Hola, Señor Conehead; aka How Billy Got His Groove Back

Well, our Christmas festivities came and went in the blink of an eye. Having family in Munich for the season was great. It made Germany feel a lot more like home, and there is no place like Bavaria at Christmastime. One member of the family was particularly swept up in the commotion, riding a roller coaster of emotions from drunken elation at the arrival of our guests, to the crushing let down of being left home alone whilst the humans took in the sights. I speak of our chubby friend, Billy the Schnoodle.

On day 2 of our guests' stay, Billy found an itch that he couldn't scratch. By "found" I mean "psychosomatically created" and by "couldn't" I mean "did until he bled but it was never enough." As my dad put it, "I didn't know Billy was a little [searches for a word...] psycho." Yes, the dog is indeed a little psycho.

He's done this before when something exciting happens. Billy has chewed his paws until they're raw, rubbed his fur down in patches, hidden in my armoire for days, and often gone on food and water strikes. For example, Sugar almost got hit by a car once. She recovered instantly. Billy vomited for 24 hours, refused to drink water, and eventually had to be resuscitated by an IV. More recently, my mom visited this summer. When she left, I said good bye, sorry to see her go, and moved on with my week. Billy ended up with bleeding ulcers. Yes, just a little psycho.

After plying him with Benadryl for a few days, and wrapping his scratchin' paw in heaps of rags and socks, we resigned ourselves to actual concern. He wouldn't let us near his face and his depression was deep even by Billy standards. So off to the vet for some antibiotics, pain killers, and a cone to keep him from digging further into what we can now see is an incredibly injured cheek. On the walk today, he ran his cone head into trees and generally bucked like a tiny, portly donkey to try, in vain, to get that mass of plastic off his head. If "not crazy" is the rep he's aiming for, this little display did not help.

Mr. B looks just awful, but his spirits are up. I fear for his fate when we drop him off at the dog sitter's next week. Until then, counseling sessions, an intense pharmacological regiment and chew toys should put him on the path to recovery.

An Edie in the USA Debut???

In an unexpected turn of events, business will be taking Will to the US in only a few weeks, and with some air miles to use and no place else to be, the kiddo and I just might join him. Details and confirmation pending, but it looks very likely.

This leaves me little time to stress out about international travel with a baby. Which is a very good thing. Edie is 10 1/2 months old. She is entertained doing one thing for - on average - 45 seconds at a time. That average is only as high as it is because she sits in her high chair for 20 to 30 minutes for each meal time and baths take 15 or so minutes. Other than that, she is doing something new every other moment. Divide that into the 14 hours of travel time, and I am feeling a little light-headed.

So, to psych myself up, here is a list of the
Top Reasons I Am Not Afraid to Travel With Edie to the United States:(*)

1. Babies have to sleep. I have found no case studies indicating that babies can stay up indefinitely, no matter how irritated they are to be on a cramped plane instead of their spacious bed. Thus, for survival reasons, E will have to snooze sometimes.

2. Edie can't walk yet. The only thing scarier than a crawling baby on a plane is a walking one. Because if they can walk, they want to walk. And walk. And walk. Excuse me while I duct tape my daughter's legs together for the next month...

3. She weighs less than 20 lbs. In hand to hand combat, I am confident that I would be victorious.

4. Like the sands in the hour glass, the trip will, at some point, pass and then end. Hopefully not in an emergency landing in Newfoundland to remove the shrieking baby and her catatonic mother.

Wish us luck, and hope to see lots of you soon!

(*Ed note: I am petrified)

Losing weight for the holidays is not for the faint of heart

Well, there's been a brief hiatus over here due to a bout with my old friend, Food Poisoning. It struck last weekend and I am only now getting close to 100%. I have had food poisoning five times in my life, and I am not yet thirty. I either have incredibly bad luck, or I eat out of dumpsters. If I get it a sixth time, I may get a nanny cam going to see if I'm some sort of sleep-binger.

