Wrong Impression

Some Americans have moved into the apartment downstairs and I'm a little worried they might get the wrong idea about us.

Little things. Like when I was chasing the boys around the house Saturday afternoon. Literally. With a whiffle ball bat. While they screeched happily and danced naked just out of my reach. "Monster coming. Monster coming."

(I wouldn't want to live in the apartment below us, but so far, in six years, noone's ever complained!)

"I am not a monster. I'm your mother." Swat with the bat at a naked behind.

Come to think of it, we'd better start saving up for some serious couch time in the fuure.

The other thing that worries me is the song I wrote and taught them.

"I love to beat my children. I beat them every day. And when I beat my children, oh this is what they say."

Rousing chorus from the kids: "Beat me Momma, beat me Momma, beat me Momma, please."

It's a really catchy tune, actually. (You can also tickle the children, hug the children and kiss the children.....but they like the beating the best!)

At the end of the day we sat down to read the poems of Heinrich Hoffmann, a popular German children's book from the mid 1800s. In it, the girl playing with matches gets burned - to death. The boy who won't eat his soup starves - to death. The kid who sucks his thumb gets to live though - after the tailor cuts off both his thumbs.

Go on. It's a lovely collection of children's tales. The boys LOVE it.

I'm just banking on the fact that our new neighbors couldn't understand a word of it!

Not Your Average Mom

I have my days.

Soccer days, baseball days, days at the barn and days baking for the class picnic.

Like a "good" mom.

Then there are the other days.

Days I don't feel like doing what I am "supposed" to do.

So the kids eat icecream BEFORE lunch. And get to play with body paint. (By which I mean regular watercolors applied to back and belly.) Or get to jump up and down on the bed naked.

They get to take water outside to the sandbox. And sand inside to their play kitchen.

The rules are "be kind" and "try not to make too too much of a mess."

My kids ARE kind. And they know how to grab the paper towels and wipe up most spills before I find out about them.

So, I'm fairly pleased with the results.

Today we got ready for Germany's first World Cup Soccer match in South Africa on Sunday. Against Australia. As a family boasting passports to both, we had a family discussion on who to root for. Damon, our almost-native Australian, at first convinced the older two to root for Australia. But, believe it or not, I REALLY REALLY LOVE my German team. Those boys were with me - and all of Germany - the summer Aidan and Matthew were born.

So I put on my Michael Ballack T-shirt, number 13. (Don't sweat it, honey, you'll still be hot playing for a German team instead of in England.) Then I pulled out the German flag face paint. Both cheeks. Andrew promptly switched sides at the sight of the facepaint and then I painted the Australian flag on Ryan. (The southern cross on her face, a semblance of the British flag on her left forehead and streaks of blue all over.)

I've promised to paint them for school again tomorrow. Can't wait to hear how Ryan's day goes! But then again, she's not your average kid either!

Just now she came to me - the Southern Cross really suits her, by the way - and asked me what to do with her pink, plastic Disney princess thermos.

"It's starting to get a little moldy at the top here," she pointed out. "Should I just throw it away?"

THAT'S MY GIRL!

(Although I did take it from her and wash it in the sink - I am SO PROUD she has been listening to our talks on 'not taking it with you.')

Adventures await. And I do believe our "not supposed" to days have prepared my kids for all the fun that lies ahead. Rules - and kitchen gadgets - are nice sometimes. But they're not ALL life has to offer. My kids know that.

Just Me (An Apology)

I knew I'd probably offend someone at some point, but I hadn't counted on hurting a friend. At dinner last night, Ladies' Night at the Brauhaus in Boeblingen, I casually mentioned the unfairness of the last line of my latest blog. I'd already added an apology for it in the comments section and I was obviously thinking about it enough to bring it up.

But my friend's reaction totally stunned me. "Yeah, you are right. That is totally unjustified and unfair. It isn't right to bring up something from over 60 years ago. At some point it is time to stop bringing it up and let it go."

She hadn't read the piece, and doesn't read the blog regularly, or I don't think the one line would have been as offensive. If you truly know me, and my writing, you know when I am venting unfairly. And you know the true me underneath it.

