Sliding into the New Year

We're not big revelers when it comes to New Years Eve. This year was one of the most low-key NYEs yet.

We decided to treat the boys to Raclette. Well, sort of. Do you know about Raclette? Raclette itself is a swiss cheese that melts easily. Raclette dinners use an electric grill that sits on the dinning table.

There are an assortment of sliced and diced vegetables and meats on the table. Everyone picks their own food, fills an individual tray, covers their chosen food with Raclette cheese and grills/broils it. (In the photo below you can see potatoes on top of the grill and a tray with veggies underneath.)

It's a nice, slow eating process; it's also a little healthier than it's (also Swiss) cousin Fondue.

Hmmm! Yummy perfectly toasty cheese on vegetables.

Noah was really into assembling and grilling his own food this year. And thankfully, the ratio of sober adults to children allowed us to give him some freedom to create his own concoctions.

The price of raclette can be steep, and since we were working with the under 5 crowd, we opted to use mozzarella and kid-friendly vegetables, in place of the more traditional options. Here in Denver, you can even rent the raclette grill from a local deli.

The Raclette dinner in Germany was really popular in the late 80s. That makes it practically retro, but you can look trendy in the States if you start now!

Noah gives it the thumbs up.

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Einen guten Rutsch ins neue Jahr! Best Wishes for the New Year!

Other Expectations

I said I wasn't going to post this until after the holidays. But I think it needs to be purged in 2011 so that I can go back to posting more regularly in 2012. So. Here we go.

Fritz is going out of town early in the new year for a conference. In the recent past (since Mattias was born), he's been avoiding out-of-town conferences out of deference to me. I'm pretty afraid to spend more than 2 days and nights alone with just the boys. We attempted a two night trip last year. I mean: Fritz was gone for two nights. And the two night trip was, in fact, something of a disaster. Both boys got sick, I was sick, Fritz returned to utter chaos and a wife in tears. I more or less forgot the details and just remembered it as 'hard'. But Fritz didn't forget anything. He has avoided conferences ever since.

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It's really difficult for me to explain why it is so hard to be alone with the boys for multiple days. If you are a parent, you might be thinking, I get it. But if you are not a parent, you might be thinking: what is wrong with this woman? I understand thinking that way, because I ask myself what is wrong with me all the time. But being alone with the two boys for days is so maddening. Imagine your worst day at the office. Perhaps that would mean constant interruptions and noise and carrying around 30 pounds on one arm so that you can't carry anything more than a book with your other hand. And there's no way to take a quick break, if you even think of leaving the room without your 30 pound weight, you are subjected to panic and crying and someone even likes to join you even while you are sitting in the loo. And then, you think, thank goodness for bedtime! But somebody wakes up for water and somebody else is coughing and can't sleep and by the time one is asleep the other one is awake for more water. And then you wonder what happened to those two hours that you were going to use to load the dishwasher, change over the laundry and use the loo in solitude. But all you can do is crawl into bed and then someone wakes up because he drank too much water...

Oh, and I make additional excuses for why I'm unable to be alone with the boys for more than 48 hours. There's no grandma nearby to help. There's no regular daycare or childcare or babysitter. The boys are especially demanding.

I can go on and on, just like my sons.

But yet, other parents, under similar circumstances do it all the time.

My own mother did it for several months when I was 6 and my brothers were 4 and 2. My father was transferred by his employer and moved ahead of us. He was gone for about two weeks at time. We stayed behind, 3 kids and their mother, waiting for our house to sell.

I called my mother the other day to ask just how she managed to do it. Here is what she said:

"It was hard. I remember I called your grandmother and complained. She wasn't very understanding."

"Well. That stinks. She should have been more empathetic."

Here, my mother defended my grandmother's lack of empathy. I offered a rebuttal and we reached an agreement that my grandmother's general personality is a product of depression-era-no-nonsense. My mother took it a step farther suggested that she and my aunts developed extensive empathetic abilities as a result. Feeling like I still had not uncovered the secret to being alone with the boys for multiple days – and this conversation was headed in a less than helpful direction – I asked again:

"But, still, Mom, how did you do it? How did you stay alone with us kids for days at a time?"

My mom sighed, "I didn't have your expectations." Um...

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Ann. You have all these things you want to do; and you had all these professional plans and dreams before you became a mother. I didn't have that. I knew I was good with children. I just wanted to be a mother. That is what I wanted to do."

"So...why did that help you stay alone with us kids for several days?"

"Because it's hard when you change your expectations."

I think about this. I think about the obvious question: am I NOT suppose to have expectations? Or are my expectations suppose to revolve around ONLY motherhood? Because she didn't raise me that way. And I'm not that way, anyway.

She is right: I had expectations - I HAVE expectations. And some – many? – of these expectations have very little to do with motherhood. I'm still not really sure how this affects my ability to be alone with the boys for several days. But I think maybe I get the gist, even if I'm not really willing to accept her suggested consequences.

study time

It is that time of year when I am forced into reckoning with my Other Expectations. Once a year, my license as an architect comes up for renewal. Once a year I put it off until the last minute. I complete continuing education requirements in the fastest and cheapest way possible: reading books and taking tests to qualify as 'structured learning' while (this year) the boys tear apart the house and climb all over. In a more ideal world, this continuing education requirement could be my link to the real world of architects. A chance to get out and socialize with adults! Adult architects! Next year, I think every year.