This first time I got poisoned by what seemed like an innocent meal was when I was in elementary school. I was at Pizza Hut with a friend and her family. My mom was very strict about junk food. We had an occasional Fig Newton in the house, but that was it. So that led to some desperate and hasty junk food decisions when I was out of the house. One such decision was Dessert Pizza. I remember it well. All covered in cinnamon-sugared apples, out under that heat lamp for perhaps days. Mom would have scoffed at such a request. But my friend was an only child. And it paid off. Offered the chance to go to the Pizza Hut dessert buffet, I did not need to be asked twice. When I awoke that night sweating, shaking, and more than a little queasy, I'd like to say I learned a lesson. But clearly my karma was not yet complete, as I would fall under this dreadful condition many more times to come.

This time around, I feel a little impatient with the whole thing. I don't eat out, save the occasional take out falafel. I eat no meat or dairy. Did a chick pea cause this? I call shennanigans on the whole thing. Though I do swear never to eat Dessert Pizza again.

Awesome stuff my husband has said lately

Caring, thoughtful, wonderful man that he is, Will sometimes make comments that leave me dumbfounded. And he's really been on a roll lately. Here is a choice selection from what is likely to be a recurring topic:

-----
[R&W just finish a movie with actress Emily Blunt]

W: What movies has she been in?

R: You probably recognize her from The Devil Wears Prada. Did you know she's married to Jim from The Office? Are you jealous that he has such a gorgeous wife?

W: Why would I be jealous? He's a celebrity. His life has nothing to do with mine.

[It takes at least two minutes of me blinking at him for Will to gather that he might have said something off-putting.]

-------

R: I just found my second gray hair today! Ugh!

W: Huh. You know, you've been really moody lately too. Maybe you've got a vitamin deficiency.

[And the crickets chirp...]

------

[Will loves chocolate chip cookies. Sometimes, because I am a very great wife, I make them for him. Last time, I burned the batch a bit.]

R: Sorry you've had a rough day. Want me to bake some chocolate chip cookies?

W: Sure. But let's keep them soft this time, ok?

[Absolutely, boss man. "Let's" do that. We've got to stop watching The Sopranos.]

Bifurcating the blog

This blog has taken on dueling personalities. One full of my inner thoughts, ala post-Seinfeldian mundane humor-servations. The other, pictures of the cutest 10 month old this side of the Isar River. Lately, I've been experiencing some inner tension between the two. I've got cute pics, but don't have anything clever to say, so I don't post. Or, I've got a good story, but I'm trying to respect that great grandmas, aunts, uncles, etc. come to this site to see E, and might prefer not to sift through stories of marital snafus or expat blues in order to get to the baby.

There is something else, too, and it's heart-on-sleeve stuff, which makes me queasy, so bear with me now. I have always loved to write. So, logically, I went to law school where writing is both vital and 100% joyless, where I was able to kill my passion much like making the kid caught smoking puff 10 at a time squelches his want for nicotine. (Actually, I just wanted a lot of student loans so I would better represent my generation. Mission: Accomplished.) This time off from law has gotten the old writing juices flowing again, and the blog has become a useful tool. Shifting the focus of this blog to my writing is scary. Because up until now, I've been able to share this with folks under the banner of "lookit my cute kid!" And that's not scary or embarrassing because, well, have you seen her? Now I am saying "hey, read about really unremarkable things that happen to me!" And that makes me feel exposed, and, frankly, possibly delusional.

So, believe it or not, this is me being brave and selling myself as a wanna be writer: Please read this blog because of my stories. Or don't. It's your call. I think I'm going to be sick now....

If you want to stick to baby pics, I do not fault you one bit. Or you could read both, and maybe start some kind of fan club for me. Please check in on Ms. E at:

www.babygrissom.blogspot.com

DIY Christmas: Cutting my way to a new career?

Look what I made with my old fancy resume paper! You could call it "resignation," or even "defeat." But I'm going with "acceptance" and "lovely way to pass the afternoon."

P.s. The Husband made one of these. It would be snobby of me to point out which one. But, for my discerning viewers, it would just be confusing if I didn't at least mention it.

Double Digits!

Our little lady is 10 months old today. There are three inches of snow on the ground, and the flakes keep on coming. But I am warm inside, while the munchkin naps. And I am grooving on it.

So what's the news from the past month?

