With Friends Like Us

At the beach on Easter Sunday.  Really, this is us at our best.

We are living proof that Aussies are arguably the kindest, most generous, most tolerant, forgiving and accepting people anywhere.  ( Remembering the family in southern India who offered me their only chair, my friends in Kenya who showed me around Nairobi, the man in southern Haiti who crawled up his palm tree to share his last coconut with us and the family in northern Haiti who gave me a free Coca-Cola because I had been robbed and really didn't have any money with me.  Oh dear.  Folks are generally good after all, aren't they?!)

But my kids and I really DO test the boundaries sometimes.

A few weeks ago I dropped Damon and the three boys off at Tracey's for the morning so that they could look at camping gear while Ryan and I went for her doctor's appointment.  Note that Tracey already has four boys of her own.  And a daughter.  I had to apologize for adding more maleness to the mix.

Ryan and I returned to announce that she's had Glandular Fever for the last month or so.  (Mononucleosis or Epstein-Barr virus for the Americans.)  Not EXACTLY considered CONTAGIOUS anymore, since you don't get it through aerosol contact, but still INFECTIOUS.  Meaning you pass it through saliva, like in sharing food or kissing.  Maybe it's infectious but not contagious.  Whatever.

I still felt a bit guilty, first of all because I'd been asking her to go to school exhausted because the REST of us had kicked the flu bug in two weeks and she just couldn't still be sick, could she?  Shades of MY Dad.  If you weren't vomiting on the way out the door you were healthy enough for school.  And even then, you probably had time to mop it up and run for the school bus if you really tried.

And - oh yeah- in the meanwhile Ryan's been running around sick, exhausted, pale, weak AND infectious.  Or contagious. 

Tracey and I just told the kids not to kiss eachother and went back to our tea.

She and her husband Neil even had us all over again a few weeks later on ANZAC day.

More often it's like this.  (Matthew and Aidan at the boat ramp over Easter break.)

All was going well - meaning that the nine kids, ages 2 to 16, were all happily amusing eachother - when Bullet, a 2 year old Irish Wolfhound mix on his way DOWN the porch stairs collided with Matthew on his way UP.  It was no contest, kinda like the time my Saturn ( I loved that car!) collided with a Lincoln Continental.

"There's a LOT of blood, Mom."

Matthew had hit his head on the one tiny metal bolt holding the porch post in place.  Or something like that.  It all happened so fast.  One of Tracey's boys didn't think twice about picking up a bleeding kid, carrying him up the stairs, blood pouring out of Matthew's head the whole time, onto the stairs, the porch, and onto poor Bullet, who was trying to figure out what they heck had happened and why we all weren't having fun anymore.

Poor Bullet. 

Oh.  And Matthew. 

I am NOT your typical mother.  I DID cradle Matthew on my lap.  All the while trying to reassure everyone ELSE that head wounds bleed profusely and usually appear a lot worse than they are as a result.   (Why was Damon still so surprised when the REAL doctor said the same thing only a little while later?!)  Tracey and Neil aren't your average parents either.  They had icepacks ready in seconds.  Pressure, folks, pressure.  My motto is to just hide the blood for a bit until everyone calms down.

At that point Tracey mentioned the metal bolt though and I would have felt really negligent NOT going to a REAL doctor for a second opinion. 

At which point I realized that, although I had my writing pad with me, I did not have my wallet.  Containing our Medicare information.  (Or my driver's license in the event that Damon was drinking, so duh.  My writing friends will be pleased to note I had that writing pad, though!)

So we put our hero in charge of two squeamish girls and a passel of boys of varying ages.  Neil drove Damon and Matthew to the 24 hours clinic while Tracey drove me to get our ID.  Matthew was already being treated by the time I arrived.  Nothing like a child with a bleeding head wound to get prompt attention.  The bleeding stopped by the time the doctor showed.  And we were back in time to finish up the barbeque.  The kids had cleaned up all the blood.  Bullet was forgiven.  (The term "faster than a speeding Bullet" now holds a special place in our hearts!)  Matthew had a new hero - the kid who had valiantly carried him up the stairs - and was a hero himself.

And I found lice in Matthew's head while we were at the clinic.

