Our first European vacation with my family from the States is right around the corner and, as excited as I am, there's a little corner of blueness because my baby sister won't be joining us. I always think I can power through this whole international thing and that, after living here for almost two decades (schluck), I'd be numb to missing out on events in the States or a missing sibling or two at a family event over here. But, I'm not and it is just as hard as the first time. Growing up, I always associated "home" with our house in Houston, but my folks moved out almost a decade ago and our beautiful home on Ravenhurst Lane is housing someone else's childhood memories now. It's weird this whole growing up and moving out thing; it's weird when you realize that you're too big to cuddle up on laps, that you're the one in the driver's seat raising kids of your own. Sometimes I wish I could travel back in time and live within those walls on Ravenhurst Lane, within that family, for a spell, watching movies in the darkened living room, eating popcorn that my dad made in the old, beat-up pot with the uneven bottom, drinking mom's iced-tea, wondering which flavor of Blue Bell to have for dessert and which movie to watch next.  By allowing heimweh (homesickness) to tip-toe into my everyday everynowandthen, I am reminded to stop, hug, listen, observe, and remember; I am reminded how precious the day-to-day is. 

In celebration of stopping to smell the budding flowers of life.

Yoga Lounge Würzburg

In the summer, Yoga Lounge can be found every Sundays @ the Stadtstrand in Wü

One of my most favorite places to be on a Tuesday morning is at the Yoga Lounge, a great little studio nestled in the middle of the city on the third floor of the former Mozart Gymnasium. I happenened upon this gem of a place about a year and a half ago after one of my students, Patricia Purkett, said that she was thinking of getting a morning Pilates class going and asked if I would be interested in trying it out. The moment I walked in the door, I felt at peace. The colors were comforting hues of blues, browns, and cremes; the rooms were spacious with hardwood floors. Did I mention I'm a sucker for hardwood? Everywhere I looked, I noticed the small details that had been attended to. There were candles on the windowsills and books waiting to be read; there were mats and water just in case. Even the old bathroom around the corner was remembered with good-smelling soap and fresh flowers. You have to climb at least 80 stairs (oh hey mom), but once you arrive at the top, a sweet oasis of positive energy and strength greets you. Katja Seuffert, the owner, is a breath of fresh air and is pimping up the yoga scene here in Würzburg. She and select trainers have started offering donation-based classes. You heard right. Classes without a set fee; you donate what you feel it was worth. How's that for good karma??! If you don't have time to attend a weekly class, the workshops at Yoga Lounge are divine and designed to fit the needs of everysinglesolitary person regardless of the level he or she is at. In the fall, there're some great personalities coming: Julia Müller, Ralph Otto, Anette Alvaredo, and more. So, if you haven't guessed...Yoga Lounge and, of course, Patricia Purkett's Pilates Body Motion class is my fourth hot spot in Würzburg. Treat yourself!

You learn something new everyday. Isn't it nice when you realize how much a day has taught you? I attended my last official class at the university about nine years ago and since then have been working and raising my two boys. I don't get report cards that say how my mothering skills are, how my German is progressing (or not), and if I'm getting wiser in the life department. It's up to me to stop, take a breath, look back or ahead, and recognize things that I can do now, but couldn't do yesterday, last week, last month, or last year. It's so easy to focus on all the things we still want or need to learn; it's so easy to berate ourselves for not knowing more. How often do you pat yourself on the back? How often do you give yourself an einsplusmitstern for your everyday triumphs? Today, actually this morning, I learned how to transfer pictures from our camera to the computer the quick way and how to link a site to a word or name (something I was admiring on my sister's blog the other day). Here are some impressions of summer I've been wanting to share with you...







So. Please do tell...what have you learned today?

This morning, I was determined to make room for the clothes that have been hanging on my chair for the last week or so. Now, this may seem like a simple thing to do and, in theory, it is. But, my husband and I share a wardrobe from the 20s and making room requires a lot more than pushing existing clothes to the side. Making room requires time; it demands that things be sorted through and bagged up to give away; it requires me to make decisions and consider how often I wore something in the course of the year. This is something I really love doing, but like any intense housework, I really have to be in the mood to do it. Now, I know my "problems" would be solved if we'd just install a wall unit running the length of our bedroom and get rid of our antique wardrobe measuring less than two meters. But, I just don't want to. I adore my little piece of the past and I am afraid that if we install a closet-like unit (in Germany you rarely find built-in closets like in the States), I would neverever get rid of stuff. Sorting through my things gives me peace; I not only free up physical space in my house, I free up space in my head. I re-discover things I bought in anticipation of a new season; I find things I thought I lost; and I remember moments in time when I re-fold, re-order, and happen upon things I've worn. This morning, I slowed my life down to unclutter my "closet" and, in doing so, have uncluttered my head. Time really is of the essence; this is something living in Germany has taught me. Taking the time to do things, whether it be cooking dinner, raising children, getting from point a to point b, savoring sweet moments with loved ones, or cleaning out a beloved two meter wardrobe, is what life, I'm finding, is all about.