1. Oh.... you are supposed to read books.....

When E was very tiny, I could read her books because she just sat there, unable to do anything about it one way or another. As she got more active, books became a struggle of wills between a mom determined to have quality story time (no matter the cost) and a baby who was determined to eat books (no matter the foul taste or pitiful pleading from the reader). So we gave up for awhile.

Lately, though, Edie is loving story time, even collapsing on me and listening with interest. I didn't know when I'd get back my cuddle time once she got so squirmy a few months back, so this change of pace has been sublime. She's getting the hang of turning pages as well, so occasionally I catch her thumbing through and babbling at book by herself. Heart melting, I tell you.



2. Zombie baby.

She's not fast, but she is now mobile. The child propels herself by stretching out her arms, slapping her palms down, and then dragging her body forward, slither-style. I've tried it and it is exhausting. Knees have not yet found their way underneath her, which keeps her relatively slow. What makes her still a danger is her unending persistence. Much like zombies, who are dangerous because they just never. ever. ever. stop. No inhibitions. Ceaseless focus (if the target is something you don't want her to have, that is). So that is what I'm up against right now. I'm grateful that she's taking this moving thing in slow steps, so to speak. I've heard of babies who crawl for a week and then - bam - they are running around the house. I pray for the parents of these babies, because I still have the luxury of prayer while they most certainly do not.

Happy (3 days after) Thanksgiving!

There's been a serious dearth of baby faces on this blog of late. Too much yapping and not enough chubby cheeks. For that, I am sorry.

So, to rectify the situation, here are two of Edie having the dinner of her life tonight for our Post-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving: Deutschland Edition. Our friend and fellow Amerikanerin Laura helped us celebrate. Dinner was pushed up as early as possible without spilling into late lunch territory so that the munchkin could join us before her bedtime. She's never had a family dinner before, and she liked it. A lot. So much so that she was bouncing up and down and exclaiming "dat! dat!" during quiet bedtime stories. I cannot tell you how disheartening that is to the mom trying to cultivate peaceful baby sleepiness, lest it turn into spastic baby exhaustion. But it was pretty cute.

The food was all right. Will is the Brussels sprouts master (gracias al Mark Bittman). The pumpkin pie was ... tangy? That's the nicest I can be with that. Thank goodness for pre-Christmas trial runs. I'll get it right yet.

What a difference a year makes

ONE YEAR AGO:

TODAY:



Exactly one year ago, the Sunday after Thanksgiving 2009, Will and I embarked on our farewell voyage, flying out of O'Hare airport in Chicago directly to Munich, Germany. In the month before that, Rachael had left California to spend a few weeks in Michigan with friends and family, Will had single-handedly moved the duo out of their house and driven cross-country with his poodle side kicks. And then in the blink of an eye, there were nights out, goodbyes, a holiday feast, one last night with Matt and Lindsey Grissom, and then *poof.* We were gone.

We arrived to an empty apartment that we'd signed a three-year lease on, in spite of only having seen digital pictures of it, and Will started work about 36 hours after landing. And yet, looking back, those were simple times.

Today, I don't have the luxury of sitting on the floor and staring out the window with a cup a tea in hand. Sure, now I have a couch to sit on, but if I look out the window with a cup of tea, I'm liable to have a baby scoot over and knock over my tea, or at least find her tearing pages out of a book whose pages I'd hoped to look at one day, in their original bound state.

This time of year makes me a little homesick. We miss you all so very much! I got so sappy I even mourned missing my 10 year high school reunion, in spite of the fact that the one person I keep in touch with and the three others who might recall my existence probably didn't exactly hold a vigil in my honor. (Best that the memory of me is left as it was, anyhow. I was a somewhat dark, nose-pierced, class skipping rebel, if you can believe it. Today I'm blogging in a bathrobe, trying to simultaneously convince a baby not to learn how to eject herself out of a highchair.)

There are good times to be had here in Germany, for sure, though they don't include Thanksgiving (a little ethnocentric of them, if you ask me...). And we are certainly having them! Nevertheless, our family and friends are closer to our thoughts than usual right now, and we hope to see you all in the flesh soon. Happy holidays to you all!

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus...

... but he doesn't care to do business with the likes of you.