I can't believe Tracey and Neil didn't kick us out.

I can't believe they take us as we are!  (Rodeo on May 1)

Turned out that trip to the clinic though, saved us a lot of aggravation in the long run.  A couple young bugs on each of the boys, haircuts and treatment, and all was remedied BEFORE it became an issue.  (And you gotta see the lice products here!  SHELVES and SHELVES!  Foams and sprays and prevention and.....it wasn't half as horrid as that time in Germany when we had to heavily medicate everyone's head and boil the heck out of the stuffed animals.  Some did not survive.  How can the SAME bugs be treated so differently in two different countries?!  More bugs here?  Nah, my guess is more kids.  And more tolerance.  No need to bathe the kids in shame or anything!)

Mono.  Lice.  Next thing you know we'll be spreading our terrible accents around.

Today we went over to visit some other neighbours, Zianda and Chris and their 6 month old, Oliver.  Zianda showed Ryan some of her sketches.  Ryan showed Zianda her crocheting.  And got to hold Oliver.

Until Aidan got a little rambunctious on the couch and kicked Oliver in the back of the head.

Honestly, how does bringing the hostess a gift (which we didn't do!) make up for THAT?!

The Dog

Elderly mixed-race (Haitian/German) 30 lb (14 kg)castrated male seeks home and companionship for the German winter.

Catch your attention, I hope? Now I just gotta translate it into German and post it up around the area. With an endearing photo.

Wolfy. We still got Wolfy. Fourteen years AFTER I told my friend Kevin, a missionary in Haiti, that I ABSOLUTELY, UNDER NO CONDITIONS, needed or wanted a dog, that dog is still with us.

He has lived in Haiti, Connecticut, Arizona, France and Germany. Seen the Atlantic and Pacific shores of the USA and vacationed all over Europe.

And now spends his days lying on the sofa and fending off hugs and kisses from the four-year-olds.



His favorite pasttime is breakfast.

Deafness agrees with him, as he is able to ignore just about anything. Including a family of six coming in the door and making dinner while the kids jump on the sofa.

We had a bad spell about four years ago, when the twins were born. In addition to two newborns, a four-year-old and a six-year-old, I was also chasing after an incontinent dog. The vet thought it might be stress. You think?

Wish MY doctors cared as much about MY levels of stress at the time!

Anyhow, he had Cushing's Disease - and still does. An overfunctioning of the adrenal glands, two small organs above the kidneys most people don't even know we have. He does well with one daily tablet of medication.



That someone needs to put forcibly in his throat since he won't take it any other way. The pills cost over 2 Euros a pop so you don't want to find them on the floor later, peanut butter licked off, pill neatly spat out.

Other than that he likes to be in the loop, and part of the family, but can't walk very fast or very far. We take him to the Biergartens with us. It's nice since he doesn't react to other dogs (doesn't hear them barking) and is good with kids. (We had TWENTY over for playgroup yesterday and they LOVED him!)



So yeah...we are looking for a home, permanent or temporary, for a very loveable Opa.

We would risk the flight and 30 day quarantine in Australia if someone will take him for the three to four months from November through February.

(Something came up with a Rabies Neutralizing Antibody Titer Test a few days ago, something we thought we didn't need because of quarantine but which it turns out he DOES need IN ADDITION to quarantine. We can have the test done and bring him with us, but he needs to spend at least two, and up to five, months in Germany after the test. If he spends five here, he only needs one month of quarantine on our end. Which is why he needs a home. We leave in November. If he came with us it would be four months quarantine even if we get the test done now.)



A permament home here would obviously be the best solution, but we realize it is hard to ask someone to take on an older pet on medications. Even a loveable one.

He would be a wonderful companion for someone who would just like a sweet, quiet, canine presence at home. Someone to sit with in the evenings. Someone to follow you into the kitchen looking up at you with adoration- for a slice of whatever you are putting on your sandwich. Someone who will gladly come with you in the car if you like but doesn't demand a lot of activity. Someone you have to force off the sofa to go for his evening walk. And someone you really can take anywhere.

Someone to love as we do.