But all of a sudden I didn't want to take it back, no matter how unfair it is. It is MY blog, these are my personal thoughts and essays, and I don't force anyone to read it. Or agree. In fact, let's face it, the crowning glory of a blog would be to get an animated exchange of opinion going on between its readers.

I see my friend's point. I truly do. But all of a sudden I am fighting for the right of a writer to write.....even if it is a pile of shit. Even if it is hurtful or painful or even untrue. I suddenly understand why Stu quit our Writers' Group when Starbucks asked us to keep our readings nonpolitical. It wasn't that any of us were planning on writing anything political, it was just the point that a writer shouldn't be asked to curb his/her thoughts.

Okay. I get it. (But I'm still doing Starbucks.)

But it also brings me back to that last line, and why it is so important for me to keep the stupid thing in there, overexaggerated and unfair as it is.

It's because I am angry. And because I am finding it more and more difficult to live in a system that just accepts things as they are and is uncomfortable with change or with any ideas different than their own. (And yes, I do realize I could be talking about just about any society!)

It's not about Germany, or Germans; it's about more than the school system (which I will however continue to disapprove of and work to change).

It's about being German. It's about knowing that a part of me, that people close to and directly related to me were part of one of the greatest atrocities in the history of mankind; and let's face it that's saying a lot. It's competing with the American blight of slavery and racism. The annihilation of the native American culture. Ditto with the Australian Aborigines. More recently, countries all over the world look on at ethnic and religious wars in Kosovo, Rwanda, Somalia, Ethiopia, Nigeria.

Indirectly, I am guilty of way more than one stupid, little misguided sentence.

I do think quite often about what I would have done if I had been alive in Germany when Hitler was VOTED INTO power. My grandfather was too old to fight this time around. He was bummed about the loss of his factory. My grandmother had two young children and another (my father) on the way. One of the daughters from my grandfather's first marriage ended up in a concentration camp. She survived and married a Jewish man she had met and fallen in love with. They relocated to Israel,covered up her German heritage and raised their children, my half cousins, as Jews and Israelis with no knowledge of their German background.

I can't imagine not working to save as many children as I could.

So, in the end, it's all about me after all. I can say that it's the American in me that loves freedom, change and the rights of every individual to determine their own lives. Or the German in me that abhors racism and intolerance.

But it's just me. Just dumb little-old me. I can be a lot of things. (Irresponsible, irreverent, silly, stupid, funny, insensitive, unfair and wrong.)

I can also be sorry, sorry friend, that I hurt you. I know how you feel, I understand and even empathize with your view, you are right and I am unfair.

But I cannot be silent.

Friendly

I gotta be honest here; coming back from Florida SUCKED. I had two weeks with Grandma, in my own bed, in my own room, with Grandma's caretaker (Jenny!) making meals for us. I ran on the beach. I went to a nature reserve with Uncle Doug. (And a gun shop - but that's another essay!) I went shopping with Aunt Joan. (I really love Walmart and Bells.) I went sailing with Ray and Patty. And I got to sail. I bought a Netbook and figured it out myself. I wrote. Or not. Whatever I wanted, when I wanted.

Oh yeah - there was also the sun (although it was cool, it was still sunny and nothing compared to winter in Germany.), the beach, the wildlife, the nature, and all of the friendly Americans. I'd forgotten about that. Do they ever stop smiling or asking you how you are? Where you are from, what you are doing here, and the rest of your life story as if they really care about you? What about all those polite people in the stores helping you out with a smile, anticipating your needs, acting as if they really wanted to be there, with you, helping you shop? And everyone holding open doors for eachother? And looking eachother in the eyes? Direct eye contact and friendliness. Really really nice.

So that I was less than thrilled to have to come back to reality.

I'm making a point to notice the friendliness over here too. Okay, it is definitely more isolated, certainly NOT a cultural phenomenon, but it exists and we need to notice it exists so that we can nurture that small spark into a larger flame.