[Scene: Rachael & Will walking with stroller and baby through the large, open air market. It is frigid outside because it is Munich.]

R: Sorry this is taking so long. I want to find the stands run by actual farmers.
W: *mumbles imperceptibly* [If you know Will, you know that mumbling isn't a negative reaction. More like his secret language.]

[R&W wind their way through hordes of people, finally finding the farmer stand.]

[Man who looks like Santa Claus in lederhosen - i.e. leather shorts - is manning the stand]

R: Can you go get the Brussels sprouts and I'll wait here with Edie?

W: *gestures to the sprouts* [In Munich, you aren't allowed to touch the produce until you've bought it.]
Santa Claus: [in German] 3 euro fifty a kilo
W: [in German] I would like 1 kilo.
SC: [in German] 3 fifty. You must wait.
W: *blinks*
SC: *does not move, remains sternly staring forward* [his naked legs somehow impervious to the cold]
W: *waits*
W: *keeps waiting*

W: [returning to Rachael and Edie] Let's go.
R: Where are the Brussels sprouts?
W: Santa wouldn't sell them to me?
R: What do you mean?
W: I mean he had all of the accoutrements of produce selling authority. But he would not make the transaction.
R: I don't understand... [looks over, sees that Santa is unphased by Will's departure.]

R&W: *Sigh*

The sin of pride.

Before I had Edie, and even during those first weeks, I thought private, smug thoughts to myself about how I would be reasonable about the amount of stuff she had. No toys strewn throughout the house, no mountains of clothes. Not me. I was going to take all of the praise-worthy minimalism of the Amish and mix it with my otherwise dashing and modern lifestyle. Lookit me. I exist outsides the grasp of materialism. Lah-dee-dah.

Well, today, let's just say that I am not going to go into how many pairs of pants my daughter owns. Do I blame the grandmas in part for this clothes explosion? Sure I do, because blame takes it off of my shoulders. But deep down I know that I am an enabler. As far as the toys go, well, see for yourself. Yikes. So many that a "play zone" had to be erected in our no-longer-so-adult-nor-minimalist living room.

I no longer fear the toys the way I did. I can now see how wonderful it is for baby and mom to have stimulating, fun activities around. But I am trying to stay mindful of our possessions, lest abundance turn into gluttony and the focus shift from enjoying what we have to pining for what we do not.

Enter Christmas. This will be Edie's first Christmas, and we are so looking forward to it. She will be 11 months old and we have family coming from overseas to celebrate. Will there be presents for the baby? Of course. But if I have it my way, none will be from her parents. Aunt Gretchen, Amma & Avi, and Grandma & Grandpa are all sure to contribute gifts that will overwhelm and entrance the baby. I don't think we need to add to it this time around. My sweet, sentimental husband is having a hard time with this. But I think I will prevail via peaceful protest (one must procure a gift to have a gift to give... and if none are so procured ....).

So no Christmas gifts from us for the little one this year. But as I look upon E's toy village, I promise you, I am not smug about this fact.

Weighing the pros and cons of a dog's haircut

Dogs + babies is a combo that many people have an opinion on. The baby-only set seemingly count the days until you get rid of the furry flea bags in favor of your snuggly friend of the human variety. Avid dog owners are often far more interested in the emotional state of your dogs since the baby arrived than the drooly, noisy, fetch-inept bundle you recently welcomed into your home. And then there are those of us with the babies and the dogs. We are mostly just tired.

Do we regret getting dogs? Let me answer your question with a question: Can you capture a rainbow in a jar? I'm not sure where I am going with this - as I pointed out, I am quite tired - but I think it's that both are unanswerable and neither are particularly useful. To the dog naysayers, I must be honest: you are right. Dogs are very difficult to add to having a new baby, and the automatic priority that your child will have makes their burden difficult to swallow many times. To the pro-dog folks: we have 'em, we still love 'em, and no one is making Schnoodle mittens around here ... any time soon ...