One of my most favorite sayings in German is, "der Weg ist das Ziel" (the journey is the reward). Happy journeying on this beautiful Friday afternoon.

Haareschneiden macht Spass

Today, I am celebrating my sixth consecutive year of good hair(cuts) in Germany. Halleluja, it happened; I have learned what to say (and what not to say) to hairdressers in this lovely country so that the haircut in my head matches the one in the mirror! It has been a long journey laden with tears, lots of chocolate, and more tears. The first ten years of terribly bad, awful haircuts taught me the following:

-passing the Deutsche Sprachprüfung für den Hochschulzugang (German equivalent of TOEFL) in no way prepares you for the "Zugang zum deutschen Haarsalon"

-the sign "Wir suchen Friseurmodelle" (looking for models) does not in any shape or form mean that the salon owners are looking for people to model haircuts (a little gel, a little teasing, and wha-la); it means that they are looking for people (the best candidates being poor, foreign students who passed the DSH, but really don't speak the language) who are willing to play a little German roulette with their hair.

-after agreeing to be a model, the phrase you worked so hard learning after your last trip to the salon, "bitte.nur.Spitzen.schneiden" (please just a trim -you know, to get rid of the spliss-ends), will be ignored and does NOT apply.

-a picture really is worth a thousand words.

-if, upon quickly scanning the lady about to cut your hair, you begin dreaming of marvelous ways to makeherover...politely get up and hightail it out of there! No words need to be exchanged, a simple smile and speedy exit will do.

-if, upon quickly scanning the lady about to cut your hair, you begin admiring her style and throw out that second, hard-learned phrase "Ich vertraue Ihnen" (I trust you), don't assume that you will not tear up during the cut, wishing you knew the word for "STOP" in German, cursing the fact that you were too proud to bring your boyfriend to translate.

-resist the power of that damn leather chair to make you wanna cutcutcutaway and realize that you are not Judy Jetson, once it's off, it's off!

Three wonderful salons and the hairdressers working in them not only helped me form my language to fit my hair needs, but also took hold of the reins, telling me before the leather chair began lulling me into cutcutcutting, "heute schneiden wir nur die Spitzen" (Today, we'll only cut the tips or ends or whatver the darn translation may be). These salons are: Hairless in Ingolstadt (I know, the name's scary, but the owner gets an einsplusmitstern); Essanelle (thank you my trusted friend, Lily); and Michael Ax (it really doesn't matter who cuts your hair; they are all great).

Have a (good hair) day!

Sometimes it pays to go to bed early. In the summer, getting kids to go to bed is like trying to get bubble-gum out of hair. Last night, though, the boys were showered off and sleeping by 8:00 pm. Since it's gotten warmer, the summer routine has dominated our days. The bedtime story has been replaced by biking and playing with friends; dinner is outside with the neighbors, not inside with the fam, and five o'clock is chimmed in with the clinking of glasses, celebrating the end of a day at the office. Divine, but after a few weeks, things start to backfire, little kids start to get grumpy, and the summer routine demands a break. Last night, we took that break and excused ourselves from the festivities celebrating the end of the World Cup, put the kids to bed at a reasonable hour, and stayed home. It's never easy being the odd one out, but last night, as the house quieted down and the babies were tucked in tight before the first vuvuzela tooted, it was oh-so-worth-it. Over the last couple of weeks, the sweet serentity of bedtime had been tainted by arguing, crying, and begging, by tired little boys who refused to admit that they were tired. I don't like days to end on that note and the mornings are usually not much better. This morning, though, I was rewarded with happy children who had had a solid sleep; I was rewarded with smiling faces and contented souls. Sleep is a precious commodity that does wonders for big and little people alike.

I heart sleep.

Hot days in Germany and lovin' it. There's something about the days where the sun heats up the town over 90°F; either you're in some body of water (most likely, a pool of your choice) or in your house with the blinds drawn. The pool is a pretty forseeable option, but at around 2:00 pm, it's jam-packed and filled to the rim. My hubby told me today that, on good days, more than 6,000 bodies go through the gates at the public pool around the corner. So, yeah, the pool. It's good, but, for me not an all-day option. Which leaves me with option number two: blinds drawn and holed up indoors. Now this was a totally new concept for me when I arrived in Germany in the late 90s. I mean indoors after the sun has finally decided to come out, after promising the weather man everysinglesolitary day in March, April, May, and June your firstborn child if he would just do you the favor and predict sun? Really??! Uh-huh. It's true and actually kinda fun. It's like you've been given a free day off where you're forced to remain indoors, motionless, only doing things that require null energy, eating ice-cream, drinking homeade iced-tea, and reading a book between naps. For mommies, this is a dream come true. Everyone lets you be and do what you please because they are too hot to register that you are sitting (usually before your bottom even hits a cushy surface, sweet little people begin crying out, "I need" or "Could you get" or "I am"). The summers in Germany are made all the more sweeter by days such as these; lazy water-infused, sun-soaked days of utter bliss that would not be as delightful if all you had to do was flip on a switch to find reprieve.