One interesting thing is that Germans are friendlier in America than they are here. So that not noticing that other people exist around you is not a genetic deficiency inherent to those of German descent. (And, let's face it, a large part of Americans are of German descent.) America's friendliness infects them too. I not only had eye contact and conversation with a German man in his thirties at the departure terminal in Atlanta, he kept it up well into the flight, his sparkling blue eyes glancing a few rows back at me every few minutes to confirm that the two of us did, indeed, both have an entire row to ourselves. He just kept winking and smiling.

I also helped an elderly German woman who had been visiting her friend in Florida for a month. And heard all about her grandkids and her home in Munich.

Then there's the older gentleman who I passed as he was coming out to get his morning paper. HE greeted ME and then commented on the chilliness of the weather. (For those who don't know; this is how strangers pass eachother in America; it's hard for us NOT to make a connection with someone.) When I replied that this was nothing compared to Germany he delightedly replied that he was German too. Then proceeded to tell me about his first business in Canada, a relocation to California and how his daughter now lives on the neighboring island with her two kids, ages 2 and 4. Within thirty seconds.

Okay, this last guy wasn't German anymore; that's what you call an American who was born in Germany.

Or Michael at the DAZ, who I called up today for some brief information and who I ended chatting with for ten minutes. He spent three years at Cornell, most recently three years in El Paso Texas, has worked as a journalist, has two children and was most impressed that I had a "real" job as a veterinarian, even thought I am currently not practicing. What a nice guy. German. Although obviously an odd one! (Which is obviously meant as a compliment!)

It's not easy here. It is cold and it is gray and everyone is huddled up in their own misery.

But not everyone. The check-out ladies at Real in Stern Center are mostly really nice. And that guy I literally almost ran into coming through the door - we were in hysterics together.

Okay - he wasn't German. And the checkout ladies might not be either. But Michael is. And the little old lady from Munich. And my winking guy on the airplane.

But it really shouldn't matter. Nice people come in all sexes, shapes, sizes, colors, religions and nationalities.

We aren't going to notice them unless we look.

Me First?

At first I was angry. But now I really want to know and understand.

What made that man who pushed in front of my family at the restaurant on Sunday (who knew you needed reservations at Wienerwald?!) so certain that his needs were so much more important that ours?

I honestly feel that this question lies at the heart of the human condition. It is the reason the mice built earth in the first place. (You would have to know - and appreciate - The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy series by Douglas Adams to understand that last bit, but it is my blog and I am feeling quite clever, so I am leaving it in.)

What made this man feel justified in placing his needs before ours? Did he feel we were less important, less worthy, less hungry, stupid for waiting? How could he smile at us when we were seated right next to them less than a minute later? He showed no guilt, no shame, no remorse.

Does he not have a conscience? Assuming that he does, how is it that it can work so differently from mine? Does he lack respect for, or awareness, of anyone besides himself? In the extreme, this is considered a psychopathic disorder, this ability to not feel for anyone else.

Just as disturbing to me is the large number of people - the hostess and wait staff, the other customers and HIS WIFE - who also saw it, rolled their eyes and then did nothing about it. I might be able to understand the staff, who have jobs to protect. Even the wife, although Damon will confirm none to happily that I do scream and yell and make a fuss when I feel he is being rude to someone. (In his defense, he is usually standing up for us.)

I am tired of having to defend myself constantly. It's not only Germany - two people cut in front of my sister at the deli in Arizona the other day. And she is nine months pregnant. (Not only is that rude, but downright dangerous!) But it does happen here a lot more than I remember in any other country I have lived. (One positive thing to come out of the earthquake in Haiti is the pictures and stories of neighborhoods and strangers helping eachother in spite of their own dire need.)

Since Sunday I have also had to fight for my spot in a step-aerobics class on Monday night, and this at the local community center where everyone knows eachother! The interesting part is, and what I find different from the USA, is that when you stand up for yourself, the offending person backs off immediately, with a smile. There are no hard feelings. It's as if they know they are wrong.

It's almost as if, in the USA, the people who do things like this truly ARE assholes. You call them on it and they are ready to take you on. It gets ugly. Here, people just seem to do it without thinking. It is part of the culture. (Although I still think this is a really lame excuse.) They aren't assholes. They are actually NICER to you once you've reprimanded them, kind of like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar who then try to make nice to the person who caught them.