Then again, he is great with kids. Just kind of toddles along behind them waiting for a piece of pretzel to fall his way. Puts up with the ear and tail tugging with a look of martyrdom on his face. He's been through our four, including twins...so it's really going to take a lot to faze him!




Shy, gentle Opa looking for a retirement home. Any takers?

In Any Language

For those of you who see Aidan and Matthew regularly, you will have no problem identifying the twin on the left from the twin on the right. It's amazing how two beings conceived, carried and born at the same time can look so different. Besides both being boys. And there will be no comparisons made there.

All jokes aside, I feel really lucky to have been blessed with twins. I'm an adventurer at heart, a seeker of change, and I honestly wouldn't have missed this special adventure for the world.

How many people get to experience this?

Twins are special. They light up a room and make people smile. In any language.

When they are first born, you are aware of being center stage, but the feeling fades as they get older. You forget the the three ring circus because, well, they're just your kids and the three ring circus part has become old hat by now.

So that it really does come as a surprise when they light up a room and make people smile.

Yes. Yes. GERMANS TOO! I'm telling you, I can take center stage at the Breuni Mall any day. Young mothers - two year old in the stroller and newborn in the Baby Bjorn, looking slightly harassed and totally exhausted by their own ordeal - walk by and almost cross themselves when they see my four lined up on the bench eating their icecreams. You see them counting. "One. Two. Three. Good Lord, that poor woman has FOUR of them!" They run on quickly, afraid my fertility might be contagious!

But I get plenty of comments and pats on the heads too. Comments for me. Pats for the kids. Men too. Okay the men DID used to cross to the other side of the mall when they saw me coming - eight months pregnant and one kid on each hand - but those were the younger businessmen. Like they thought I was going to walk up and pin the blame on them. "Congratulations. You've just won yourself a full-grown family!" Quick. Run. Hide.

But the older men - 50s or so - get a big kick out of us. Let's face it. The boys match. All three of them. We look good. The three ring circus on its best behavior.

People used to try to hook me up with other twin moms too. I remember one time, I was feeling particularly grumpy about the lack of double-stroller access to Ryan's ballet class and running after two one-year olds heading in separate directions. And a very well-intentioned lady mentioned getting me together with her friend with twins. And I thought - "yeah great - this is what we really need. Two of us with FOUR one year olds. You suck. What a crappy idea."

But I was tired. She meant well.

(For the record, now that the boys are older, we ARE hooking up with more twin moms; we have two sets of twins that make up the four man T-ball team so far and there are a couple at the local pool. Seems they can't stand to stay inside either!)

Being center stage can get old. Especially when everyone else knows a better way to do it. Like they did with THEIR twins, right?! Don't go there. I have never been given advice by a twin mom - or offered any myself. Other than: WHATEVER WORKS FOR YOU. Twin moms don't judge.

But it can be fun too. Like the time in Mallorca when the boys were 10 weeks old and all we heard were shouts of "gemelos". They couldn't believe we were there with TWO newborns. Like it was any easier at home than at the beach.

And in Italy, when we took the kids out biking, me bringing up the rear with the 10 month old twins in a tandem bike carrier. You'd hear. "Uno. Duo. Gemelli. Gemelli." The circus was in town.

It's sneakier now that the twins are older and dressing themselves. Their sense of fashion is entirely different. So that you leave folks guessing as to how close in age those two really are. As if I intentionally gave birth to two beings three months apart somehow. (All that worry about whether you dress em alike or not; c'mon, they wear what they wear and sooner or later they choose on their own anyway and end up wearing a spiderman costume or police outfit most days of the week.)

So that it's more and more fun to see them becoming individuals.

My children are great.

Sometimes it just takes a stranger's smile to remind me of how lucky I really am.

Labelling the Kids

Having twins in the house has made us rather label conscious.

First of all there is the label "twins." Don't really like it. But haven't figured out a way around it. They used to be "the babies," but that can only last so long. If we didn't have an older brother, they could be "the boys," but yeah....we got more than a couple of those. We've tried "the little ones" but that always irked me when my friend did that with HER four-year old twins. For crying out loud, they can only be "little" for so long.

