Mama's Musings

'Tis the Season to be Puking

It's Christmas. It must be time for a stomach virus. Jackson is lying on the couch, and I'm counting the minutes until it hits the rest of us. I vowed this Christmas we wouldn't get sick. Ho hum. Looks like we're having dry toast and tea for Christmas dinner this year...

Kristie T mentioned Vitamin Angel Alliance

I'm thrilled to see word is spreading about the Vitamin Angle Alliance and my donation of December's royalties for SAHM I Am: Tales of a Stay-at-Home Mom in Europe. Here's a trackback to Kristie T's blog.

Work at home blog

I found this neat resource today for work at home parents -- WebMomz.com. It has useful advice from a person who knows. After all, the Web site owner wrote a book about the topic called I love My Life!

It’s All in the Attitude

When people say to me „So-and-so has such bad luck! You’ll never guess what happened to her now…” I usually sit back and reflect on what this person’s attitude might be.

My grandmother was a ray of sunshine to all around her. She was generous, mysterious, and curious. In fact, she was a well-known matchmaker, shoulder to cry on, and all around good person. At her funeral, people spoke of how she gave them money “for something nice, just because…” It left a deep impression on me.

What if we lived our lives in the “just because”? I try to. Most days it works quite well.

Today I was tested anew.

Our DVD-player broke almost the moment we took it out of the box. It was a minor repair which a dab of glue and my husband’s ingenuity fixed…for a time. Then it started to play only in black and white. Our AV experience was reduced greatly. After almost a year, I returned the DVD-player to the department store where I bought it.

“It should be back in a few weeks,” the perky store clerk said. Taking my repair ticket home with me, I was certain we’d have it back in time for Thanksgiving. Weeks came. Weeks went. We did not hear from the department store. Finally, another store clerk named Herr Spät (meaning Late, in German) gave me a ring.

“According to the manufacturer, your DVD-player is not covered under warranty anymore…” A long, obfuscated explanation followed.

“You can pick it up tomorrow,” he replied. The next morning, despite the freezing rain, I drove the 30 miles to Ingolstadt.

The cheery Herr Spät greeted me with a new form.

“OH! I tried to call you back. We’ve found another solution. The local repair shop is going to fix it for you for free.”

I didn’t mind. At least the player would be fixed.

Three weeks later, another clerk called. This time, it was the department head. Herr Stolze (meaning Pride in German). Are you beginning to see a pattern here?

He read the repair sheet in full. Both of us didn’t really understand what it meant, other than that they could not repair it. I asked for the head of the department store. Herr Lauer (meaning Lurking in German – yeah, there’s a pattern here alright!).

After a brief call with Herrn Lauer, who said he would speak with Herrn Stolze, I received another call from the now sheepish Herrn Stolze.

“Um…I don’t know how to tell you this…”

I paused, smiling into the phone for some reason. It’s all in the attitude, I could hear my grandmother’s voice say to me from some distant place.

“I was reading the wrong repair sheet when I called you. It was for a Mr…”

Now I started laughing – an echoing belly laugh that came from somewhere deep, somewhere farther down than I knew existed. He started laughing, too.

“I’m going to hear from the repair shop tomorrow about your machine,” he said.

“That means you have to do this all over again with the other guy whose machine is no longer working, too?” I asked with great sympathy. The poor guy, I thought. It’s not his fault that the product was of sub-optimal quality.

“Yes,” he began. He paused, then said, “And you know what? Even if it does cost something to fix your DVD-player, I’m going to pay for it. You’ve been so kind, Frau Hohlbaum. And I’d love to take you out for a cup of coffee when you pick it up just because you made me laugh, too.”

I couldn’t believe it. Not only had we turned the situation around in our laughter. But we recognized we are two human beings caught up in something that did not originate with us. It’s all in the attitude.

Thank you, Grammy. I'm happy to live in the "just because". You really never know who will show up next.

Vitamin Angel Alliance

Here's what I've decided to do with my book royalties for the month of December. Please support this cause. Read on!