Besides Sugar's intense fear of doors swinging, items dropping on the floor, her collar, her leash, being kicked off the bed, baths and the baby, she's not so bad, I guess. Then there is Billy with his psycho-somatic stomach troubles, triggered by guests leaving, the baby crying, thunderstorms and fireworks, resulting at times in colon-control issues, bleeding ulcers and massive vet bills. We get by with him too. But it's the dog grooming that has really put us over the edge lately.

As you'll see in the picture, they look positively dapper. And with good reason. We take them to an inordinately expensive Hund-salon, two train rides away, where we are verbally abused and chided for our dog care practices. Because they are poodle mixes, hair cuts are not optional. We tried an at-home solution once with some horse clippers when we were at Will's parents' farm, but that ended up taking a very long time to end up with a very strange looking dog. Not to mention that Will decided to get clever and carve a "B" into Billy's fur, the results of which were closer to mange than hair art.

We found the Hund-salon shortly after arriving, its primary selling point being that the owner advertised in and spoke English. After picking up my dogs the first time, 9 months pregnant, panting from the trek across ice and through several inches of snow, only to be told that my dogs had been in "terrible condition" and that I would be charged extra, I sighed deeply and resolved not to return. But then I saw the dogs. They looked fantastic, and I could tell by their demeanor that they were treated very well. The next time I arrived in as much snow and ice, this time with a 10 week old baby strapped to me. Same speech, but again, happy and gorgeous dogs. So then I decided to ramp up my own dog grooming practices, and the next time the groomer was thrilled with me! (Thrill is expressed rather solemnly in Germany, but trust me, she was thrilled.) The thing is, those 3 seconds of praise cost me 20+ hours of dog brushing over the previous months. But, I've persisted, reasoning that it's good for the pups anyhow.

This most recent time, however, marked the end. We can handle criticism over our lack of care for Sugar's matting coat. You can tell me that Billy's nails are too long. Though our perspectives are different, I can see your point. But this last time, Will was put through a hard sell on ... dog strollers. He said to me "They wanted us to buy a stroller. For the dogs. We are not going back." You see, this was a point when his baby priorities reared up in stark contrast to dog priorities. Though we try to live diplomatically in the worlds of both dog lovers and proud parents, the canine extremists drove us too far this time.

Wish us luck in finding an adequate dog groomer. I don't think we're in the market for a great one any more.

Our tiny crocodile

9 months old. 8 teeth. At least 2 more on the way currently. You may or may not know this, but that's a lot of lethal power for a baby of this age to be wielding. I've been told to brush her teeth. Hah. I can stick a tooth brush in her mouth if I get my timing just right, but it just ends up being a few seconds of her freakishly strong jaws clamping down on the handle whilst giving me the side eye before I retreat. Brush a 9 month's teeth, indeed. I find I have to warn mothers that my angelic baby could amputate the digits of their curious children. Not out of malice. Just in the name of science. But the scars are the same. This condition has allowed her to enjoy her food more than many of her peers; recently she sampled some avocado sushi, piercing through the seaweed like a hot knife through butter. At least I know no one will be stealing her maraca in Gymboree.

9 months: Life's a Party

I met a mom the other day with her 6 week old daughter. I could not believe how tiny this baby was, nor that Edie was ever, ever anything like that. Those early days - when your circadian rhythm is robbed from you by a baby who knows not day or night, your baby doubles in size over the first 16 weeks, and a "clean" outfit for yourself becomes one that doesn't have a lot of urine or spit up on it - go by in a flash. They are miraculous and life-changing. But they are not, I must admit, all that fun. They are the dues a mom pays, with no thank yous and precious few moments of reprieve. And we gladly, exhaustedly, blindly pay them.

Now that E is 9 months old, the fun has truly begun. She's got party tricks, including fake coughing on command, like a tiny drama student trying out as Orphan #3 in Oliver Twist. She's begun to communicate, learning her first baby sign for "milk", saying "mama" (when she's sad & tired) and "nanana" for banana (when she thinks you ought to hurry it up with that banana). Edie sings loudly in every hallway and tunnel, eyes darting around as she enjoys her own echo. She laughs hysterically at Billy sniffing her face, at books with funny rhymes, and each time she manages to bite my nose before I can prevent this particular brand of carnage. Very good times. And with crawling around the corner, there's no turning back now.

