Lemony Heaveny

There are some foods that I prepare once and think, "This is great! I've got to make this again!" and then promptly forget. I'll flip past the recipe print-out in my binder and think, "Meh. That was all right."

Then there are some foods that I prepare once and know I will never forget. Like the Orange Julius in our ice cream maker. So much better than ice cream and it's just OJ, milk, water, vanilla and a smidgeon of sugar. Super good! (I have some of yesterday's batch defrosting in the fridge right now... Mmmm...)

Then there are some foods that I prepare once and my life has been shattered. Changed forever. Such was my experience with the lemony, heaveny (misspelling on purpose... work with me, here...), light, frothy deliciousness of Dorie Greenspan's (or should I say, Pierre Herme's) Lemon Cream. Note to cookers: the link above calls for 1/2 cup of lemon juice. The other, more easily accessible version of this recipe online, calls for 3/4 cup. I loved the slight, but not overpowering, tang that I got with 1/2 cup. Your call.

I was nervous to try this cream since I've never made anything like it. I couldn't get it all the way up to temperature and knew that I would have scrambled eggs if I didn't take it off the heat soon, so I had no idea if it would firm up enough. I didn't have time to buy fresh lemons, so I had used a jar of store-bought lemon juice. And a BLENDER? That seems so wrong for a dessert that looks so delicate.

So I dipped my spoon into the final product with serious trepidation. I cautiously closed my lips around it and let it hit my tongue. My eyes opened wide in surprise. This was, by far, the most delicious lemon ANYTHING I had ever tasted. That is probably due, in part, to the fact that it is exactly up my alley: light and frothy, not too tangy, but a delicious lemon flavor.

My sister tried it and kind of said, "Meh. Not lemony enough." Her son, however, tried it and said, "This is probably in the top ONE best lemon desserts I've ever had." I looked nervously at his Mom and smiled apologetically. She frowned at him and reminded him of the wonderful things she has baked. I tried to change the subject. But I couldn't agree with my nephew more. It's brilliant. It's not all greasy-looking like most lemon fillings. The butter is set aside until after the mixture is cooked and cooled, so the final product has a character all its own.

I filled up some mini tarts and served them at a baby shower. I was amazed that others didn't gobble them down as quickly as I did, but grateful, too. So, so grateful to have leftovers.

And now, it's been a week and a half and I can't get that lemon cream out of my head. It's haunting my attempts to get control of my health. It's constantly there, in the back of my mind, beckoning so seductively. I think I'll give in. There are SO few foods in the world that are worth the calories. Well, I can only think of two indulgences that are worth the calories: this lemon cream and Pepe's pizza in New Haven. If I could eat those two things every day, I'd pat my gut and say in some silly accent (simply because I really like silly accents), "Ahh it is very sad, but so worth it. Mmmm...."

In the mood to cook? I'd be happy to make some lemon cream with you. Seriously. Give me a good reason to make this decadence. Please?

The Great White Swimmer

In the annals of my family history, today will go down as a historic day: I'm taking the boys swimming at the local pool. Please hold your applause.

We tried this once before at a semi-private function and the result was a family with indescribably disgusting symptoms of cryptosporidium. I swore off the public swimming pool all of last year as memories haunted my sleeping hours.

For some reason, though, I had no problem suiting up when we went on vacation and let's both be honest: how clean can a hotel swimming pool be? Visions of spit, urine and flaked-off dead skin cells aside, I can hardly wait to go on vacation for the swimming alone. In Berlin, I admit, I spent some glorious hours floating on my back in paradise. (By which I mean a top-floor, indoor pool with skylights that let in just the right amount of light and none of the sweltering heat.)

I do not go swimming in our local public pool. Let me repeat that: I DO NOT GO SWIMMING IN OUR LOCAL PUBLIC POOL. It is sort of a mantra of mine that I have to repeat aloud for my children several times a summer. Or at least it has been. Something has changed.

When my kids bugged me about going swimming in the past and asked, "Wwwwhhhhhhhyyyyy?" in that whiny voice that kids pull off so well, I would reply: "Because I .. uhh ... oooh look! What's that over there?" Which is to say: I dodged the question. But here's what I was thinking: "Because I look like a big, fat beached whale with the whitest legs on the planet. And I'm fat. Did I remind myself yet that I'm fat and a swimsuit is not the right look for me?" Which, interpreted to a more subconcscious level, becomes this: "If I go to the public pool, I will see somebody I know. They will look at me in horror and think to themselves, 'I always knew she was fat, but whoa. That's sickening.' "

So what has changed? I realized that yes, people will know I'm fat. However, people already know I'm fat in my normal clothing. (Please do not leave comments trying to spare my feelings. I'm about 75 pounds over my target weight. It's okay: I'm fat!) In addition to other people already knowing I'm fat, it's true. I'm overweight. Okay. So that leaves us with... who cares? I know I'm overweight. They know I'm overweight. Why not put a smile on my face and create tidal waves of joy as I splash around obliviously with my kids?

With mental anxiety set in its' proper sphere, I can now get down to the business of having fun. I shaved my legs a bit (ahem.. a lot) more thoroughly than usual, lotioned them up, and got my flip flops ready. I know it sounds like I'm going to have a great time, but don't succumb to that impulse to crash the party. Sorry to all my fans, but your favorite celebrity blogger (ME! Who did you think I was talking about?!) isn't going to be signing autographs. I'll be wading around with my kids saying, "True Confessions of a whaaa...? Never heard of it."

Virtual Reality

Sometimes I wonder (seriously) what kids did without televisions, iPods and video game consoles. How did they spend their down time? How did their parents survive without the electronic anesthetic? I guess they used their imaginations, which is apparently what kids are still doing, but it's more like imagination on steroids. They can not only pretend that they're driving a car, they can grab the Wii steering wheel and have a wheel to hold onto, a race track and interactive results.