My shrink - who also has twins - suggested calling them "Aidan and Matthew," but that's rather a mouthful on a chaotic weekday afternoon. I've generally got that "Ryan...Andrew...Aidan...Matthew....oh to hell with it, you know who you are".....thing going on.

Add to that the fact that I have always talked to the OTHER twin while I was physically comforting his brother. Since I can't be everything to everyone all at once, I tried to split myself in half by reassuring one with my arms and the other with my voice.

This has led to interesting results.

Imagine having your mother cradling you in her arms, all the while calling out reassurances to your brother.

"Mommy," Aidan has taken to complaining recently, "I am NOT Matthew. I am Aidan."

My goodness, is he expecting both my physical presence AND attention?!!

Well, I guess at least I'm lucky he knows which one he is. (Thank goodness for kindergarten!)

Aidan has retaliated though. He calls ME "Mommy Connor." Or, when he's really angry "Mommy Mommy Connor." Appears I spend a lot of time calling them by their full names.

The strange thing is that Mommy Connor doesn't really exist. I am officially still a Steinmann. Dr. Steinmann if the kids are going to get snooty about it. Damon's mother is remarried to a Crossen, and has been for over twenty-five years. And Damon's father's mother - the REAL Mommy Connor - died in childbirth over sixty years ago. I consider Aunt Linda, Damon's father's sister, and a Sanicola by marriage, as the matriarchal head of that whole clan.

Mommy Connor. It is so weird to be known - and loved - by a name that really isn't mine. It's as if the kids have taken me, erased my past, and invented a brand new person for their own private, little world. Which is part of what being a mother is all about.

Ah well. I take it all in stride. Yesterday Matthew was pretending to be his sister, Ryan, and refusing to answer by any other name. If that continues, things are going to get mighty confusing around here.

Although, come to think of it, at that point his NAME is going to be the least of our issues!

Family Size - Whose Business Is It?

Germany is not a child-friendly place. 50% of college educated women have no children at all. The average family size is 1.3. The government is paying women to stay home with a child for a year AND pays monthly "child-money" - per child - to encourage families to procreate.

Sure, some families do the responsible thing and have their two kids. There are even some LARGE families with three children. And, to be honest, my town has at least 3 German families beside mine with 4 children, and I know of one German family in a neighboring town with 6. But see, I can count them. And I know of them because they are pointed out to me - as one fellow freak to another.

I actually have it very easy. First of all, I have the twins, spaced four years apart from Andrew. Still totally respectable, in terms of family planning, to go for that last baby at a decent time interval apart from the first two. A little crazy, that number three, but still "done." That baby number three turned into three and four is a source of amusement and some pity. But at least it isn't my fault that I had four.

I'm also American. Which excuses me (in a manner I do take laughingly, but is actually rather condescending) in the same way you'd excuse someone from a developing country from sending their boy to kindergarten with a girl's pink backpack. "Well, see, they just do that where they come from. They just don't know any better." When we were visiting the castle in Ludwigsburg this summer, and people didn't realize we spoke German, I began to feel like a cultural example of a backward country. "Oh my goodness, look at that poor woman with all the kids." Like I had to beat out all their clothes by hand on a rock by the river.

That poor woman. That silly woman. That obvious religious fanatic. The last is for my friend Maria, also an American living in Altdorf, who is expecting her fourth child in what will be six years. "I wonder what they think of me," she says. And I know it exactly. She goes to church regulary, as in EVERY SINGLE SUNDAY. She dresses modestly. And she wants a large family. She's obvioulsy been brainwashed by some cult, church, same thing.

Her German neighbor, trying to be supportive and understanding of a primitive tribal value system, told Maria that her daughter has asked her why Maria kept having children. Which is already a pretty sad thing, and tells you a lot about German attitudes towards children, when this is asked by a child. (I had one 8 year old tell me they admired me for all the hard work I must be putting in with the twins. Well meant, but my goodness, do their parents teach them nothing about JOY?!) Maria's neighbor told her daughter that when you come from a large family, which Maria does, then you often also wish for a large family yourself.

Okay. But why does there have to be an explanation? What is the obsession with the size of someone else's family, someone else's truly personal decision? And wouldn't a better explanation be simply that Maria loves children? That she WANTS to have children?