Often they act as if they just hadn't noticed you standing there. In front of them. Which is just as disturbing. (Or sometimes, that they just didn't know you spoke German, but that's another topic. I do think they expect the large number of US military here to just give in, and I think we do, just because we are so shocked people can be so openly rude. IBM and the military actually have manuals on how to keep your place in line here!)

German tourists in Disney World, Florida, have the WORST reputation as being assholes. Before I knew this, I was on line in Disneyworld with Damon and his mom and stepdad when we noticed some people casually cozying up to the side of the line, obviously trying to avoid the hour in line the rest of us had already waited. When they quietly moved to stand in front of us, and I confronted them, they pretended they didn't speak English. Boy had they picked the wrong person to stand in front of! I let them have it in German. Japanese tourists and American visitors alike clapped and cheered as the Germans moved to the end of the line.

It's not just a German thing, but it really does seem to be more prevalent here and I think it is something that should be addressed and not just written off as part of the culture.

Having seen the workings (or not-workings, as the case may be) of the early education system here, I shudder. Does the education system reflect the values of society or does the society determine the education system in place? Either way, I shudder.

But I'm not going to accuse, or overanalyze, or trumpet my shiny moral horn today.
Because I still need to understand.

How can someone be so sure that their needs count so much more than those of others?

Please, it's really important that I understand this.

Random Thought: Guns

I am very pleased to see that the toy pistols the boys bought with their Christmas money from Grandpa (I took 'em to the store; I claim full responsibility) are lying forgotten in the playroom corner.

I am not as pleased that they've chewed their toast into the shape of a gun and are now shooting at eachother with it!

Right and Wrong

What still really gets me is that there is right and there is wrong. And I just don't understand why people are so afraid to stand up for it. Are they just too damn lazy, or busy, to bother? Or worse, do they really not understand the difference?

It's not just about Ryan and her walk to school, but we can start there. The other two mothers honestly don't seem to understand what all the fuss is about. The mornings work out fine with all three girls. So why not just cut out the afternoons and have them fend for themselves. This is their solution.

Why can't they see that I need help in the afternoons? Why can't they see that Ryan deserves to be good enough to walk with mornings AND afternoons? Why can't either of them see that Jule ignoring Ryan when Julia isn't there to protect her isn't right? I'm more disappointed in Julia's mom. Julia IS sweet and thoughtful and DOES stick up for Ryan. So, why won't her mother stick up for what's right?

I just don't get it. Our two girls could walk to and from school together just fine without the one causing the problems. So why, after over three years, is she still expecting me to put up with it? Why are we letting this mother get away with treating everyone else like their needs are of less value than hers?

It happens all the time. We know people aren't doing their part. We talk about it amongst ourselves, but then we continue to leave things the way they are. To be honest, we don't even talk about it much. Kind of hint at a bit of a problem and then laugh it off. Maybe bring it up generally. But never hold anyone accountable. People get away with things that are wrong. Is this just in the name of getting along?

Let's face it, in my day to day life as mommy, it's small things. And so I've learned to keep my mouth shut and play along. But, it's still wrong and....yeah....I was slowly dying inside at just accepting this and smiling along with everyone else. I won't make a fuss now. I am learning to bow out. But, damn it, I wish I could just understand how everyone else seems to just sit there and take it with a smile on their face.

And it does matter. The school system here SUCKS. I can say it, because EVERYONE AGREES. Parents and teachers anyway. The poor kids don't know anything else. IT IS WRONG. EVERYONE AGREES THAT IT IS WRONG. We bitch and moan. AND THEN WE DO NOTHING ABOUT IT. How can you live like this? I am not judging (anymore); I really want to know. There are things we can fix, problems we can solve, wrongs that we can right, if only we worked together and stood up for it.

Is it only Germany? God, I'd certainly like to think so, if only because it means that there are people out there who WILL fight for what is right and who WILL fight together for a common good.

A few years ago I would have raised a far huger stink over this thing with Ryan's walk to school. A few years ago I still would have spoken up, and at least brought attention to, the things that everyone else was thinking. But I've learned I can't do anything alone. One voice shouting in the wind is one voice shouting in the wind.