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Media Contact:

Howard B. Schiffer

Vitamin Angel Alliance

1450 Orange Grove Avenue

Santa Barbara, CA  93105

Ph: 805 564 8400

Fx: 805 564 8499

E: howard@VitaminAngels.org

Parenting author Christine Louise Hohlbaum Joins Actor Noah Wyle to Support Vitamin Angels

(Munich, Germany -- December 8, 2005) Vitamin deficiency blinds, maims, and kills. It is one of the most preventable epidemics to reach our world today, affecting over 1 billion people. The Vitamin Angel Alliance is here to stop it.

Parenting author Christine Louise Hohlbaum, recently named “Author of the Year 2005” by the Montauk Sun on Long Island, will donate 100% of the royalties to her book, SAHM I Am: Tales of a Stay-at-Home Mom in Europe (ISBN: 1932279-14-8, Wyatt-MacKenzie Publishing, 2005) for the remainder of this year to the Vitamin Angel Alliance. The organization has distributed over 120 million supplements to more than 40 countries in the past few years. Joining forces with Vitamin Angel spokesperson and long-time actor on the TV show ER, Noah Wyle, Christine hopes to raise enough money to help the Santa Barbara-based non-profit reach $1 million in donations by the end of 2006.

"We are entering the season of light," says the American expat writer from her home near Munich, Germany. "Vitamin A deficiency leads to blindness. What is better than giving a child the gift of sight?"

Howard Schiffer, who founded Vitamin Angel Alliance ten years ago, states: "Christine is one of our favorite parenting authors - we're big fans of her writing. We're honored by her commitment to help children and families all over the world lead healthier lives.”

SAHM I Am: Tales of a Stay-at-Home Mom in Europe can be purchased via amazon or in any bookstore.

###

Angels in my house

It has been a tearful morning. Other than the fact that today marks the end of my "light deprivation/I'm-so-depressed" week, I have experienced several remarkable things which have to do with angels.

Before you click off and say "holistic humbug!", hear me out.

It all started with a pot of boiling water.

I flicked on the stove to place my children's heating packs in hot water to decrystallize them. They have this cool ability to heat up to 50°C by bending the metal tab inside the gel. I bought both of my kids these little "comfort creatures" which are kid-belly-sized and the perfect bedtime companion (my perfect bedtime companion is still travelling, another reason for my tears).

Placing them in hot water for eight minutes decrystallizes the pack so you can use it again the same day. Enough physics. Here's what happened.

I forgot about the pot.

Simmering noises came from the kitchen.

"What's that?" I wondered, thinking the snow might be melting outside my window in the dim morning light. I continued to write the book review I had promised Jenna Glatzer weeks ago.

Oh no. Racing down the stairs 30 minutes later, I peeled off the remainder of the children's hot packs and tossed them in the sink. Oozing gooey stuff spilled onto the sink's surface. Crud. I cried briefly, then laughed. It's okay. No sense crying over spilled gook.

I pushed my feet into my shoes and headed for the door. The local drugstore was sure to have a replacement. The nice lady at the counter asked all her colleagues.

Try going to the sports shop in Freising (a town 15 minutes from us), they suggested, not knowing how to help me. Suppressing a renewed urge to weep, I politely thanked them, exited the building and started my car. As I pulled away, I saw the apothecary running after me with two plastic bags in her hand.

"Look what I found in the basement. You can have them as a gift."

My eyes widened, threatening to spill the tears I longed to release. She presented me with two heat gel packs.

"You are an angel," was all I could say. She gave me a knowing grin, turned on her heel, and went back inside. My kids would have their comfort creatures in time for after-school.

When I got home, the mail had arrived. Noah Wyle, the actor who played "Carter" on the TV show, ER, had sent me a DVD. He's campaigning for Vitamin Angels, an incredibly worthy organization which battles malnutrition through vitamin supplements. Catastrophe victims and other at-risk groups receive the benefits these vitamins bring. Watching the images dance across my screen, I realized how connected we all are. From California to Kazichstan. I'm donating the last quarter's proceeds to SAHM I Am: Tales of a Stay-at-Home Mom in Europe. Fighting easily curable diseases such as blindness from a Vitamin A deficiency is more worthy than a night on the town.