It honestly doesn't occur to people that we have a choice in the matter knowadays. We DO know about birth control and we DO know how to use it. We aren't forced by our in-laws to produce a male heir or enough children to run the farm. We aren't held back by primitive beliefs. We actually WANT these children.

They don't get it. I have a lot of friends with only one child. That was enough. Life altering. Hard work. And enough. And while it would never be enough for me, anything less than four for me just wasn't half chaotic enough, it doesn't occur to me to question them. It's not my family. It's not my choice. Or friends who have chosen to have no children. My guess is they get as much crap as I do, but again, who is it for me to decide how another woman is to fulfill her journey, reach her potential, be happy?

My German friend gets it the worst. Nikki also has 4 children within 6 years. But she, apparently, should know better. Her eldest son, now 8, has started to take offense at the number of comments they receive on the streets of Stuttgart. Obviously not well-intentioned. "Are those ALL YOUR children? Are you the day-care provider?" Philipp has started telling people that there are families in the world with even more kids than they have. Poor kid, defensive at 8. (It is HARD to be different in Germany.) When we visited the other day, and later all trooped out to the car, the only other minivan on the street besides theirs, I heard him counting off the kids. "One, two, three, FOUR." He ran back into the house and joyfully announced to Nikki, "Mommy, they have just as many kids as we do!" Phew - he fit in at last.


There are so many ethical issues surrounding family size. Octomom. IVF. Welfare families. World poverty. Although, maybe to salve my conscience, I see this last as a matter of redistribution of wealth and of education and opportunities for women. In Haiti, most women I knew would CHOOSE to have two children. They just need a means of birth control. Given the choice, I truly believe most families would have two to three children, some none and some more, all evening out in the end.

My message is just one of joy. Crazy, religious, American, uneducated (or worse yet, educated and raised PROPERLY and should know better), sending-your-kid-to-kindergarten-with-the-wrong-backpack, scrubbing-your-clothes-by-the-river JOY!

When you find joy in yourself, you will see it in others, regardless of what color they are, where they come from, what language they speak, or even how many children they are - or are not - towing around behind them!

ENJOY!

Five Little Monkeys

"What are you trying to prove?" asked one friend when she heard about my miscarriage. "You've already got four kids."

"But I don't understand." says my mother, "If you find it so much easier with two kids than with four, why are you even considering adding a fifth?"

My Dad feels I'm too old. My sister simply says I'm nuts.


How can I explain that the characteristics that got me through college and veterinary school, that got me INTO an Ivy League college and veterinary school are the same characteristics that keep me going now. I have never chosen the easy route. I took AP classes in highschool, did all the extracurriculars and worked after school. In college, I took more than the required credits per semester, took some classes two years early, did extra research and stayed for summer sessions.

All of which now seems like a complete waste of time now. Except I had fun too.

I get bored living the status quo. I never wanted the quiet home and hearth. I figured I'd be in Africa by now, letting a Maasai warrior watch the three or four kids I had while I continued with my research. They'd be educated in the evenings, learning from life in the wild. Never really thought about a husband at all.

I had a blast with the first kid. Couldn't wait to get out of Connecticut and show her the world. Living near Geneva with two kids was fantastic; within reach of the Italian Alps, speaking French and meeting people from all over the world. THIS was why I had kids. Okay, in comparison Germany has been a sobering reminder of reality, and the double whammy of twins slowed me down for a bit, but I'm finally waking up again to why I had kids in the first place.

Kids are fun. You get to show them the world, you get to show them YOUR world, you get to show them that life is fun and for the living.

I didn't have kids to turn them into carbon copies of the rest of suburbia; I had them to be free spirits and to do whatever they wanted, to be whatever it is everyone else is afraid to be. Funny enough, by trying to integrate them here into Germany, I forgot that I didn't need them to be like everyone else, didn't even particularly want them to be like everyone else. I tried to fit in so that they wouldn't feel like foreigners, so they wouldn't be embarrassed not to be like everyone else.

I didn't want to be like everyone else in America; why the heck was I trying to turn myself into a German housewife? Same story, different country. Boring.

And so now that I am back again, now that I can do anything I want, the last thing I want to do is what everyone else expects of me. It's just not me.

