The stretch limo is waiting

Ricidulously fantastic potato pancakes. Which are really just a vehicle for sour cream.

I've been away from Zurich for a month now. In the US, for family medical issues (that have settled and are ok now), family visits, and a wedding. And for that month I was on a lot of main caregiver duty, because M only came for the last 10 days. I had help from grandmothers, and from some good friends, which kept me going. Mostly to JCPenney's or Target, places I would wander, trying on cheap, not so well-made clothing. I went to Whole Foods and stocked up on pancake and cookie mixes. I must have hit a DSW shoe store some 3 times, and unfortunately for A, those times she was with me. I think we've finally determined (on her part, too) that she does not, in fact, "like shopping", kind of like "I no like Istanbul, Mama."

I spent too much time in, and on the way to and from, stores. I spent too much time feeling worried that I would offend people who I didn't visit enough. I spent too much time trying feel like I was living in the US, shopping where I used to, visiting many people I know, trying to re-establish connections that there wasn't actually enough time to re-establish. 

I also connected with different people, though. Some I hadn't known as well, and made some deeper friendships. I spent time making loud, funny noises with my mouth, with A, in an attempt to make it the last 20 miles of a long days of flights and car rides. I worked on speaking up about what I would like, and what I didn't like to those with whom I sometimes have a hard time doing this. 

And I ate about the weight of my carry-on in potatoes, butter, sour cream and bacon at the rehearsal dinner for my cousin D's wedding. I drove about 5 different manual and automatic cars (and gained some 5 extra no-walking pounds) over 4 weeks, some rented, some borrowed, and lost just a bit of my soul every time I was at a Hertz Rental office. But I gained back some soul at a small, independent kids' shoe store in Chicago's north side, and at any place that served pancakes or french toast. I went to Toast in Chicago twice. Twice. For a food snob, my culinary desires in the US tend to gourmet comfort food. Chicken and waffles, Baja style shrimp tacos, Peanut Butter cheesecake, and anything from Toast. I mentioned that place already, yes?

Pretty good Kugelis. Also, vehicle for sour cream, thank you very much. Perhaps the leftover butter/bacon/sour cream sausce, too.

When you need a cab to the airport from the Chicago 'burbs, one option for the family bursting at the seams with luggage is....a stretch limo. "Mama, this is a biiiiiig taxi!" she said. M and A practice their "no paparazzi" moves.

I'm home again. And trying to both get back into life here in Swtizerland, and get over jetlag. Tonight is a bit bigger setback than I hoped, although it seems to be just me awake, which I'm pretty happy with. I did a lot of complaining over in the US, while I was wincing at pretty much any television content, about the lack of soul here in Switzerland. I've decided that it is time not only to seek it out actively, but to be the instigator of some such soul, when possible. A coffee shop + kids' bookstore + place-that-makes-breakfast-all-day-long-like-Toast is probably not in my cards, given that I do not care so much about cooking as I do about eating, or making coffee as I do about drinking it. But, depending some relationships, expanding how I (how we) participate, is now due. I have a few projects in mind. We'll see how they start off and I'll share a bit more here when they are underway.

The beast within

Turns out that turning on the air conditioner (yet another concession to increasing age and decreasing ability to sleep off a rough night well into the morning) was the way to sleep in Istanbul. It continued to be a gorgeous city, although never that well suited to travel with a toddler in the near 90 F sunny days. Not enough playgrounds nearby. And I think M was more than a bit worried in a big, new city, and wound up trying to constantly establish a 6 ft circumference safety circle around A. Good luck with that in a city where even the mosque guards can be found cooing to a baby, giving him their walkie talkies to chew and slam on the carpets, and later young women take the same baby for a walk always within sight of his parents. The people were so lovely and kind, and loooooooove children. Their own, yours, that one over there, all of them. There was not much personal space for A to inhabit when everyone wanted to pinch her cheeks. She declared in the middle of the trip "I no like Esstanbul," which I'm sure was not referring to all the gelato she ate, the birds she chased or the food she happily gobbled up. M and A and Aunt P had a tour guide show them around for a few days while I was at the conference.

I finally hit my stride at said academic gathering. My poster was moderately attended, I chatted with a handful of attendees, at coffee breaks and lunches, I hung out with the Brazilians. It was okay. I had time to think about my own research and where to take it from here, and went a few steps forward during the meeting, listening to the various English-as-a-second-language speakers' presentations. Know what? In a meeting like that, where even the native English speakers are working hard to keep up with the galloping change in accents that roam the span of each session, more text on slides is a good thing. As is reading directly from a slide. I'm a convert of the extreme context specificity of the "little text; no direct reading" rule.