At this time of year, I also think intensely about all the things I miss about practicing architecture: the concrete problem solving, the coordinating and REAL planning, stomping around job sites, and even the zen-like typing movements of keyboard shortcuts while drafting. I think about my classmates and past colleagues, many of whom have very successful careers. And I have vivid nightmares revolving around various forms of professional failure.

Yet, as the boys reorganize the house and I cram information about heating and cooling systems into my rusty brain, I am reminded how very difficult it would be to be working professionally.

Have I told you that my dream for me would be to work part time? I worked 10-15 hours a week for about a year and half. Noah was under 2, we were still in Munich. I loved it. For me, it was great.

For the rest of my family, it was NOT GREAT. The problem was that since my job was mostly teaching, and it was already ONLY part time, it was difficult for me to call in sick. Instead, Fritz frequently and repeatedly missed work when the Tagesmutter (a woman who does home daycare) got sick. Or when her kids got sick. Or when her husband got sick. Or when her cat got sick. Or when her neighbor's cat got sick. No, just kidding on that last one. Noah himself got sick repeatedly and entered his phase of life as (what did the German pediatrician say? Oh, yes:) a bronchitis candidate. Here in the US, they just write ASTHMA on his charts. Eventually, Fritz insisted we quit the 'undependable' Tagesmutter and he recruited Oma to come and live with us for a few weeks at a time. Recruiting Oma was an option in Germany, where Oma was only 2 hours away by train.

I guess this is pretty normal stuff. Normal stuff for any family with two working parents. Additional problems accumulated: When Fritz was also teaching, it was more difficult for him to take off. And Fritz's grant writing; the necessary engine that drives this whole self-sufficient family unit, fell through the cracks. We vowed to make changes for self preservation. My job was just frosting. I'd stop working.

I used to say that I was waiting for Fritz's elusive grant that would secure life for a few years. THEN I would look for a paying-job.

But that grant came about 6 months ago, and I'm still here, paying-job-less.

Most of the time, I don't really know what to say for myself. And I do feel like I need to say something for myself. I feel like I need to bridge that gap between all the various expectations I have and the way my current life only fulfills half of my expectations. I'm not bridging the gap. At least, not yet. Instead, I'm slowly beginning to mentally defend this staying-at-home. I'm still not very comfortable with it. Even in my mind, the defenses feel mystical or whiny or weak or overly-sentimental. The defenses are based around the boys, who *I* (believe-it-or-not based on my frequent belly-aching around here) actually think are pretty awesome human beings. I'm determined to keep them as awesome as possible. All these years at home with them are starting to feel like maybe this Being at Home thing has been An Investment that can't be thrown away lightly or changed too readily. And I've got expectations for the boys and all their ongoing awesomeness now, too.

But the expectations of myself as mother? Seeing myself as a good mother, or thinking I'm good with children, or even wanting to be 'good with children?' I may be willing to credit the awesomeness I see in my sons to the State of Being Here at Home with them, but I don't feel that I can credit Me. As long as I know that I'm sitting here, half thinking about my Other Expectations, it's hard to feel good about my mothering efforts. But I'm not ready to let go of the Other Expectations. Those Other Expectations feel like a part of me, too. And in fact, Other Expectations have been a part of me for much longer than this motherhood thing.

after painstakingly avoiding words like 'gun' and 'shoot' for 4 years with Noah, he still figures out the concept using a hollow wooden tube and dowel. WHATEVER.

In this season, we naturally think about expectations. We think about expectations of Santa, expectations of presents, expectations of giving. We think about expectations in the form of New Years Resolutions. As children, we also had expectations that were not just seasonal. Maybe we dreamed of being professional athletes. Maybe we dreamed of being President. Maybe we dreamed of being firemen, or bus drivers, or doctors, or architects. What expectations do we support and encourage in our children? What expectations do we not really intend to follow? What expectations do we allow to fade?

Do expectations fade?

When I told Fritz about my conversation with my mother, he thought she might be on to something:

"You are always saying that you aren't good at mothering, or that other people are better at mothering, or that you aren't meant to do this. Maybe you're making your own self-fulfilling prophecy."

Maybe, maybe not.

Maybe some expectations just come more easily than others. Maybe it's difficult for me to let differing expectations coexist.

the way wrapping presents went

This is what I CAN say here, now, December 30, 2011. This is the type of resolution that I need to go forward: I think there is a personal cost of holding onto my Other Expectations. That cost is ongoing conflicting feelings. It seems to me that holding onto differing expectations is not necessarily holding onto conflicting feelings. My personal conflict does seem to be getting less conflict-y each month. But in some regard, I find a degree of healthiness in letting myself feel conflicted. It feels important to be able to say: "Hey, there are BOTH good things and not-so-good things." Also, I like to think that holding onto my internal conflicts gives me more empathy for others. And you know what else? I think conflict in people is interesting! It gives us laughter and humor! It makes us human, it inspires change and growth and discovery....