I don't know if I will have a fifth child. I do know that it's an option. Not everyone else's option, but mine and mine alone. (Well, Damon has a little say in the matter, but he's wanted five since we met.) I've got other options too - going into a veterinary public health program in Berlin, working at a veterinary clinic in Stuttgart or perhaps wildlife rehabilitataion in the area, enrolling in a philosophy program in Freiburg. Writing my novel. All of which will still be there after another child.

I guess people worry about me, about what I am giving up for myself by being the mother to so many children. But you know - I love it. It's a job I am fairly good at, one I continue to grow into and learn from, one that keeps me moving forward and satisfied of work well done at the end of the day. And it's a damned lot harder than anything I ever studied in school. My life hasn't stopped for my children, my outside interests are still there. And they will still be there when the children are grown and gone.

I'm not doing it to prove anything to anybody. Not even myself. I'm not doing it because it's easy, but I'm not NOT going to do it because it's hard either. I'm just not someone who chooses a path because it's the easiest or the fastest, I choose a path because its got a better view or is more fun to travel. Mostly for the fun. And it is fun.

Oh yeah - I also just love babies. And my sister is right, I am nuts too.

Brad and Angelina

Like I was going to be able to stay away from this one. I feel really close to Brad and Angie, I really do. Angelina has the life I would have liked if I …well, if I had had another life. She gets to travel all over the world, lend her voice to causes she believes in, make movies, look great and have lots of kids. She makes millions, donates one third of it to charity, and looks genuinely happy. What’s not to envy? She was pregnant with her third child, the first two being adopted, while I was pregnant with my numbers three and four. I kept abreast of her in the magazines in my obstetrician’s office; I was having twins, I spent a lot of time there. I really felt we had a lot in common, kid-wise anyway.

Then she and Brad adopted number four and also popped out numbers five and six. Within two years of number three. How the heck was I going to compete with that?

I’m not judging. At least not Brad and Angelina. But I do have a bone to pick with the media coverage they’ve received since the arrival of the twins. (Have they adopted any more since I last looked? Maybe I ought to check again. Oops – there it is – rumors of an impending pregnancy.) The media idolizes Brad and Angelina, their ability to jet set around the world, live in four or five countries, make movies, support the U.N and help rebuild New Orleans, all while carting around and caring for six children, including infant twins. The pictures show them strolling through New York, through New Orleans, through Berlin, looking radiant. Angelina doesn’t even have circles under her eyes. (Although Brad does, God bless him!)

Okay. They have a lovely family and I’m sure they are fantastic parents. However, they are also attending international auctions and movie premieres - and oh yeah, President Obama’s inauguration. Despite the banner headlines that they did NOT have a nighttime nanny, SOMEBODY was watching those kids while they were out together on the red carpet. That’s nighttime enough for me. They also have at least three women - whether they call them nannies or teachers - helping them with the children during the day. Angelina – or Brad – is never out to a doctor’s appointment with all six of them in tow.

More power to them. It allows Angelina to spend individualized attention on each of the kids during the day. And probably also catch up on her beauty rest. Make movies. Generally save the world. You go girl!

But for the vast majority of us, caring for the children, ALL the children, is only one part of being a parent. For most of us, there is also a house to clean, laundry to wash, groceries to buy and food to cook. You can’t tell me that Angelina is mopping her own floors. She has a staff that also shops, cooks, and cleans up after the meals. At least I assume so. I know I would if I were in her position.

Like I said, I LIKE Brad and Angelina. They have my other life. I like them more because I can tell they work hard and put 150% into everything they do, family, careers, humanitarian efforts. And I don’t think they lead easy lives; they live in the fast lane and are just as busy, if not more so, than the rest of us. However, I DO think it is unfair for the media to keep pointing them out as models of parenthood. There’s just no basis for comparison between them and parents living in the real world.

I like the occasional picture of Brad carrying one kid on each arm - by the way, my husband can do that too - and looking absolutely exhausted. It reminds be that under all the hype - and even with all the help - parenting is an exhausting process.

But wouldn’t it be just a little less exhausting if someone put those dinner dishes away for you?