Call me old-fashioned but I like my kids' race tracks to be in their minds. That's the creative side of me wanting my kids to discover the power of their minds and the power of books and the power of imagination. So I held out a long time without getting any video games. Yesterday, I was given a Wii for my birthday. Yea! Now we're not the boring house anymore!

Joseph spent all day playing on the Wii. Thomas looked at it, watched Joseph play and then came downstairs to me. As we sat side-by-side munching our lunch, he said in a high squeaky voice, "Hi! I'm Thomii! I'm in the Wii! Are you in the Wii, too?" I replied, "Yep. I'm in the Wii, too. I'm Julesii!" All throughout lunch, Thomii and I imagined that we were in the Wii.

Then it dawned on me. We were pretending to be in the virtual world. That seems a few too many layers away from reality, doesn't it? Then something else dawned on me: instead of Thomii being upstairs in virtual reality, he was downstairs using his imagination. It doesn't matter that the Wii was fodder for his imagination. I hugged him and felt proud of his creativity.

Then I told him to hurry up, finish his lunch already and go upstairs with his brothers.

Inspiration Lacking

Enough about me. Let's hear some ideas from you. Here is what I want to know:

1. What are your favorite uses for zucchini? We just harvested our first of the season and I know there is more coming. When I was a teenager, we had a yearly tradition of getting a baseball bat or broom handle and pitching zucchini (and other produce) to each other. In case you want to try this yourself, cabbage was by far my favorite because it just disintegrated on contact. But zucchini on the roof is always memorable.

So OTHER than meaningless destruction with a baseball bat, what else do you do with your zucchini? Do you have a favorite zucchini bread recipe? Do you grate it and put it in stuff? Send me your ideas... please!

2. If you had an extra two or three rooms in your house, what would you do with them? A craft room? Guest bedroom? Office? I want to hear your vision. We have a basement apartment that we've rented out since we moved into the house and I think that our current tenants will be our last ones. We've had great luck with the tenants we've had and our current "downstairs neighbors" are the best I could ever wish for, so we'll be ending on a high note. (I think that their plan is to be here another year or so, so this is all very long-term planning... no rush...)

3. Color laser printer or Inkjet? We've been without color printing for about five years and we've loved our black and white laser printer. We've only replaced the toner once and it was super cheap to replace. I used to gnash my teeth and growl unkind words every time I plopped down $50 for a color inkjet cartridge. I don't want to do that again, but I really need a color printer AND a copier/scanner, too, so we'd have to invest in a Color Laser All-in-One which runs into a *cough* bit of money. Is it worth the upfront expense with the huge ink savings? Or would you get the cheap-o inkjet and then pay through the nose for ink for the next five or ten years? (Yes, I know that printers technically shouldn't last ten years in a normal household, but we use electronics the way we use cars: drive 'em into the ground and then hang on a little longer.)

These are the questions I've been pondering this morning. That and whether or not I should buy myself a snow cone maker for my birthday on Saturday. My husband voted against, but I think we could resolve his concerns without too much trouble. It just seems like it would be so much fun to make snow cones on a hot summer day, invite over some neighbor kids and let the sticky fun begin! So we'll make that question #4: snow cone or no snow cone?

I would love to hear your ideas!

Party Time!

To repent for a myriad of drab, photo-less blog entries, here are a slew of photos from the baby shower I threw last night, with how-to and recipe links at the bottom. I had so much fun crafting and cooking and baking!

From Party Pics

From Party Pics

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From Party Pics

From Party Pics

From Party Pics

From Party Pics

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From Party Pics

From Party Pics

* Pom-pom decorations (hung from ceiling, or you can make half pom-poms with four pieces of tissue and lay them flat as flowers)
* Fruity ice cubes
* The most amazing lemon cream tart filling -- the variation of this that I prepared had, I THINK, only half a cup of lemon. I don't like things TOO tart.
* The inspiration for all of it here and here
* Fortune teller candy dishes -- line with wax paper or parchment paper for a pretty effect
* My favorite cake recipe (use as layer cake, Maryann cake or cupcakes ... makes a fabulous strawberry shortcake base!) -- tastes even better the next day!
* Butterfly template -- This is a great project for your kids to help with!
* Yummy lemon cream cheese frosting and lemonade made from The Joy of Cooking. Flaky pie crust for tarts from the highly-recommended Baking with Julia.

Domestic Frivolity and Wonderfulness

My first baking-induced injury of the morning was rather embarrassing: I cut myself, but not with a knife or baking utensil. I just clumsily broke my skin with a too-long fingernail. I was cutting and juicing lemons at the moment and almost (literally) poured lemon juice over my cut. I love it when life is a living cliche. Don't you?

I am throwing a baby shower tomorrow and hosting my writer's group, so I am spending all day today being Domestic. I used to think I was inherently Non-Domestic, but I've changed my mind. When I grow up, I want to be my Grandma Hacken. She was Domestic in the best sense of the word. She bustled around in a blur of home-made clothing, delicious smells in the kitchen and freshly cut flowers from the yard. She didn't do it because she was repressed by society and forced into a role that she hated. She did it all out of love. She painted murals for grandkids and made costumes and baked bread and tended the garden and made me feel like the most special person in the whole wide world.

By the time she passed away, I'd already mourned her for several years. We had already lost her to Alzheimer's and the loss was immense. Every time I think of the ideal wife, mother or grandmother, that childhood image of my smiling Grandma Hacken comes to mind. She is who I want to be when I grow up.

So today I am being Domestic. Sandra, stop laughing or gnashing your teeth. There is nothing wrong with being Domestic, even if you are an outspoken feminist with crazy ideas like "Men Can Change Diapers." I can peacefully exist within both spheres, and I do.

So, it is 10:31 a.m. and this is what I have done so far:

* Baked a pan of my favorite brownie recipe to be frosted, cut into bite-size pieces and topped with the paper-crafted daisy toothpick thingees that I made on Saturday.