Nonetheless, my conflicted self is sometimes a hard thing for my family and friends, and even myself, to accept. We're conditioned to want clear answers and wholistic truths about who we are and how we feel. And I, well, right now, I have none: more than that: I want none. For now.


Noah: Mommy?... Mommy?

Me: (daydreaming)

Noah: Mommy? What should I be when I grow up?

Me: (Pause..consider...pause...stall) Hmm...

Noah: Mommy, what should I be when I grow up?

Me: (Pause) How about a person who helps other people? (Pause) What do you want to be?

Noah: I want to be a mommy. Can I be a mommy? I want to be a mommy, okay?

First Day, Legos, Banana Fanna Fo...

I've been working on this rather lengthy, emotional-for-me to write post. I finally realized that there is no way I'm going to publish such heaviness until after the holidays. So, instead, I give you assorted musings from the Wyse Household for your reading distraction.

I baked cinnamon rolls for this morning. Americans call it Christmas Eve, but today is considered the First Day of Christmas in Germany. There are three days of Christmas (the 24th, 25th, and 26th). The 24th in Germany still has some similarities to the 24th in the US; stores are open early in the day, everyone runs around doing their last minute Christmas shopping.

Speaking of shopping, I, alone, went out shopping in the craziness on the 23rd. I decided it is easier to shop in holiday craziness than it is to shop on a normal day with a preschooler and toddler. Nonetheless, I'm grateful I didn't have to do both at the same time.

We're going sledding this afternoon.

Santa (or the Christkind or the Weihnachtsman) is bringing Noah 'little' legos for Christmas. I'm not sure if the duplos are cramping his style or if he just wants to be cool like his friends, but he is asking for them. I see many, many years of legos in our future. But before the Lego Madness begins, I have been reflecting a little bit on why *I* didn't play too much with legos as a child. I think this is a fair question to ask a woman who grew up building and making all sorts of things and later studied and practiced architecture. NPR recently reported on the topic of girls and legos. You can see some of their report here.

Here's my female perspective on playing with legos:

1. They're generally ugly. Making them pink or purple doesn't change the overall poor portions of most individual pieces, or the less-than-elegant nobs that 'grace' their topsides. The 1x1x6 piece is clearly the most graceful, but it's woefully lacking in most legos sets.

2. Too many specific pieces. One year I asked for a 'house' lego set. I got it. But it came with pre-designed mullion windows and roof pieces. Even at 6 years of age, I found windows with mullions OBNOXIOUS. Those pieces: roof pieces that looked like roofs and window pieces that looked like idealized windows: they didn't give me enough creative freedom. The green plate piece, which I was suppose to build upon? Too small for anything but the predesigned house. And those pieces told me what to do instead of letting me figure it out myself.

3. Too few buildable options after the suggested designs. Once I built the suggested 'house' there was nothing more to make. I needed, like, 6 more boxes of 'house' legos to have the design freedom I wanted. But by then, I was unimpressed. I didn't ask for legos anymore.

4. Lack of gravity. That's right, the ability of legos to stay together when upside down was disconcerting. Clearly, that's what made/makes them great for spaceship design and that's why they needed the ugly nobs. Well, whatever. They were still cheating gravity. I was not impressed.

5. Tactility. The NPR article talks about how girls like to role play with dolls and princesses. I was either too old (I was born in '76) or too disinterested to take part in princess play as a 4 year old. But I can relate to the dolls. A big part of role playing, I believe, is the tactility of it. The heavy, solidness of the doll, the lightness of a tulle skirt, sparkly shoes, shiny accessories. I'd say both soft and hard, light and heavy are important. The legos I know are very one dimensional in this manner. They are all light-weight, and all plastic-shine.  Sorry, but that's something that I still find not very interesting. And I'm not feeling appeased by the see-through plastic pieces. It's a start but not nearly far enough.

6. Hmmm...yeah, it might be hopeless to market to girls without fundamental reconceptualizing.

7. I definitely intend to do my own playing with legos over the next few years and see if I can come up with more concrete suggestions for improvement. Because I'm thinking the NPR reported changes won't bridge the gender gap.

I'd love to know if you played with legos and why or why not.

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Noah's been out of school for over a week now and he's getting more than a little restless. When he's not redecorating the tree and playing with the ornaments, he's singing.

But, oh, what was I thinking? I taught Noah that rhyming song... you know the one that goes "CALM CALM bo BALM banana fanna fo FALM me my mo MALM...CALM! (Or at least, that's my version.)

He's singing it nonstop with the '_uck' words.

I don't think he has any idea of *that* word or how to use it properly, he just knows it is majorly getting on my nerves. And I'm torn: explain to him that it's a bad word (I think he's old enough, don't you?) and hope he stops, but be forced to give him a consequence should he continue? (Sigh.) Or ignore it and hope it goes away before Grandma and Grandpa arrive?