. The last is for enjoying.
What I love most about this man is that he is perceptive about family dynamics. He picks up on things like family demeanor, bonding, and parenting styles. When I had asked him at our first appointment about possible long term effects to children born to mothers with HELLP syndrome, he assured me there was nothing in the studies to worry about, but that likely we will have a different kind of bond than I had with my other children. I may feel more protective, and that my attachment to him will be exactly what he needs to thrive. He told me he could see that I was relaxed with him, that I was calm and attentive, and it was that kind of interaction that will make the longest lasting effect on a child moving forward. I liked that answer.
Anyway, on our last visit to Jordi's pediatrician, he said something I thought was pretty spot on. He said first children were for learning, second children were for applying what you learned, and third children were simply for enjoying.
So far, I couldn't agree more.
There is chaos. Oh, is there chaos. We are a family of five tucked not-so-neatly into a loft-style apartment, essentially living in one room down stairs. The Living Room is the Dining Room is the Kitchen is the Playroom is the Office. (I dream of finished basements and mud rooms) It gets loud and messy. The first six weeks took...adjusting. New discipline styles were introduced, we realized more one-on-one time needed to happen with each child, and there is certainly less down-time and WAAAAAAY more laundry. I find that my children's outfits on any given day are pretty much the barometer for life that week. Mismatched socks with warm-up pants and PJ tops to school = not enough coffee in the world. Neat little braids, cute tights and matching outfits = winning!
 |
| Morning lessons |
However, this time around, I notice what is lacking is that sense of panic I felt with the other two. This is not to say I didn't enjoy Evan and Mia's infancy...I did. But all too often I look back at their baby pictures and feel a bit sad, wishing I had enjoyed it more. With Evan we were new parents, unsure of what we were doing. With Mia, we thought we had all the answers, only to discover...this is an entirely different kid! Those answers no longer apply! Damn. With Jordi, it's not so much that I'm overly confident and have all the answers, but more like I know it isn't possible to have the answers and I'm OK with that. I no longer feel like there is A Right Way, and if I don't find that Right Way, I am Bad Mom. Ok, maybe I do still feel the Bad Mom clouds start to gather, I don't think we can ever really shake that one, but for me it isn't about having all the answers anymore. I know, eventually, they sleep. I know, eventually, he will lift his head up, and kneel, and crawl, and walk. I know one bad night of sleep doesn't have to mean anything other than one bad night of sleep, and if it does, we will get through it. I have to deal with each day as it comes, do what works best for us at the time, and keep in mind this is a marathon, not a sprint.
Lately we've been dealing with new challenges as the kids get older, and I see how the first born really does pave the way for the rest to follow. I think poor Evan will always be the victim of our inexperience, and Jordi will always benefit from a calmer attitude of "been there, done that".
 |
| First smile caught on camera! 7 Weeks Old |
Our mornings alone make it easy.
 |
| 8 Weeks Old |
End corny metaphor here.
Insert cute pictures.
We're moving into the Christmas season here in Barcelona...by far my favorite time of year here. We had high hopes of pushing ourselves to make a trip to Bavaria, Germany to tour the Christmas Markets, but once again those travel plans were nixed. We weren't able to get Jordi's USA paperwork completed in time to travel. So, in the spirit of embracing last experiences, we plan to squeeze the life out of this Christmas season here in Barcelona. I went through as many websites as possible to find the good happenings, put them in the calendar, and am ready to hit them all. Or, as many as we can barring any tantrums, meltdowns, hunger fits, or nap deprivation. This is it, our last winter here. The last is for enjoying.
 |
| First night with our street decorations lit! |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)