* Made pie crust, which is happily chilling in the fridge in anticipation of being made into miniature tarts (lemon? lime? other?) later today or tomorrow morning

* Sliced lemons and limes to make a citrus syrup for my first attempt at homemade lemonade/limeade. Later on, I'm going to slice more lemons and limes and make some Fruity Ice Cubes out of them to go in the punch at the party. Now I debate: Strawberry lemonade? Raspberry lemonade? Throw in some food coloring to make "pink" lemonade because my "pink lemonade" recipe calls for grenadine and I have no idea what that is or if it's against my religion? (Laughing at myself, but.. yes, I'm serious.)

* Cut out sugar cookies (made the dough yesterday of course, because that gives the dry ingredients a chance to absorb the moisture, making for a more uniform and tastier final product ... as you already know) into daisy shapes to stick with my summery, flowery baby shower theme.

* Unloaded the dishwasher, wiped the countertop, loaded the dishwasher, wiped the countertop, hand-washed dishes, wiped the countertop, wiped the countertop, wiped the countertop .... repeat ad nauseum because cooking is messy and I can't tolerate a dirty countertop when I cook, regardless of what my husband will tell you. (Hush, husband.))

* Put all the dry ingredients in a bowl for my vanilla cupcakes, since we ate up the whole first batch with two last-minute gatherings with friends yesterday. I'm out of eggs now, so I need to go to the store before I can finish the cupcakes.

* Cut the last sugar cookie from yesterday into four pieces and enjoyed with my sons. There is something incredibly magical about home-baked goods that are frosted with a lemon cream cheese frosting. Seriously magical ... and highly addictive. I went to bed last night feeling nauseated by the amount of sugar in my system and swore not to let that happen again ... EVER. Ick.

I love cooking days. Love them, love them, love them. I love that I'm making a lemon syrup for the first time ever and that I almost poured lemon juice on my cut. I love planning parties and doing things that my Mom tells me are ridiculously unnecessary. Of course they are. That's why they are appreciated and remembered. That's what makes parties delightful--doing things that are completely unnecessary, incredibly time-consuming and impractical but fun and wonderful.

All is well.

Mixed feelings about ADHD

Here are a few of the emotions stirring around in my pot today. It's hard to tell if they will bubble and boil over or if they will just stay on a low simmer. They've been simmering a long time. Today I am:

Curious

Today I am taking my oldest son to his pediatrician to discuss ADHD. Before my trip to Germany, I took him to a psychologist for testing. I had very mixed feelings about the whole process and dragged my feet quite a bit. I was hoping for some therapeutic, behavioral, psychological advice. Instead, I was told that medication would change all our lives and I should get him on medication ASAP.

My son has been a "full speed, straight ahead!" type of child from the first. He was precocious and demanding as an infant, impulsive and demanding as a toddler and now defiant and demanding as a school-age boy. I adore him and his amazing sense of creativity, but I literally feel worn out the first moment I hear his voice in the morning because the first sound is always some sort of demand.

I want to be a nice, fun, laid-back Mom but I haven't had the chance with my son. He is always pushing the boundaries, demanding more and seeing what he can get away with. I have to constantly restrict him, discipline him and keep everything ordered and methodical or else the entire family seems to explode from within. My nerves are getting a bit raw just thinking about it!

Sometimes I wonder if it's my fault as a Mom, but I've finally accepted that different children have different temperaments and this is just how my son is. The twins are far less demanding and far more affectionate and laid-back. My parenting style works much better with them. So I just need to figure out how to mesh my parenting style with my oldest boy's temperament. It's a long process and always under review... which itself is exhausting.

So I am finally taking Joseph in to discuss medication. I have been very reluctant to do this. I'm not sure why. It's complicated. It's emotional. It's way more personal than I can really detail here. But I'm curious about what the doctor will say and I'm curious what affect this could have on Joseph and, consequently, the whole family.

Anxious about social stereotypes

ADHD has become a buzz word, a social phenomenon, a running joke. People throw out insults in the form of "You are SO ADHD! You drive me crazy!" without thinking that ADHD is a real concern for real people. Others seem to believe that ADHD is a fictitious problem--a convenient label to slap on the problem kids to make people feel better about themselves. Some talk about the over-medication of America, which I tend to agree with in a lot of ways.

ADHD is that label that teachers use with each other as they sigh and pat each other on the back. "I have 5 ADHD kids this year!" a teacher will say to another teacher. They'll both groan and feel underpaid.

The stereotypes and social stigma surrounding ADHD are ugly. Considering that kids with ADHD are more prone to getting into trouble and not meeting their full potentials, they are highly susceptible to developing anxiety and depression as secondary side effects. The last thing these vulnerable kids need is the stigma of being "an ADHD kid" with all the associated baggage. It makes my temperature rise ... considerably ... and I want to shelter my son from the unkindness.

Anxious about doing the right thing

My feelings about ADHD are very complicated because it has affected my life directly in several ways. I fear that I won't look at the situation in a detached, analytical manner. I want to just do what is right for my son. How do I know if the medication really is safe? Yes, it's been tested and it won't cause him to sprout a third arm, but you can't tell me that the full impact is really understood.

The body is intricately, insanely complex and I question the ability of research to ever fully understand the impact of environmental or medical influences. So how do I know that drugging my son up every single day for his entire childhood and adolescense ... and maybe adulthood? ... is really the best thing to do?

How can I not try it, though, when so many people have pushed and prodded and told me that life will be so much better for all of us, including my son, if he is medicated. How can I not give him every chance to lead a more fulfilling life and gain confidence and real friendships? How could I withhold that from him? So I am putting my anxieties to the side for now and trying to keep an open mind. I have to figure out what is best for my son and that's not as straightforward as people seem to believe.