Once I got home, work is again slow, and so I feel the same. And in an ill-advised google search of Candida Diet (something I might at some point need to consider, due to a combination of the d&c after the miscarriage and probably the cortisone shots), I am once again reminded of why "we don't do google searches on medical problems", children. Ugh. Look it up - you can eat beef, eggs, macadamia nuts, and peppermint tea. Oh, and eventually work your way up to yogurt. It is depressing, but not as creepy as all the folks discussing it on the forums (children, if you didn't obey, and actually did the google search, for the love of Pete at least don't read the forums...). They are busy writing things about the Candida Die-Off in which the candida is described as being angry at you, who are not offering sugar on its altar of gut and other parts destruction and attacks you. And you feel like crap.

So guess who tried a mini-version of no caffeine (coffee beans and tea leaves are moldy, apparently), sugar or carbs today? Someone with a death wish who really should have known better, but thankfully had daycare for both child and dog at midday. And then drank black tea finally. And then had a pizza and ibuprofen for dinner in hopes that the sudden flu symptoms (huge headache, aches, nausea, and I kid you not, even leg pain from my back) would go away. They did. I'm chalking it up to either caffeine/sugar withdrawl, or the ability of ibuprofen to handle flu symptoms. And pretending I didn't read anything about angry microbes.

In either case, I will most likely be offering white bread and jam and coffee to "the beast" tomorrow for breakfast. M replied to my texts about how horrible this felt by telling me to "feed my Trill." Nerd.

The judgemental old ladies on the bus, go "tsk, tsk, tsk,..."

Currently, A is singing a lot. Swiss German songs from daycare, the ABC song from (I guess) the Fish School app on the iPhone, and now The Wheels on the Bus. Each verse has great little hand gestures, and it repeats well, and no wonder kids like it. Good stuff.

And, heck, we ride the bus a lot. The wheels on those buses go round and round. The doors go open and shut. The driver, however, does not say "move on back", or even the Swiss German version, and sometimes we wish he did. And the people on the bus, instead of going "up and down", kind of get flung forward and backwards, sometimes landing on the floor during a particularly, um, enthusiastic application of either accelerator or brakes.

And there is a characteristically Swiss verse to "the Bus" song here, that keeps getting my goat. See title of this post.

Twice now, in the last two weeks, as A and I have been riding public transport to a birthday party, once in matching puppy outfits, once in plainclothes, the 60 and over age group ladies have decided to fix their disapproving gazes, curled sneering noses and lips, and shaking heads on us. The first time, when A and I were in puppy outfits, and looked pretty home made, cute, non-Halloweenish, A on my back, I went from smiling on the outside and inside, to barely smiling at the b)(*#&$ on the outside. People here judge you a lot.

Yes, they judge you everywhere. But in India, I knew I didn't fit it, and that just my lighter colored hair meant I was going to be stared at. In Chicago, they know better than to show it lest a "oh no you di'nt" altercation starts up, and my British friends tell me that although you are judging left and right you never, ever, show it on your face and you may even apologize or smile for nothing in the direction of the one you are judging.

Here, they put on their nasty face, shake their head, stare, and sometimes even wag a finger.

So it happened again last weekend, the second incident, when we were not in costume, and this time it was two ladies. I assumed it wasn't us they were looking at at first. But when we got off the tram, they were still staring (this part still amazes me), and when I smiled at them, they just stared back. This time, I was ready for more action. As the tram pulled away, I raised my eyebrows, kept smiling, and waved at them. And kept my inner smile.

It sort of redefined that first incident for me, too. Of course it is them, and not me. And since people so openly judge you here for their version of right and wrong, one day you get told off for having the dog off leash on the walk near the house, and the next, for having her off leash. On the same walk.

Still, it would be nice to have some more ammunition (not the metal, live kind, as one of my Facebook friends suggested, tongue in cheek, that he would lift his jacket and show them his piece). Like some things to say. And a particularly vexing way (to the perp) to say them. My friend L, who was over for a playdate with his daughter yesterday, and is Swiss, recounted his approach to some people on a train once. I think he is self-possessed, and not flustered, enough, to handle these things well. Or at least in a way I would like to. So I've decided there should be an iPhone app, where we come up with the most common 100 finger-wagging situations you encounter here, that he can record a slightly shaming, but smiling, video response to, and the app user can play them in the direction of the disgusted party. We could name it "L tells you off, in Swiss German."

I should probably check out that podcast

There is a new free podcast up from The Moth (a great series of storytelling, in short, 15-min segments that my cousin got me hooked on) from Salman Rushdie about writer's block. I should listen to it. I've been avoiding writing the last few days. The earlier two weeks, we were in the US, visiting family, having a naming ceremony for Baby A (non-religious, like we are), going back to Arizona for the first time in 2 years, and doing some shopping in Chicago.