I died inside.

I've got to move on. I've got to find the place where my voice is joined by others. I can do "nice" and I can do "getting along" but I've never been one to place much value on external appearances. If it's rotten underneath, I don't care how nice you've painted over it.

I'm not going to stop being friends with Claudia because she won't defend me and my daughter. She's a good person and a good friend. (I wanted to say true friend but I couldn't bring myself to do it.) She means well and she is protecting her own small world.

But I need people who will SCREAM AND SHOUT AND HOLLER AND FIGHT - or at least write and talk about - what is right. At least TALK ABOUT what they BELIEVE IN. Seems we don't even do that anymore. Does anybody still believe in anything?!

Some people are sure going to be disappointed that I've found myself again. (Most noticeably my father.) I was a lot quieter zonked out on the couch drugged out of my mind on medications that were supposed to make me be normal. I couldn't feel, I couldn't care. I just made it through the day.

If that's normal, if that's what everyone else is really about, then I prefer being insane.

Don't worry, I'll behave. I'll play the game and sit quietly, the same vapid smile on my face as everyone else. I'll make nice.

But underneath, I know who I am, and I know that I, at least, can make a difference

Fatherhood Freestyle: You Are the Prize : WeParent

Cannot say it any better than this. MUST READ.


Fatherhood Freestyle: You Are the Prize : WeParent

Playing With Guns

As I've mentioned, potty training has become a lot easier now that I don't take it as seriously as I used to.

There are some other signs of my maturing motherhood.

I like to think it's not as much a matter of slipping morals or of giving up as it is of a light heart and a happy meign.

The most noticeable sign is the water guns. Yes, guns, the four letter word I kept hidden from my older two children as long as I was able. Poor Andrew had to go and get the Fisher Price ambulance and paramedics everytime he tried to start a gun fight between a couple of his play figures. He was fashioning weapons from Legos and sticks by the time he was three, something I had read was perfectly healthy and normal. But then he also had to hear the talk on war and hurting eachother and how it was sad that people couldn't get along without fighting. Go ahead and play, I'd say, just remember that in real life real people don't hurt other people.

So far he has shown no signs of damage.

And when he said he wanted to stop judo class - something I'd encouraged because the teacher is a fantastic guy who incorporates Japanese philosophy into his class and is great with kids - because he didn't want to fight with people, well who could argue with that? Certainly not the teacher, who was so cool about it that I wished he was teaching street dancing or something else instead.

Andrew walks away from an argument - something which really pisses opponents his age off to no end - but will fight back to defend himself, or as importantly, others. It's a tough recess here in Germany - apparently the teachers go for coffee and leave the kids to fend for themselves - but Andrew has had no problems.

Until two weeks ago when we visited our friends, the Raibles. And were greeted by three kids toting Super-Soakers. We returned the following week armed and ready, but our dolphin and seahorse mini-squirters were no match. I hit the dollar store this week for the twins' birthday and came up with two crocodile Super-Soakers and two versions of the real thing. We are ready for a rematch!

Kids do know right from wrong. The twins don't know what to do when an 18 month old girl takes their toy away from them, they cry and look confused and concerned, but they do know not to hit, especially someone smaller than themselves. (Which is not to say that they wouldn't throw in a good push if I didn't step in and intervene immediately!) And man can they punch the crap out of eachother if I leave them in the car alone - and that's the older two.

They're going to play soldier and they're going to play knights. (I admit it's a little funny that I don't like play pistols in the house, but swords and axes somehow seem less violent! Like why let them pretend to shoot at eachother when they could REALLY be hitting eachother over the head with the swords instead!) And now, they are going to aim water at eachother too.

I do take things less seriously than I used to. Not war. Or injustice. Or violence. But I am learning what to take seriously - like war and injustice and violence - and what not to. Like having a good time and playing and pretending. Being a kid. (God bless Harry Potter video games though for allowing Andrew and Ryan to play a cool action game using a wand instead of a gun as a weapon!)

So, the next time you come over to the Connor house, you may just find yourself stepping in something wet. Probably from the water fight. Or not. In either case, feel free to grab a paper towel. I'm busy maturing as a mother at the moment.