Hope for a solution

I'm so worn out. I'm sick of the arguing, defiance, anger, questioning, emotional mayhem and lack of respect. I'm sick of the time-outs and the constant need to look for ways to encourage my son to offset the fact that he's constantly in trouble! I'm sick of seeing his little face fall when he knows that he is in trouble ... AGAIN. I'm sick of being the instrument of lower self-esteem by constantly discipling him. I'm sick of all of it. I want to start enjoying my time with him more.

So I am hopeful that everyone is right and ADHD medication is the answer to all my prayers. I'm hopeful that people haven't overexaggerated the benefit my son will see. I'm hopeful that we can find a better place for our family with less anger and less crying and less arguing all around. I hate contention and I hate all the negative emotions brewing ... that just isn't my cup of tea. So I am excited today to see if a new chapter of life is unfolding.

Wary of expecting too much

I'm wary that I expect too much! I'm worried that people have talked up ADHD medication so much that I'll be disappointed.

* * *

I want to be cautious.

I want to be hopeful.

I want to be open-minded.

I want to do the right thing for my son.

I want to be a good Mom.

Heaven help me.

I Left My Heart in ...

There's nothing like 12 days away from home to make you passionately realize that Dorothy was right.

There's no place like home. There's no place like home.

Especially when home is chock full of wonderful things like a washing machine and dryer, clean clothing, a large bathtub, air conditioning, free water and, of course, an adorable family.

I think that it was pretty clear that I was intensely home sick during my trip to Europe. That home sick feeling shouldn't be interpreted as a lack of gratitude or regret at being where I was. It was a simple, healthy acknowledgement that I love my family and am very aware of the blessings that center around the hearth.

That home-sick feeling is actually one of the things that I most treasure about my trips away. It is a reminder to be grateful for the everyday things that seem mundane--the ability to clean my clothing, the ability to drink water, the ability to grab my children in huge hugs and listen to them giggle in my ear. Every time I have a few days away from my home, I come home feeling like I've fallen in love with my family and my life. It's a passionate love affair brought on by an aching heart.

However, Germany was astounding. I cannot describe the experience because it was just that: an experience. It wasn't a list of sights seen or places discovered or pictures taken or relatives visited. It was a constant bombardment on all my senses: new smells, images, thoughts, realizations. It was seeing a different way of life that made me question my own lifestyle and ask, "Why not?"

Why not give herbal tea another try? I've always had it warm and hated it, but my relatives in Germany served it iced and it was quite refreshing (and low-cal!)

Why not landscape my yard like my European relatives, planting flowers and herbs in every precious inch of land I own? Why not live my life outside more often and treasure the cool-morning breeze or the evening chill?

Why not build some boxes around my back patio with trellises to make a nice outdoor eating space? Or grow grapes along the fence?

Why not really become fluent in German after discovering how much I really already know?

Why not teach my boys to live life full of vim and vigor by having them help me out in the garden?

Why not spend my days discovering the history behind some of that artwork I saw in the museums? Why not grab some paint brushes and try to surprise myself?

Why not think about installing a small pool in our backyard ... someday?

Why not learn more about fashion so that I can fit in next time I travel abroad?

Why not... why not... why not...?

I feel changed by the intense feeding of my soul that occured in Germany. I don't know how I've changed, but I can feel that I am not the same person I was two weeks ago. I like this feeling of growth and cerebral expansion. My muse was well-fed and now she must be well-exercised to give those seeds of creativity room to expand.

All is well, all is well.

Drunk Guy :: Part Two

It took him a couple hours to talk to me, but he did. We were with the same group of people--it was inevitable that we'd run into each other when we were stuck on the same boat, cruising the Spree River.

I was in back snapping 238 photos. He finally approached near the end and before he could say a word, I asked, "So are you drunk again yet?" He was only slightly buzzed but not yet deliriously drunk. He literally couldn't remember what he had done the night before, but he remembered me as a sort of guardian angel who had (figuratively) taken him by the drunken hand and reminded him which direction the party was at. (The museum was rather large.)

He seemed to make a few pointed comments to find out if he'd made a fool of himself or not. I just smiled and let him keep talking. No use in telling him he's now been immortalized as "Drunk Guy" on my blog. So as far as his memory will serve, I'm the nice lady who showed him where the party was. In my mind, he'll always be Drunk Guy.

* * *

In other news, I saw two amazing museums in Berlin today. I saw the bust of Nefertiti. Yes, The Bust of Nefertiti. You know which one I mean. I'll post pictures later in case you really, actually don't know which one I mean. There was a bunch of other cool stuff at the Altes Museum, blah blah blah, but what I really want to tell you about is ....

WOW!! The Pergamonmuseum was amazing. Just. Simply. Breathtaking. Literally.

If you can imagine the explosion that happens when a submarine has been torpedoed and blown out of the water, you can start to imagine how I felt when I walked into Pergamon. I had just finished off a pretzel on the steps of the museum, looking at the German Chancellor's flat. I didn't know what to expect in this museum. It was just another museum. Right?

When we walked in, I was staring up and into a full, restored Altar with stone steps and columns and friezes that ran around the entire, amazingly huge room. Then I walked into the next room and saw the Market Gate and was blown away. Then I walked into the next room and saw the Ishtar gate and was blown away.

Torpedo ... hit! Hit! Hit! Blown out of the water!

That museum was ... breathtaking. If you are planning a trip to Berlin, please take time for the Pergamon Museum. Stunning.

I came back to the hotel, tired and sweaty, swam in the top floor pool for a while, showered and then went on the above-mentioned river tour. I'll post some of the 238 pictures later on my Picasa album. What a day!

It's been great but I'm feeling antsy to see my little darlin's again. I fly home Thursday and can't wait to see the kiddos and have good water to drink for free and have a washing machine (YEA!!) and lots of other amazing conveniences.

That leaves one day... Time to buy chocolate.