You know it's time to visit Ami-Land when...

...your German students know the latest American lingo and you correct them, as any good teacher would, only to find out after posting the question on FB, that they were right and this age-old word has assumed a new meaning while you were away

...you start craving MGD

...you can "schimpf" your kids better in German than in English and it just feels right

...you start eating french fries with a fork

...you have no idea who's on the American national soccer team, but know everysinglesolitary player on the German team, who they're married to, how much they earn, where they live, and even what position they play

...you start wearing socks with sandals and start telling your kids to do the same

...you can't fall asleep without a hot water bottle

...you proudly translate a conversational exchange for your folks (from A-M-E-R-I-C-A) and, only when you are met with blank stares, do you realize that it was all in G-E-R-M-A-N (sadly enough, this has happened more than once)

...you read the word "peeps" and think your friends are talking about the noise baby chicks make

...you start adding corn to your Tex-Mex

...your kids absolutely refuse to eat Mac-n-Cheese, Hamburger Helper, Spagetti-O's, and Betty Crocker cakes, claiming they "taste strange"

...you start waiting for the "green man" at the crosswalk

...your body has lost all of its resistance to air conditioning, an amenity that you neverever thought you could live without, and you end up loosing your voice, sneezing, and whoozing after a mere two days in Texas

Oh Lord. This is f-u-n. I have spent more than a decade here and am in love with this sweet country, but considering I could go on and on, it's high time to start looking into flights for a visit back home.

Happy Friday.

Thirteen years ago today, I married my husband. These years have been colored by laughter, tears, anger, hope, joy, sadness, misunderstanding, delight, and excitment. I look back at the young girl in her mid-20s with the smart blue dress on, standing in front of the courthouse, smiling at the world before her and see the woman in her late thirties reflected in the mirror today. This woman has wrinkles around her eyes, hands that are beginning to look worn, and a belly that just doesn't want to lay completely flat, but she is just as happy as the young girl was back then. Granted, the years in between were filled with almost every emotion imaginable and there were times when throwing the towel in seemed like the best thing to do, but my stronghold was, and still is, the keys turning in the front door. Every time I hear them jiggling in my husband's hands and turning in the front door, I ask myself, "Does this still make you happy?" and the answer is still a very clear "yes".

Things I adore about H. (2010): his nose, teeth, and hands; the way he weaves words into a story; his willingness to dream and make it happen; his amazing sense of humor; his deep appreciation for the simple things in life; his sense of honor; his complete surrender to emotions (whether it be during a soccer match, watching his team win or in an airport, trying to say goodbye); his reliabilty; his devotion to being informed; his awareness of the moment at hand; his love of views; his smile; and, last but not least, the unwaivering certainty that he.has.got.my.back.

Happy day.

The minute I walked in the door this afternoon, a strange sense of restlessness greeted me. On the surface, everything appeared to be at peace. My husband had been scrubbing, wiping, and tidying up the entire morning. Theoretically, I was walking into every woman's dream; I should have made myself a margarita and propped my feet up on the fingerprint-free coffee table. But, something unsettled was stirring around, disrupting the serenity that should have welcomed me. "C'mon, let's go! Your folks are waiting and there's traffic", H. said just as I had decided to ignore the air of restlessness that was disrupting my dream. "OK. Give me a sec, I just walked in", I replied, starting to get the overnight gear ready, disappointed that that margarita was gonna have to wait. I could tell right away that I wasn't moving fast enough; H. was starting to break out in a sweat and the boys kept looking at their watches. Alright already I mumbled to myself, promising the pouting child inside my head I'd get her a drink as soon as I figured out why the adult me was having to rush around like madwoman. I mean, we had the whole afternoon. Granted, the roads were a bit conjested, but I surely had enough time to sit for a spell and enjoy my sparkling abode that I didn't raise a finger cleaning? Didn't I? I looked around the living room -at the boys waiting at the door, H. taptaptapping his fingers on his thighs, at our cat who had packed himself in his carrying case-, and answered my own question with a defeated, but very definite, "NO!!"

Sitting in the car and pulling out of the driveway, I looked at the men in my family. Everysinglesolitary one of them, even Mikey the cat, was smiling. Relaxed. Centered and totally not the crazy people who had just forced me to pack at a pace that was not healthy for any woman, let alone one that had just had her house cleaned BY SOMEONE ELSE! What was up? Why the change? Had they made themselves margaritas while I was throwing things madly into overnight bags?

Then. It dawned on me. I couldn't help but smile. The World Cup. After a three-day break. The World Cup was back on and the boys (all four of them) were chasing games. Well, surely I couldn't let on that I'd failed to register this small fact; what kind of mother would I be? So, I grabbed H.'s arm, and screamed at the top of my lungs, "Pedal to the metal, Baby! We gotta make it to my folks' before kick-offfff".

Hooray for the World Cup. Hooray for knowing that 90% of the world is sitting, fixed to a t.v., eating unhealthy food, shouting madly at people who can't hear them. Hooray for a game that crosses barriers and ignores color, race, and religion. Hooray for soccer!