At first, I told M that I couldn't go see our old house in AZ. I was afraid it would be too emotional, that I'd tear up just seeing it, thinking how much easier it would have been to spend Baby A's first years there. But I think we went at the right time, now that we're all feeling a lot better. We drove past the house, and I felt nothing. My things weren't in there, my car wasn't parked outside, my husband, baby and dog weren't there. I didn't even have that "what a great house that was!" reaction. We've moved, and I haven't had to worry about faulty electricals or a leaky roof for two years. That counts for something. Or a mold infestation under the kitchen floor. That really counts for something.

On the other hand, seeing friends play with, babysit, and make Baby A smile warmed my heart. And on a quieter level, made me a bit sad for not having realized what a huge help that community would have been these last few years. Not that I knew I'd need that much help when we decided to move. I guess that is the point. But until the visit I didn't realize what I'd really missed out on, how essential that support could have been. So thank you, Arizona people, for being so loving to my daughter for the short time we were there. I think she grew a few months' worth with all the smiles and hugs and attention.

I also did a bit more American shopping this trip. I'm finally realizing there are many things I like about the US and being American. And when I was replacing my Freitag bag (which has gone over to M to replace his stolen one), I went with Vy&Ellie and their billboard bag with the GM seatbelt clasp. Oh, yeah. And bought a new cheap cowboy hat at Target. Cause I'm American, dang it, and I might as well be my American self, living abroad. I'll get to smile more, say "hi" more often, and worry a lot less about how I look.

Phew. Finally started posting again.

Yes, I believe I would like fries with that

There I was, with my tuna salad wrap, on the tram heading home. Once again, I was eating lunch too late and I was starving. Three teenagers, two girls and a guy, maybe 17 or 18 years old sat in the seats around me - the girls facing me, the guy next to me. The guy spoke just a bit too loudly as teenage boys sometimes do, and the girls both had the huge sunglasses and carefully done hair. Not a super snobby group, but not un-self conscious, either.

I ate most of the wrap, down to a final half handful of tuna salad, that had slid out of the wrap into its cardboard holder. Dang. I was still hungry and I wanted all my tuna salad, but I could clearly feel that there was no way I was going to go in there with my bare fingers. Not in front of Swiss teenagers. Not these teenagers.

I really shouldn't care. I've got a kid, I'm busy, I'm hungry, deal with it. But nope, I left that tuna salad where it fell and wrapped it, and put it back in my backpack. I'd be switching trams soon anyway. I could eat it then.

Two stops before mine, the teenagers got off. And across the way from me was a vision in "I could care less" - two twelve year old boys with Whoppers and fries.

The tram took off again. The boys were inhaling those burgers and fries with the kind of abandon I respect. If I were indulging in that meal, I'd want the freedom to do exactly the same. Fries flying on the floor, lettuce drenched in mayo dripping into the box. Fingers covered in awesome.

I pulled out my tuna salad remains, stuck my fingers in and, in the best of company, finished my lunch. When it comes to food and hungry, I'd rather be a twelve year old boy at heart. And wish I could say that of twelve year old girls, too. But I think they are already too worried about how they look, what other people think. I'm going to have to figure out how to avoid that as much as I can with baby A.

Then again, given that I am the one sadly stashing my tuna salad, and she most definitely gets into her food body and soul, maybe she's going to need to do her best to save my butt instead.

"The American Way of Life"

On the homestretch to writing my thesis, E was my writing partner. We'd meet online, with chat windows open, fill each other in on what we were about to work on, set our Zen-bell alarm clocks and work for 45 minutes.

Ding!

We would take a 5-10 minute break, either go get some coffee in our respective kitchens, or do a debriefing on how our work had gone and anything that had been problematic.

Then the alarm programs would be reset and Ding! another 45 minutes.

Sometimes we did just one or two sessions, but other days, when there was a looming deadline, it would be 5 or 6 sessions. It was the only way I got so much done in such a contracted period of time.

And I think it worked so well because of a quote that E brought to one of our sessions..."Writing leads to motivation, not the other way around." It was that first 5 minutes of the first 45 minute session which were the hardest.

So here I am, trying to put this into practice again. I'm still ramping up to get back to work after a month of debilitating back problems, but I really want to get back to producing something from my dissertation that is accessible (and palatable) to more than just my committee members. I'll try to write about my work a few days a week, but just sitting down to write every day is the best way for me to start again.

Since Mondays need to be slowly settled into whenever possible, I'm aiming for fun photos and light topics. Like the maple syrup bottle at our table at brunch yesterday. M and I had a lunch date, courtesy of our babysitter, and we opted for comfort food, at Bohemia, instead of the anxiety producing exercise of roaming Zurich's old town in search of a menu and ambiance we liked. Pancakes and eggs benedict won.