Drunk Guys and Rembrandts

I could blog about going back to Potsdam and the cute little shops and historic sites and how I was so brave about figuring out the regional train system all by myself.

I could blog about the wonder of staring at original Rembrandt paintings and feeling like I'm about to cry.

I could then blog about how I always cry. Always. Even when I watch things like American Idol or The Apprentice. I don't know why, but I always cry.

I could then blog about how that is neither here nor there and I've blogged about that before. I could then go off into many tangents that are also neither here, there or anywhere in between.

I could blog about many things, but I have chosen something very special for you today: the drunk guy. To give a little background, I was with my father at a reception for some group-or-other that has something-or-other to do with libraries and spanish stuff. I should probably pay closer attention to details like this, but I didn't care. All I knew was that I was incredibly excited to go to the art gallery where it was being held.

There was food. There was wine. There was beer, I believe. I had juice and sparkling water. (I could blog about my irritation with the European obsession with water that is not just nice, cool, still water.... but again... I must not sidetrack. I'm blogging about drunk guy.)

We had a guided tour through some highlights of the art gallery and then my Dad and I split off into different directions. I was walking through some Dutch paintings alone when suddenly, there he was: drunk guy. He was standing next to me as though we were best friends in the world, rambling about how his group had abandoned him just because he had to pee.

I was amused.

He said unabashedly that he was incredibly drunk and had better go have another drink because... well, I didn't quite follow the reasoning. I told him I'd never been drunk, but I thought I'd probably be very entertaining because I already make a fool of myself in normal life without the help of booze.

He kept talking and I realized that he wasn't going to let me look at the paintings in peace. We were apparently friends now and looking at the paintings together. He was being decidedly friendly. And then he started asking me personal questions: how old was I? What was my name? Was I part of SALALM? (SALALM is the library thing-a-doo-hickey that my Dad is attending here in Berlin.)

I started feeling a tad concerned.

I kept smiling and started walking, very deliberately, back toward the main reception area. He kept talking and I realized very quickly that he was coming onto me. Man, it's been a looooong time since I've realized someone tried to pick me up. Usually the wedding ring on my finger and details like me being overweight and in the presence of three screaming children are enough to make the thought laughable.

I was entertained but alarmed.

I wasn't really 100% sure he was coming on to me until he asked in his drunk stupor, "So if your Dad saw us together, would he kill me now or wait until after the conference?"

I replied, "As long as you don't touch me, I think you'll be all right."

He backed away a little bit and said, looking reflective, "I don't think I did that."

"Then you should be okay," I replied.

We found the main group again and I quickly eased away. Problem solved. Only one thing remained: get out of the reception so I could blog about it and let the rest of you laugh with me.

All is well in Berlin. Life is different... unquestionably... but all is well.

Independence Day

Yesterday, I stood with one foot in the former East Germany and one foot in the former West Germany.

I saw the outline of where the wall used to divide this country unnaturally into two different worlds.

In the car, my cousins told me what life was like when their country was divided into two. They were small children during WWII and witnessed the division and the reunification of their beloved home. "Every year, we come now to this part of Germany," said one cousin, "because when it was divided, we could not come here at all."

She told me that she lived for one year of the war in an industrial town that was bombed repeatedly. She told me of the fear she lived with. I told her that my city has never witnessed a war. Never a bomb or an enemy plane flying overhead.

"Yes, you cannot imagine what it is like," she said. I agreed. "My children, also. They cannot imagine what it is like." After a moment: "It is better so." A look of sadness tells me everything I need to know--I don't know want to know.

Now this place is beautiful. Peaceful. A place untouched by anything except memories of a wall. We stand in the fields of flowers and eat fresh cherries from a picturesque town full of half-timbered homes.

"I have a suggestion to make," says my cousin. "Take a picture of the flowers to remember this place." She wants me to remember the beauty of Germany and put the ugliness out of my head. I snap a few photos gladly and prepare to leave. A sign by the parking area says that it's nice we are here. I agree.

I think about war and division and unity and fields of flowers and my small, insignificant town that has never been bombed. It is nice that I am here, and it's nice to have a country of peace and freedom to go home too. It is too big for me to wrap my brain around right now. So, so much that is important and I cannot feel the weight of what it means.

Happy 4th of July to all of you.

Alles gut in Deutschland

I have been taken to task by that ever-present Internet phenom: the anonymous comment. I can't blame Anonymous for feeling envious of my travels and irritated by my lack of enthusiasm. When my friends and family travel out of town, I am always exceedingly envious and cannot envision them having any down side to the luxury of travel.

Life, however, is neither all black nor all white. Jet lag is a real drag. If you think it is easy to be in the middle of people who are talking about you, judging you and literally laughing at you in a language you cannot understand, then you're just being silly. If you think it's easy to figure out a balanced diet when you can't even read the menu, you don't really know how important healthy food is when you're on your feet all day long. It's hard and it's stressful!

Today I was on the verge of tears. Correction: today I actually started crying in the middle of lunch when people were saying "Juliana...blahblah gibberish blah... ha ha ha... Juliana ... blah blah blah .. ha ha ha!!" and I had to pull myself together (quickly) to not make the matter worse. The heat was ... hot. I was sweaty. I was so hungry by dinnertime that I honestly thought I couldn't get out of the car. We had to hike way up to a beautiful castle and I was so dehydrated that I probably would have sold all three of my kids for a liter of water.

However.

Today was perfect! I got out into the real Naturpur (Pure Nature!) the "Green Heart of Germany." I toured an amazing castle and learned a new story that I had never heard before. I felt the inspiration flowing into me as I thought about what might happen in those dark woods that towered on either side of the road. I grinned foolishly on an Autobahn and told a cousin that he likes to drive the same way I like to drive: fast. I stood on the border between West Germany and East Germany and pondered th stupidity of men in ruining a beautiful countryside with a wall from one end to the other.