[#1 - E and her pacifier. She never really took to them, but we found a couple last week, and she think they are very fun to tempt the dogs with. #2 - E and the 30 second headband. # 3 - Cowgirl baby enjoying the very short Munich Indian Summer.]

Grandma Sally to the Rescue

Imagine if you had two sets of hands, two times the patience, and twice the energy. Now imagine if all the doubled parts were much better than their originals. That sums up having my mother-in-law stay with me for five days while Will was out of town. If you have a trouble-making MIL, you may want to skip this entry. Having Grandma Sally stay with us was fantastic. I got to go to my yoga class, grocery shop by myself, take a trip to a clothing store alone, have a run in the park muy solita... you get the picture. It was like a vacation but without missing your baby.

Sally also helped me navigate Ms. E's first ever fever. Edie has the remarkable and tragic talent for staying awake more hours than usual when she is sick and therefore extra tired. So small one was flowing back and forth across the lines of sanity and insanity for several days. In fact, she is still marching on in this fashion as I type. Super-grandmom MIL kept baby happy and mommy a lot less nervous than she would have been. On top of that, Grandma bought and built a walker for her first born grandbaby. All of this and she even spent her birthday with us!

She stayed long enough to see her first born son arrive back home safe, sound & exhausted. Will did not arrive bearing gifts, per se, but he did buy a three-pack of toothbrushes from Rite Aid. The US didn't have as many bargains as he'd recalled. Apparently, inflation has hit Jimmy John's something fierce. But he did come manage to find that trio of brushes for $2.50, so we'll basically be making money as we scrub our gums with those off brand beauties. Thanks, hon!

We miss you, Grandma! Thank you for staying!

A Toy Store Story

Since Edie won't be able to spend this Christmas with her Grandma Sally, Christmas gifts came in October this year! The three of us ladies ventured to the largest toy store in Munich last weekend, where Grandma conjured up her wealth of toy knowledge from raising four children - the first of whom was the best, of course - to pick out some fancy new baby baubles. Anyways, our very own first pancake taste-tested a wide array of toys and is now the proud owner of a pyramid of rings and some Megablocks. Your cuddly grandbaby thanks you, and so does this running-out-of-tricks Mamma.

Mother's Instinct

I can't define a mother's instinct. And many days, I'm pretty sure I lack any of it. But I think it might be knowing that a 3 euro pair of baby shoes to chew on or a pack of toilet paper to bang on like a drum will make your baby happy enough to finish your errands without seriously harshing the mellow of your fellow shoppers.

Grandma & Grandpa Time!

Will's parents arrived last week for their second trip to Munich this year. Neither had seen Edie since she was two weeks old, so the times had changed around here. Where there was once a floppy, sleepy baby, there was now a wild arm-flapping, squawking, giggling little girl. Sadly, the weather wasn't as different from their previous February trip as we'd hoped. Bavaria is a whole lotta cold and rainy, and this from a Detroiter, mind you.

These first time grandparents deftly navigated the dangers of a shark-like eight-toothed eight month old, keeping her blissfully happy with swims in the hotel pool, trips to the zoo, and even bringing a box of Cheerios from the good old USA. (The closest Cheerios-type cereal here is like a box of tiny tongue dehydrators.) Grandpa Grissom headed back home yesterday, but with Will off on a business trip, I have the great luxury of having Grandma stay on with me and E for another 4 days.

Post-Guest Attempts to Amuse a Baby

With friends and family absent for the time being, Will and I were astonished to realize that we would actually have to keep the baby happy last weekend. Oh the indignity. We were equally flummoxed to learn that when a baby has been held, played with, and otherwise engaged for all of her waking hours for the majority of the past three weeks, she is somehow not more happy to play alone than before. Curious. You'd think she'd enjoy the peace, finally get back to that novel she'd been meaning to finish. Babies are strange creatures, indeed.

Rising to the unexpected challenge, we ventured downtown to a small English language bookshop on Saturday. Before we left, we checked to see if there was a football (i.e. soccer) game that day which would have impeded our train ride home. No game, so off we went. We forgot to check the schedule for massive anti-nuclear energy protests, the epicenter of which would be exactly at mouth of the escalator that one would emerge from if one were to venture to a small English language bookshop. It took us 20 or 30 minutes until we finally got to a break in the crowd. On the bright side, my German is improving enough to understand many of the jeers and criticisms I got for bring a stroller into the center of a protest. Thanks for that, helpful citizens!

