Mama's Musings

Covergirl

Irony. Paradox. Hot. Cold. Sunshine. Rain.

Life can be confusing. I've had a bout of doubt and revelation this week. After a lovely, lengthy conversation with a dear Canadian friend, I knew I had to get back up on my horse, even as it seemed there was no point to it all.

"It's not like you can be on the cover of a magazine EVERY DAY," my husband explained. Seeking those highs, avoiding the lows. Then my friend sent me this, and I had to laugh.

Guess who's on the cover of a magazine?

http://www.momwriterslitmag.com/ 

Bizarre Bazaar

For the third year in a row, I have attempted to sell my children's old clothing at a local children's bazaar. For 5€ and a cake (the cost to have a stand), my friend and I split a stand in an overcrowded gymnasium with dozens of other desperate mothers whose deepest wish was to get rid of all their junk.

Watching my friend, whose clothes were zipping off the table at unmatchable speed, I saw how important presentation and the right brand name can be. Her children wear designer clothes. Before the bazaar had even officially begun, she had sold 15€ worth of stuff.

For the first half-hour, I waited and waited. Fluffing up my slightly worn wares, I folded and refolded sweaters, dresses and pants. My friend took pity on me and hung up my daughter's old dress which she personally loved. In that instant, something shifted. My luck began to change as people to whom I have sold things in the past began to approach me. By the end of the first hour, I had cashed in over 20€.

My son's circus was the real reason I was there. Everything else was mere pretense. I wanted to get rid of the thing the moment I saw he never played with it. He preferred his cranes, trucks and Playmobil figurines to the wooden toy with the ferocious tigers, lions, and bears (oh my!). After an hour of haggling, I finally got someone to buy it for a third of the original price. She carted it off under her arm, dust and all.

People were rather rude. I would hold up something their little girl might like, and they scrunched up their noses and would say, "Oh, no way..." Others wanted our clothing for 50 cents, something my friend and I both refused to do. It was clear they were there to make a deal. We were tired of our stuff, but our pride remained in tact.

"I'd rather give my things away to someone who would appreciate it than someone who'll merely resell it at the next bazaar," my friend said.

All the carefully selected stuff I couldn't sell is still sitting in my car. It's not coming back into the house. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of holding a flea market out of the trunk of my car. If the weather holds, I may just do it.

Now that would be truly bizarre...

Cake Walk

Trends aren't something I usually follow. If you saw my wardrobe, you might experience psychedlic flashbacks to Madonna's early years as a recording artist. Oh sure, there's a smattering of chic-this or that (thanks, in large part, to my fashionable sister whose cast-offs are thrice better than anything I'd ever get off the rack). But you can bet your sweet bippy I have precious little in my closet which could qualify me as "in".

When I was a kid, the Rubic's cube was all the rage. Everyone and their brother had one. Of course, it took me six months to catch on to the thing. I finally did. But then Pac-man hit centerstage and while I whittled away literally hundreds of hours on the colorful cube, my friends' eyes were glazed over as they chased ghosts with a chomping yellow circle and a joystick.

Nordic walking has been a hot new trend here lately amongst boomer-aged women in Germany. To the thrifty-minded German, it is the ideal sport -- an environmentally friendly, cost-effective form of movement. That is, until you start counting up the costs of the equipment required.

-Walking sticks 70€

-Fashionable vest -- 29€

-Shoes - 85€+

-UV sunglasses - 45€

-year-round suncream -- 12 € per month.

You get the picture.

I took my first class in Nordic walking today. My children don't understand it.

"You are taking a class to learn to walk?" my six-year-old glared in my direction. As if I were spending HER hard-earned money to do such a thing.

"I'm getting lots of fresh air, exploring the outdoors, and experiencing mild adult interaction. Grant me that, won't you?" I did not actually say anything of this, but I'm certain she could hear at least part of my thoughts...

"That's right," I finally replied. "I'm learning to walk so I can eat more cake."

Elite Motherhood

The New York Times has written about motherhood so much, I'm beginning to believe it's a parenting paper. Yesterday's article shed light on how a new generation of elite college women are accepting motherhood without a career. At least, they are considering the option to stay at home with their kids for a while. Is the stigma of SAHM's retreating to the background? I've written a letter to the editor. It remains to be seen if they'll read it, much less print it!

We survived...

I have napped every day this week. Could it be the first week of school is rather strenuous? I even napped twice yesterday. Once at 1:30 pm and again at 7 pm. I even fell asleep for a few hours...getting up at 6:30 a.m. with jetlag ain't easy!

Sophia got her school schedule today. She attends school from 8-11:15 am every day, except Tuesdays and every other Friday which goes until 1 pm. She's gotten the hang of walking to school and back by herself. She goes with a friend of hers, so it helps somewhat. She will be attending religious instruction twice a week. Wonder what my American political science friends would think of that!

She loves doing her homework -- where did she get such a sense of duty? I had it as a kid. It makes me proud!

Jackson loves his extended kindergarten program. He goes from 8am-1pm daily. It helps to have Sophia home 90 minutes earlier than he is. That way she and I can actually have an uninterrupted conversation without my having to divide my attention.

If only my frequent naps weren't interrupted by overtired, overstimulated Jackson hooting up the stairs that quiet time should be over and why can't he play....

Cranky Post

Something was acting funny earlier today. Here are the pictures of Sophia and Jackson on their first day of school!

In the name of the Father, the Son, and HOLY SMOKES!

The morning was sheathed in fog. The day had finally arrived. Willing my body to raise itself from a deep slumber, I pulled myself into a vertical, if somewhat crooked, position. Shuffling into the bathroom, I stared at my husband. "Today is the day," I whispered. The toothpaste slid onto my toothbrush. Next, I actually ironed my shirt. Don't get me wrong, I iron on occasion. But recently, I've been ironing almost every day. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I find this disturbing. I pushed the idea out of my brain, making a mental check-list of the morning to-dos. "I'll wake the kids," I told my husband, padding down the stairs to Sophia's room. Jackson was curled up on his pillow, foot to foot with his sister. He had slept in her bed for the past few nights. The impending separation was evident, and he sorely missed her already. "Good morning!" I cheerfully sang, pulling back the covers. Sophia played tug-of-war with hers and lost. Once she remembered her Schultüte, however, she jumped out of bed. We bought Sophia's new dress at Old Navy. We had no idea that she would resemble a Catholic schoolgirl! Ironically, on her first day of school, the director pulled us and a few other Protestant families aside. "I have gathered you all because, ahem..." he cleared his throat and began again. "Well, you are Protestant. We don't have enough in our budget this year to hire a Protestant teacher..." Religious instruction? I began to see how appropriate Sophia's dress actually was! The choice was either to place our kids in with third and fourth graders who already had Protestant religious instruction or keep them with their classmates. I'm fairly clear about our choice. The first two years, both lesson plans run parallel. It's only in third grade where they prepare kids for Confirmation. So many decisions and our children hadn't even had their first hour of instruction! After picking up Sophia, we marched over to the local restaurant for lunch with most of the other families. It was a time of community and celebration. Germans may have a lot of rules, but they sure know how to party!