I visited villages full of half-timbered homes that took my breath away. I saw the room where Martin Luther translated the New Testament. I saw the house where Bach lived. I bought some amazing hand-made gifts for my Mother. I had dinner on the porch of a beautiful restaurant overlooking a perfect German valley.

Alles war wunderbar. My German language skills are quickly getting better and better und besser und besser. I'm amazed how much comes back to me from my five years of junior high and high school German.

I will post pictures and write more details another time. Bis spater und lots of liebe.

Virtually UNVIRTUAL

Almost no internet access right now... I have a few minutes on my Dad's laptop and that is all. Connection too slow to even load Facebook.

I am taking deep breaths and trying to remember the beautiful German countryside that I toured today. I... must... survive... without... Internet. I need to repeat this mantra every time I look at my lonely little laptop with photos that I can't upload.

We took a train from Berlin to Kassel. It was nice to get out of the big city and into the German countryside. Here is the birthplace of the fairy tales (although the locals will hotly debate who actually wrote them, so don't ask...) Our train arrived late, so we only saw part of the Water display at Wilhelmshohe castle, but it was beautiful! The grounds there are heavenly. The museum inside has Rembrandts and other famous pieces of work, but when I asked about them, my cousins didn't seem too impressed. I hope I can see them anyway, but I don't have high hopes.

I'm getting really homesick. I miss my kids. I almost had a nervous breakdown yesterday evening because I started missing home so much. You can't imagine how much pressure there is when you are with relatives and they know that you know SOME German, so they keep asking you questions which you can't understand! Between relatives that ich konnte nicht verstehen and menus that ich konnte nicht verstehen and changing hotel rooms and cities and still being jetlagged, I am feeling really overwhelmed.

All is well and I am more grateful than ever before for the luxuries of air conditioning and a washing machine. There's no place like home.

How to be HOT

Hot, hot, hot

The air is hot, the style is hot, my chocolate is hot and melted. After looking at all the fashionable men and women, I feel like the anti-hot. I am totally sporting the "Utah Housewife" look while I'm in Berlin, but worse: It's Utah Housewife without air conditioning. Not hot. I got back from sightseeing this afternoon and immediately took a long, cold shower to cool off.

I have started taking photos of unsuspecting men for a blog entry that I will later title, "How to Look Hot :: Men of the Continent" or "How to Look Like a European Man in Three Easy Steps." You can choose which title you like best. I need to find some quiet park bench where I can hold my camera in hand like all the other tourists, while stealthily photographing the PEOPLE instead of the SIGHTS.

Loud, loud, loud

I thought I was over my jetlag on the first day. Miracle! And then last night happened. I couldn't sleep. I lay awake in the semi-darkness, counting car horns since I couldn't count sheep. The noise in this city never slackens, never dies out. There was one minute when a stillness slowly crept on the street below me. I waited with baited breath to see if the car tires, horns and engines would actually be silent for an entire moment. Just as the sound had died to almost-impercepibility, the process reversed and a car revved around the corner and awakened the street. Isn't New York supposed to be the city that never sleeps? I think it ain't got nothin' on Berlin. This place never stops moving.

Smells, smells, smells

I am trying to keep a good attitude about the smells. I am saying to myself, "Breathe it in. It is part of the atmosphere of a big city." I am sure that if I were to return one day, I would chuckle to myself and say, "Ah yes! I would recognize the smells of Berlin anywhere! What a sentimental return to the past!"

Until that day, I am trying in vain to love the cigarette smoke and general grime in the air. The air is thick with scents every moment. I can feel the air going into my body, especially on Unter den Linden, where my throat cries out in allergic pain.

Wet and dry

The air is so wet that my jeans stuck to my legs yesterday in a rather unfortunate way. The cloth chafed against me with every movement, refusing to relax and let my legs breathe. Today I am back to wearing my loose, shapeless khakis.

After about ten minutes outside, I can put a hand to my face and feel the perspiration running down it. It is so, so hot and humid that I don't know why I keep trying to put on makeup. What's the point?

My hair is suddenly not itself. It's taking on some kind of strange personality of its own, curling outward at the ends and frizzing all around my face. I don't know what to do with it, but I think I may have to put it in a pony tail because of the heat.

I miss the accessibility of WATER at home. I normally drink and drink and drink all day long. Here, I have to pay 2.5 euros for a glass of mineral water. The result is that I am gradually dehydrating myself, which I can't afford to do when it is so hot. Must... figure... out... water...

Photos online on Picasa Web.

Guten nacht, Berlin

Did you know that if you leave Salt Lake City at 4:40 p.m. and fly direct to Paris, you never truly lose the sunlight? You go from sunset to twilight to dawn instantly, and a few short hours later, the sun has risen again. There is never darkness.

I left my comfortable home 24 hours ago: kissed my children goodbye, cried and turned away. I boarded a plane to Paris, spent 10 hours and 45 minutes wishing I could sleep well on planes, got off the plane and into a bus, out of the bus and into the Paris airport, walked all the way across the airport, bought a croissant (just so I could say I did--it wasn't really that good), boarded another bus that took me all the way back across the airport to another waiting plane, flew 90 minutes to Berlin, settled into a top floor apartment of a hostel (!), walked for hours around Berlin, caught the underground back, ate dinner in a small mexican restaurant and cheered in disbelief as the US scored two goals agains Brazil in the Confederations Cup. (Too tired to watch the whole thing.... I'll have to get the final result tomorrow...)

I realized in the Paris airport that I could hardly remember enough French to say "One croissant, please" or "thank you." I recovered my wits enough on the plane to Berlin to say, "Eau, sil vous plait." I was delighted when the flight attendant promptly turned and poured me a cup of water. I actually communicated something in French! I was equally excited when I asked a German man for help and he understood what I was asking. What a crazy, exciting thing to realize that these people, however foreign they may seem to me, are not completely out of reach.