On Sunday, we forewent the stroller and opted for the hiking carrier that Aunt Omi got us, as E is finally big enough to sit in it. And off we went to the zoo. Not much to mention here except that 8 mo. olds aren't terribly amused by anteaters in the distance. Again, who would've expected that? Next week we'll take her to a wine tasting or the movies. I'll figure her out yet.

Travel Series #3: Starnberg & its See

Our latest excursion was to a little town called Starnberg, home to the fourth largest lake in Germany, Starnberger See (See = lake). The sunny, warm days of summer - of which there were roughly six total this year, I think - are numbered if not over. So we took advantage of perhaps the final lovely day by visiting a new place while our friends were in town.

Starnberg was picturesque and the lake was as fourth-largest as we could've hoped for. E gave two sloppy thumbs up for raspberry sorbet. As you can see in our family photo, Will is wearing the baby while I am pushing an imaginary baby, one who would deign to remain in a stroller for more than 30 minutes. The real baby is cuter, but the imaginary baby gets much higher marks for not making me look like I stick pins in it when actually I am just trying to give it a ride in its stroller. I'm not naming names. But someone in our family is guilty of this.

Party continues with Mark & Kate!

We have been so incredibly fortunate to have so many visitors these past few weeks! When friends and family are here, it converts Germany into a more familiar and hospitable place, and it is always a time when we enjoy the bounty around us that much more.

Our friends from California, the newly-engaged Mark & Kate, stayed with us for five days after the Italy portion of their vacation. As long as we didn't make them eat any more pasta, they were game for anything. We had a lot of fun, and for us baby-rearing folks, did a lot activity-wise. From Oktoberfest to downtown shopping, and museums to lake excursions, we covered a lot of ground. As cute and friendly as Ms. E was during all of this, however, her demonstration of the sheer power that a babe wields over the lives of her servants/parents may have pushed Mark & Kate's procreation timeline a little farther into the future. (If this is true, M&K, just remember - you have a dog. If you'd truly known how much work that was, you might not have done it, because you couldn't have understood the joy it brings. That is true time a bajillion for babies, both on the work and joy end. Plus, I'm told that babies do stop teething some day. Some day.....)

They left early this morning, though this exhausted family didn't even stir in time to say good bye. Happy travels, friends, and thank you for brightening our Autumn with your presence!

2/3 of One Year Old! (8 mo. for the fractionally challenged)

E hit the 8 month mark just a few days ago. Since she's got all of the stuff she needs, we decided to celebrate with an experiential gift instead: a trip to the pediatrician. Actually, it was just an unfortunate coincidence and not a mean-spirited present. Edie rang in the new month with the first illness she's ever contracted and an itchy chin rash as well. Nervous new parents that we are, we lasted about 4 days of sniffles before we thought professional advice was in order.

Our regular pediatrician was on vacation, so we had to see someone else. New guy walked into the exam room and, not terribly surprisingly, started speaking German. Will asked whether he spoke English. He looked at Will seriously and said in German, "How is your German?" to which Will replied, in German, "Not very good. I speak a little." Then doctor said "Okay. We will do this in German then." And after an awkward pause, the doctor said in perfect English "Just kidding!" Everyone's a comedian, eh?

Will and I tried to sound very serious as we described Edie's symptoms, symptoms that seemed less and less severe as we said them out loud. "Uh. She sniffs. I heard her cough this morning." They also seemed less severe as E proceeded to roll over again, and again, on the exam table, while babbling at and reaching for everything in sight. After listening to her lungs and checking her throat, he concluded that she had a little cold. Not exactly the stuff of medical journal publications or House episodes.

As for the rash, it was chalked up to her messy eating. Doc threw me a bone and said that it was itchy, and since there was a small chance it could get infected if it didn't heal, it was good I brought her in. Quite charitable of him. And so, with a Rx for some low-dose cortisone in hand, somehow our little patient survived the trip home and still soldiers on today.