And on our table was a brand I'd seen already on peanut butter here in the stores. "Nick: the easy rider." That's a brand? Complete with red, white and blue fonts and stars. What we couldn't decide was if it was really ignorance of Americana, or a deliberate aim at kitsching it WAAAAAY up. Or something in between. Did the company know that the branding was weird and at best American-derivative?

Who knows. The pancakes, although outrageously expensive, were pretty good. And on a cold rainy sunday, in a Cuban-ish restaurant/bar, American enough.

12 months old is coming

Just to update on the adventures of Sincere-Girl - her cape was pretty ruffled after the trip to the consulate. Didn't handle it nearly as well as she used to. Almost left a poopy diaper on the window of the woman who "helped" with the passport application. The completely condescending lady with the big gold cross on her neck. The Swiss woman who got bitchy at me when I misunderstood her directions because she didn't use the American English version of some terms. Yeah, glad we made it out of there without too much damage to the process.

Passport arrived. We can escape if we want to!

And baby A's birthday, her one-year-old, is coming. During a sleepless night, I've found myself looking up PTSD and colic. Do I actually think I have PTSD? Probably not. I don't know that I get vivid flashbacks of those early months, but I do still get queasy when I see a twin stroller. The thought of another infant makes me scared, as does getting pregnant again. I realized that as I start thinking about her birthday party, I feel a bit of the sadness I felt at Mother's Day. My heartbeat goes up a bit, in an anxious way, when I think about approaching the anniversary of her birth. That's sad.

As if we might re-live all the things that hit us so hard - the difficult labor, the C-section, the problems (and not great solutions) breastfeeding, the nights of her screaming and no sleep, the confusion and sadness of how this was supposed to be such a happy time ("oh, when she gets older you'll miss those newborn times") of bonding, and quiet cuddling and turned out to be so hard on us, on marriage, on everything.

In a way, I'm looking forward to writing over the coming 5-6 months. How horrible is that? But I am. To replace fear with calm, sadness with laughter, confusion with getting to know our beautiful little toddler better. And I hope that at some point I might feel twinges of happy and not just sad on her birthday. It has to happen eventually, right?

I think it will. I just know that this first birthday is going to be a bit mixed for me. I'm sorry about that, little one.

On a lighter note, from Baby A's first two friends' birthday parties I've learned a lot about what a room full of babies and toddlers need to have a good time: novel crackers, and a bunch of helium balloons. And each other. That, we can manage.

The true test of a diverse workplace

The directions option for Google maps lets me choose: by car, by public transport, or walking. And even the public transport option for Zurich includes a fair bit of walking. In a place this hilly, those "3 blocks" can mean all stairs. Many paths exist for going up and down the hills, "weg" this and "weg" that. Only a small fraction of them have any sort of ramps for strollers or wheelchairs.

Then there is the iCal function on my phone. I can set recurring events for hourly, daily, weekly, or monthly. Alas, as one of my recent, fairly emotional, posts can attest to, the Apple software does not come with a "once every 26-28 days" option.

I'm going to say that there are still not enough women working at either Google or Apple.

(What is good exercise for a pregnant lady is pretty much impossible with a stroller. 100 stairs on the walking part of Google directions.)

Familiarity breeds content

Everything is new this year. Everything is unfamiliar. My address, my phone number, my furniture, the language I need to speak in to do my shopping and errands everyday, a baby, my body, my shoe size, the "usual" things I cook and eat, banking and bill paying, garbage and recycling rules, the seasons, the customs, the holidays, the sky and the landscape, where to find light bulbs and baking soda, the people in my life.

It is all new, all at once. It gets overwhelming sometimes. To a point where I've realized how much I need to burrow into familiarity every few days. I seek out Starbucks, or an English-speaking butcher, or the International Herald Tribune's daily crossword, just to feel a bit less adrift sometimes. And no, I'm not currently learning German. I know a bit, but I'm still learning mothering, and expat-ing, and stay-at-homing, and all these other skills.

I confessed to M the other day that I don't know if I actually have the capacity left in me to learn the 3, randomly assigned, German articles that take the place of the English "the." I really feel like I may not have the brain space left for them. Vocabulary words, nouns, I'm adding a few every few months. But imagine then needing to learn a second part of each word. I don't think there is room left.

So I watch BBC on TV instead of the local channels. I ask visitors to bring Whole Foods peanut butter and oatmeal. I have images of New England on my computer wallpaper. It keeps me a bit more sane in a sea of novelty.

I've realized, too, that although I still have my friend-making skills, my life right now makes it near impossible to keep up with them like I would have pre-baby A. So I'm feeling a bit disconnected. Like I've said "I'd love to, but we can't right now," a few too many times this month. How many times can a person regretfully decline invitations before they stop being invited to things?

I guess I'm going to find out.