I listened in amazement to my Dad and our taxi driver discuss American politics, German debt, Barack Obama, finance, the philosophy of war-making, etc. I was amazed at how much I understood and wondered at why such a well-educated, clearly intelligent man was driving a taxi for a living. The taxi was a Mercedes. Perhaps that is a hint of something I don't understand.

I started--and finished--Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury and was moved by the powerful messages. So true that we distill our lives into convenience and entertainment and "happiness" instead of depth, meaning and triumph over challenges. What a book. What an author.

I wrote three nonsensical, sleep-deprived pages about the way the clouds looked. I know you're dying to read that, but I'm sorry. I'm too tired to do data entry. You may have stream of consciousness tonight until I completely lose consciousness. That is all.

My feet finally started hurting, I finally started feeling drowsy and I discovered that I am very allergic to Linden trees while I was walking Unter den Linden to the Brandenburg Gate. I tried not to cry as my Dad reminded me of the simple ease with which we can walk from the former West German Berlin, through the gate and into the former no-man's land. He said that when he was younger, he visited Communist Berlin and saw people gather at sunset to wave good night to their families on the other side of the gate. A symbolic, powerful gesture of love despite separation. Now we walk through, peacefully rubbing our hands against the stone pillars and snapping photos of the architecture.

I never knew that vacationing could be this exhausting. I miss my children and my comfortable routine and my small, quiet suburb. The hint of communism has left a subtle, bitter aftertaste on this town that I cannot wash away. Buildings are blackened and covered with soot. Some buildings that used to be landmarks are now green fields. This city almost chokes one with its' bitter history and struggles. Tomorrow we start to discover some of the beauty that has not been bombed away or dismantled by human folly.

Guten nacht, Berlin. Schlaf gut.

Father's Day

There must be something in the water here: I've been crafting again. And not just a little bit this time. Oh no no no. I have been virtually swallowed up by bits of paper, glue sticks, double-stick tape and scissors. Call me crazy, but I think it was fun. I've also been baking up a storm. I can't help myself. It was Father's Day, which sounds to me like "A Good Excuse to Bake Some Delicious Food and Pretend Like It's For The Fathers" Day.

Here's what my oh-so-domestic side came up with for Father's Day:

Banana Crumb Muffins for breakfast

Whole wheat blueberry pancakes with cinnamon, blueberry syrup and toasted pecans

Gift card inside a homemade pillow box (so fun to make!)

Homemade Card #1 (inspired by this from marthastewart.com)

Version #2 (my person favorite)

I found this on the Martha Stewart website and loved it. I changed it up a bit by adding a different color backing, which also made the entire thing more stable. I used folded bits of the backing cardstock for the "legs" which hold it up. Inspiration here.

I am very proud of this one because I took the idea above and made my own template. The photos were much smaller but the end result was super cute! I made one of these for both my father and my father-in-law. It took a bit of time, but it was well worth it.

This is what the back looks like.

A few photos were sacrificed to the cause ...

Okay, it was a "Very Martha" Father's Day. This is yet ANOTHER Martha Stewart Dad Day craft. Inspiration here. Of course hers is a bazillion times cuter than mine, but I get an A for effort.

We added a patriotic twist to Father's Day dessert with perfectly ripe strawberries from our backyard and blueberries (not from the back yard, but we do have some dying blueberry bushes that I want to revive someday). These are vanilla cupcakes made from the Williams-Sonoma Mary Ann Cake recipe, which has become my staple cake. We added a cream cheese frosting and they were perfectly delicious ... but not as delicious as the cupcakes below ....

I know: these ones aren't as beautiful. I'll give you that. But wait until you hear what that topping is: CARAMELIZED WHITE CHOCOLATE GANACHE. *drool* The middle-right cupcake has ganache atop the cream cheese frosting (good blend of flavors, but didn't do the ganache justice). The bottom left frosting is the ganache and cream cheese mixed together. Check back soon for my blog entry all about the joys of making caramelized white chocolate. It's a miracle. If you just can't wait, you can check it out at David Lebovitz's blog and see some photos that are CONSIDERABLY more attractive than mine!

I didn't even photograph our pre-Father's Day dessert with my Father-in-Law. Just close your eyes and imagine a white plate, drizzled with caramel sauce and topped with a homemade brownie, homemade vanilla ice cream and freshly whipped cream.

Imagine my surprise this morning when I hesitantly stepped on the scale and found that I was a pound or two LIGHTER than I was in the middle of last week! If this kind of eating promotes weight loss, I'm going to be a rich, rich woman when I reveal my secrets!

Positive Affirmations & Top 50

I know, I know. The whole idea of "self affirmations" sounds so silly that you wouldn't be caught dead practicing it, must less blogging about it. That's what makes you appear normal and what makes me appear quirky. I'm okay with that.

I have been thinking a lot about the choices we make to be happy or sad or angry or amused. I'll blog more about that later. I picked up a magazine article about self-affirmations and thought it would be a fun experiment to try. The idea is that by putting these validating principles in your mind, you are taking that first step toward choosing to make that thing a reality.

So here are some positive affirmations to go with some random thoughts about life. Enjoy.

"I am beautiful."

I went through all of my youth convinced that I was unrepairably ugly. That's a sad way to live as a teenager. It was so built in to my self image that I didn't even bother fighting it.

Well, I'm fighting it now. I feel more beautiful at 30 than I did at 18, despite being 75 pounds heavier. (ACK!) I may never be a paragon of beauty, but I can at least put an effort into it. This year I've lost 20 pounds and I am planning to keep going. I am more adventurous with my clothing, hair and makeup than I was as a teenager. (Keeping in mind that going from 0 to 3 on a scale of 100 may not be amazing to you, but I am happy with an improvement.)

Which brings us to today: I'm getting braces. Again. I had them for over five years. All through high school and most of college. (Wow.. it occurs to me that I started 9th grade when I was 15 and had finished almost all of my college coursework by age 20. That's an amazing five years.) I'm embarrassed to be doing this all over again. I'm not happy. But I'm grateful that I can do it, even though it will make me feel like a clumsy teenager again.