The picture was done with my webcam, capturing E's favorite hobby: sock removal and attempted consumption. There are many soggy socks about these days. The sepia tone gives her sock chewing a quaint air of nostalgia, doesn't it?

Oktoberfest: E don't need a reason to go to the Wies'n

I sing a lot of dumb songs to E. A lot. But she's not the only victim of my life-as-a-bad-musical delusion. Before her, I made up songs for the dogs all day long, and before them, the burden fell on Will alone. Speaking of Will, after 6 years of marriage he's finally gotten in on the song invention and now regularly composes very silly tunes. What's this set-up got to do with Oktoberfest? Well, the Bavarian term for der Oktoberfest is die Wies'n (pron. VEE-zin). And thus, Edie's first trip to this grand tradition of an event was proceeded by a little ditty: "She's gotta get dressed for Oktoberfest, 'cause E don't need a reason just to go to the Wies'n." Pick any tune. It will probably be better than ours anyways.

Oktoberfest is essentially a huge state fair, complete with rides and games, coupled with prodigious beer drinking, Liederhosen and Dirndl's. Liederhosen are made up of leather pants with leather suspenders, checked shirt, wool socks, and sometimes a fancy hat. Dirndl's are "St. Pauli girl" dresses. Our friend Sarah is wearing hers in the photo above. You can get cheap tourist versions of these, or you can go for broke and spend 1000 euros +. We opted out of any such attire this year, but if we can find an inexpensive tiny Dirndl next year, Edie might be decked out.

The crowds are tremendous and comprised in no small part by American study abroad-ers. It was a lot of fun, but after 90 minutes, I'd had my alkohol-frei fill. Will stayed on and returned twice more to the mayhem with visiting friends. It's over now, which is okay by us, but it was a special event to share in for sure.

Change your perspective, Change your life

I don't know about Will, but Edie and I needed a weekend away. Sure, she had a cold, gave me her cold, and also cut a tooth while we were there, the sum total of which made the nights less than restful. But the experience was still therapeutic overall.

One of the best things was seeing her light up when in these new situations. And they did not need to be exciting. Just new. Sitting on the hotel bed with a single rattle while I got ready in the morning made her happier than sitting on her in-home activity mat, which is outfitted by countless toys, books, and stuffed animals. Want to drink a soy chai in peace? Aim your baby at crowds walking by and let her practice her arm flapping hellos and sip away. By day, Edie was a happy, happy camper.

The nights involved lights out by 8:30, Will and I watching The Sopranos on his laptop with headphones like fugitives in the corner of the hotel room, and many many minutes turned to hours of pacing with a teething, stuffed-up baby. But there are no photos of that. So enjoy the far cuter images of Miss Baby Congeniality.

Travel Series #2: Leipzig (aka I heart gritty cities)

A medical imaging conference brought our little family to Leipzig, Germany last weekend. It's not what would usually be considered a tourist destination. And the fact that we went their during Oktoberfest, when we live in Munich, makes the whole thing that much more backwards. But, as Will succinctly put it when I pointed this out; "That's just us." And it is.

Munich is lovely. Lovely, lovely, lovely. It's clean. The scenery is picturesque. The citizens are impeccable. And all of this is great. But there is something in me that loves a bit of the rough. That part of me moved me to downtown Detroit for two years where it was well-nourished. Leipzig was part of former East Germany, and as a result it bears the scars of those lean years in the form of abandoned buildings, graffiti, etc. The flip side of such misfortune, however, is that there are fertile grounds for new growth once the environment changes. And so there is an air of modernity, experimentation and- yes - gorgeous grittiness that I don't find in my own fair town that I so loved to breathe in for a few days.

Leipzig is also home to a large university. And what do you get if you have a downtrodden city, mix in some higher education, and shake well? Vegans, of course! You see, we can live on forest scraps, book learning, and patchouli vapors, so such places are quite ideal. I found as many as two fully vegan restaurants there and several veg or veg-friendly places and I was in heaven.

It was fun to blend in a bit more, as I did in Leipzig, and eating vegan gyros was no small event either. All in all, a great change of pace for our clan.