After a morning like this one, I am convinced: there are angels in this world. You can be one, too, by donating to Vitamin Angels or fulfilling someone's need today with a smile.

Synchronicity

Synchronicity shows up when you stretch yourself beyond what you thought imaginable. It becomes unleashed the moment you move beyond your comfort zone to a place of tingling fear, shallow breathing, and a seemingly endless adrenalin rush.

The keynote speech I gave at the American-German Business Club on last Wednesday went so well I had to look around me and say "Oh, hello 'Zone.' It's you."

The birthplace of synchronicity is also called "The Zone". It is the origin of all creativity. It is the house where athletes dwell when their full concentration is dedicated to a single task. It is what happens when you forget you own fingers. You simply write, record, chronicle your thoughts onto the page. They dance, dally, and dangle, black against white. There is no inner voice telling you that you cannot, simply because there is no form of negation in "The Zone". It is the place I've called home all week.

Because I have lived there, amazing things have occurred. People have showed up. They have pulled me up the mountain to a new summit. I've lunched with the gods and felt the cool, wet clouds kiss my cheeks. I've been invited to play with new people. They've let me into their worlds, if only for a conversation. And together we felt the seismic shift that occurs when people connect on a level where souls become contiguous.

Synergies meld, spirits sailing in co-flight.

I am steeped in gratitude for the opportunity to connect with a friend of the Candy Bomber who, during the Berlin Airlift in 1948, tossed candy out his airplane window to the children. The young man I met is an aviation historian who knows Gail Halverson well. Two days before I had watched the first of a two-part segment on the Airlift. It was something I had never studied before. What are the chances of then meeting someone who knew one of the men mentioned in the film just days later?

Or doing a voice-over for several video spots for SOS Children's Villages, the only official charity partner of the Soccer World Cup 2006? My husband just called from his business trip in Cologne to inform me million of people will be hearing my voice this week in Leipzig during the drawing of which teams will be playing again each other. Imagine. I'll be connecting with millions of people's ear drums, asking for support for an incredibly worthy cause of building homes for needy children. Now that, my friends, is synchronicity.

The next time you don't want to stretch, do it anyway. You know what? 'The Zone' might just greet you halfway...

Award Show Junkie

TV rarely affords feel-good experiences. There is a lot of entertainment and thought-provoking news coverage. There are select talk shows that uplift, inspire, and illuminate (thank you, Oprah). But there is nothing like watching an award show which features people you see all over the media who are caught off-guard and aren't wearing their shiny shields of perfection. These are real people with feelings.

Last night I snapped on the Bambi Awards. Admittedly, I am a bit of an award show junkie. It's not that I fawn over good-looking actors or marvel at the revealing appareil. Last evening it was like going home again, communing with so many German TV personalities and a scattered American presence, too (hey, Mariah! Nice performance!). The youngest rock band in Germany, Tokio Hotel, did an astoundingly good job in motivating the grey hairs in the audience to bob their heads to the beat. Collectively, the quartet's age barely reaches 40. The lead singer, a tween with a propensity for black eyeliner and, well, black everything, gave a sweet acceptance speech. He tried hard not to let his voice crack. In that case, I think it had more to do with his impending puberty than any emotion behind his words.

The TV viewing experience resonated with my husband and me for two reasons (he reached for the box of Kleenex more than once!):

--The event was held in our backyard, yet another reason to love Munich, and all that it has to offer.

--There were two celebrities with whom very dear friends of mine have had direct contact. Forget SIX degrees of separation. Last night, we were running on ONE.

Award shows have another meaning for me. It is a time to celebrate people's hard work, to honor their existence, to say "thank you for making my day a little easier." Germans are, collectively, a rather political people. They of course honored the men and women whose initiatives saved lives in Sri Lanka, Pakistan, and New Orleans. And that's what made us cry the most. It's nice that Til Schweiger won an award for producing/directing/screenwriting/and starring in the gentle movie, Barfuss (Barefoot). He surely deserved it. But the real heroes for me that night were the regular people who showed up, were themselves, cried a little bit, too, and whose selflessness in providing a collective feel-good experience sang a song for humanity.