"I am talented."

I got an email from somebody this morning, telling me I'd found a spot on their list of the top 50 Mormon websites. Since I have no idea how they determined their top 50, I'm not going to let myself get too carried away here, but it's fun to be recognized. Check it out here:

University Reviews Online :: Top 50 Mormon Blogs

Apparently, there are others who think my blog is worth reading. I have 47 subscribers, according to Google Reader, and that number increases regularly. Thanks to all of you who take the time to read through my aimless ramblings! My blog was also nominated for an award over at the Utah Baby Guide, which is fun.

And let's not forget that I earned 69 cents last month from my ads. That's gotta be encouraging.

"I have amazing self control."

This is what I am telling myself after a horrible yesterday. I actually spanked one of my children. That's about the worst thing I can imagine so I am naturally blogging about it. I don't believe that spanking is effective in most circumstances. There have been a couple times when my oldest was so emotionally out of touch with reality that a swat on the behind really snapped him out of it, but in general I think it's a really cruddy thing to do.

The kids and I had a rough day yesterday. Rough. About three thousand time outs for each of them--even sweet little Elijah who is so well-behaved. By the time my husband got home, I ran out of the house screaming and swearing I'd never return. Well, technically, I just gave him the status report and went to my singing lesson. Then I took some much-needed "ME" time and spent a couple hours at the temple. I came out refreshed, invigorated and ready for one more day of Mormon Motherhood.

I woke up this morning to cranky, demanding children and immediately started putting kids in well-deserved time outs. Again. Then I realized that even a few hours in the temple couldn't make one more day like yesterday bearable. So I made a decision: I have amazing self control. I will not yell at the kids. I will not lose my temper. I will not run to the pantry for chocolate because I need to cope. I will be an example of patient virtue and love. When the kids act up, they will be disciplined in a patient, loving, unemotional way. I have amazing self control.

After making that conscious decision, the day has gone more smoothly. The kids are still talking all over each other and questioning every single thing I say ... deep breath ... but they are mirroring my calm mood and catching themselves before they really lose their tempers with each other. I'll take every small victory I can get. This makes life go from "unbearable" to "survivable." My eventual goal is to make summer vacation actually "enjoyable" but I am not holding my breath quite yet. Baby steps... baby steps...

Humbled.

Found some old stuff. Laughed about it. Blogged about it. Words were kind of funny but not very charitable.

Letter arrived a couple weeks later. Person I joked about wrote to apologize for anything he might have done that offended me ... 15 years ago. Out of the blue? Coincidence?

Uncomfortable feeling.

Did he see the words that were so casually thrown out to the world? Did he blush at my harsh criticism and think he was at fault?

I blush at my criticism and know who was at fault.

Humbled.

Apologies will be spoken. Publicly now. Privately later.

A good reminder that wit is fun but kindness is better. Yet through the tumult of questioning myself, I become stronger as I ponder the rippling effects of my actions. A friendship, long since dead and gone, will be revived. Out of the ashes, rebirth.

Baseball

Aww, baseball. That tradition of American traditions; that symbol of the red, white and blue. The word alone conjures up images of summer sunshine and shared smiles. Baseball. It almost brings a tear to your eye.

Unless you're me.

If you're me, the word "baseball" conjures up images of endless innings of guys standing around scratching themselves in embarrassing places while waiting for something--please, SOMETHING!--to happen on the field. People stand around. They chew and spit. They stand around some more. The crowd goes wild.

I would be more entertained in a completely dark room. At least I'd have my anxieties and dreams to keep my mind busy.

So why--why? WHY?--did I sign my oldest son up to play baseball this summer? What could have possessed me to purposefully fill my summer hours with this tedious, monotonous, utterly atrocious "national pasttime"?

I think it was the peer pressure. When Joseph began toddling around, I started putting a soccer ball in front of his feet. He would toddle, kick, toddle, kick, step on the ball, fall on his face, toddle, kick. It was fabulous. I adore soccer games and couldn't wait until he was old enough to play. That's when the peer pressure began.

"Maybe he would be really good at baseball," my Mom said pointedly. "He doesn't have to like soccer just because you like soccer."

"I hate baseball," I replied. "Why would I sign him up for baseball when I'd have to go to his games and pretend to enjoy watching people standing around the field not doing anything? Whoop-de-doo."

"Don't be selfish," she would reply, finding a vulnerable target in my psyche.

This conversation has been repeated over and over with my Mom. Every time the kids play in her backyard, she pulls out the bat and ball and starts the indoctrination process. The mental retraining. The not-so-subtle, not-very-sneaky grand-parental sabotage that she excels at.

And as it turns out, Joseph is good. (mental expletive) The boy loves it and is really not half bad. I have no idea how he'll do in a public setting when there are a million distractions--he didn't even look at the soccer ball when he was in U6 soccer because he was having so much fun just running after the other kids and laughing--but my Mom's treacherous betrayal was effective and Joseph's first baseball game is today. (Actually it was last week, but I was out of town and it got forgotten in the confusion.)

And so I sacrifice myself up in exchange for the delighted smiles of my seven-year-old. I'm sure it'll be worth it the first time I see him hit that ball and run to 1st base. At least, it better be worth it. If not, my Mom and I need to have a few words.

And as for me, I think there is a Real Salt Lake game (with David Archuleta performing afterward) that is calling my name. Really, I think I deserve it.

Virtually Screwed Up

I am starting to get the impression that I spend too much time with my technology. I opened the blinds upstairs and looked out the window. I was AMAZED at the crisp, clean colors and thought, "Wow! That resolution is amazingly lifelike." Then I remembered that I wasn't looking at a computer, TV screen or iPod. Huh.

Time to get out more, eh?