We found love in a hopeless place...

Thursday night. The night I lost the baby, I waited exactly 2 hours before the phone rang. On the other end was my husband. He told me he was coming home.

I slept very little that night. Maybe 2 hours. In total.

I ate nothing.

The next day, friday, I don't think I left the sofa. I don't remember.

Saturday afternoon there was a knock on the door.

I opened it.

There stood Michael. Skinny, but finally home. 

I barely moved from Thursday to Sunday. Terrified of bleeding/cramping before Sunday. I was instructed by Dr. Rosin to go immediately to the Klinikum if I had either symptom. I became so angry at the idea of any other doctor doing the procedure. Angry and nervous. 

It hit me as to why I needed it to be Dr. Rosin. He was the only person in the world who had been with me. He was the only one who saw the baby alive, and then he was the one to tell me the baby was no longer alive.

Saturday at 9pm, was the last sip of water I had before the surgery. I had to fast for at least 8 hours before. 

Sunday arrived, and Heike took us to the Hospital. Not before hugging me, and securing my seatbelt for me. 

At the hospital she did all the German stuff for us, while we just followed her lead. We went to a waiting room, and shortly after, there was Dr. Rosin standing in his white coat, calling my name. He did another scan to make sure.

I saw the scan with clear eyes. The perfect shape of a perfect baby, motionless inside me. My body pretending it was still pregnant. I said "I just don't want to look anymore." He said "That's ok. You don't have to look." I turned my head and cried. The 2nd opinion girl told the doctor in German that it was correct, there was no heartbeat.

My husband looked defeated. This was the first time he saw his child.

I got dressed, and Dr. Rosin explained how everything would go. He told me I could try again for a baby when "you are ok here." and pointed to his head. I nodded. 

He lead me, Mike and Heike up to the 13th floor. We waited and waited for what seemed like endless hours.

The doctor came in to apologize for our long wait. There was an emergency surgery which pushed us back. I shrugged. He told me my body was NOT ready for the miscarriage and he gave me medicine to start the process, in addition to an IV to "Take away the thirsty."

The time finally arrived, and the nurses helped me get dressed in the gowns and leggings. The nurse and Michael wheeled me in my bed to the operating room. My husband kissed me and told me he loved me. Then through the doors I went.

The operating room was cold. So cold I was shivering. The nurse told the operating room nurse "Sie spricht kein Deutsch"

And even though I do, I didn't really care. They helped me up onto a warm conveyor belt. I was shivering from the cold. The operating room nurse piled hot blankets on me. The other nurse told me she would see me soon.

I felt like I was going to fall right off the conveyor belt, but really I was just being transferred to another bed.

The operating room nurse put a green hair cover on me, and strapped my legs to the table. I thought to myself "This is some crazy nazi shit."

She then wheeled me over to the operating area. Another nurse came up. I started crying. Not from fear of being put to sleep. I trust my doctor. I knew I was in good hands.

I was crying because this was truly goodbye.

Goodbye to my baby that I'd never meet. I'd never know what color his/her eyes would be. Or if it was a him/her.

Another nurse came up. I heard someone say to her "Sie spricht nur Englisch. Sie hat keine anderen Kinder."

The new nurse rubbed my face and said "What can I say? Nothing. Let the tears flow."

The anesthesiologist said "I just give her tranquilizah now."

I heard Dr. Rosin say "No! You Wait."

Then Dr. Rosin said "Mrs. Suman. Mrs. Suman. Look at me." He was standing by my feet. I saw only his eyes, as his mouth and head were covered in green. He said "It is me. I am here for you. I said I would be here for you. It is me."
Then he told the anesthesiologist to give me the medicine. 

Dr. Rosin said "Mrs. Suman keep looking at me. I am here for you."

I said "Oh. Thank you. Should I feel dizzy?"
He said "Yes, you should."

Then I closed my eyes.

I remember hearing a lady say again that I only speak english. So I muttered, "I can speak German."

Dr. Rosin said "Mrs. Suman, say something in German for us."

I slowly from far away said "Blah blah blah."

He said "VERY good, Mrs. Suman."

The next thing I remember He was rubbing my upper arm saying "Mrs. Suman. Mrs. Suman."

I said "Is it over?" But I felt so far away.
He said "Yes. It is over."
I said "Oh. I don't have a baby anymore."
He said "Soon. Mrs. Suman You will have your baby soon."

I then said "My doctor is a Saint."

I'm pretty sure I told EVERYONE that. Although I can't say for sure. It all felt very dream like.

The first face I saw was my husband's. He assured me that I even told him that Dr. Rosin was a 'saint.'
While I was having the D&C my husband bought my favorite German candy bar for me. When I could eat, he went to the hospital 'buffet' and made a sandwich for me, which tasted like heaven. Then he broke off pieces of my chocolate bar and fed them to me.

Dr. Rosin came into my room later. He asked Michael if I was better or still talking a lot. Which made me sort of laugh, because I know I was saying all kind of things before I was fully awake.

He gave me the updates on everything and told me I was free to go home.

Even though, we decided to stay over because I was SO exhausted. I couldn't keep my eyes open enough to get home.

My darling husband slept in 3 chairs mushed together, RIGHT by my side. Waking with a start everytime I had to go to the bathroom. He helped me there each time. He would get up and straighten out the tights they made me wear.  I look at him with a whole new deeper love now. I realize how amazingly lucky I am. And how beautiful our love truly is.

The next morning the nurse told us to get breakfast, and would we like it at the buffet, or in our room? I said "We can go to the buffet."

I stepped in and saw the breakfast items and there, in his bassinet a brand new baby. I felt frozen. I felt paralyzed. I felt short of breath.

I broke down crying.

The nurse hurried me back to my room and Michael got my breakfast, and so did she. She came in with a huge tray, and I thought "wow. My husband picked out some strange things for me." 

Then in walks Mike with my typical breakfast. 

Later that morning I went home. The sun was shining. 

I sat on the sofa, and cried.

When I went the following week to see the doctor for the post-op control visit, he told us that he sees no reason why we cannot try after one cycle, and that my chances of miscarriage are now lower. He told us that he wants us to not try to get pregnant but to not try to not get pregnant.

Miscarriage is something no one wants to talk about, really. I've struggled with blaming myself. Even though my dear doctor assured me that it was no fault of my own. It is hard. I need someone to blame. Yet, logically, I know there is no one to blame.

I have to say, out of that horrible experience, I found SO much love. Love from strangers. Kindness and tenderness from people who were under no obligation to bestow it upon me.

I see the good interwoven in the saddness that happened. 

Even in my broken hearted state, G-d showed me a love so deep that I am humbled and astounded. 

From the elderly man on the bus, to the girl who offered me a tissue to wipe my tears, the nurse who helped me dress, to Josie my dear friend who made phone calls to get my husband home, to the army who rushed to get him back for the procedure, to my dearest German friend who took time out of her Sunday to drive us to the Hospital, to the nurse who rubbed my face, to the doctor who cried with me when my baby died, and made sure I knew it was him who was in the operating room to my darling husband who truly was there in every way for me.

What did I do to deserve such benevolence?  

A sort-of Baby story.

I found out, on October 8th, that guess what? I'm pregnant.

Michael was away on a mission for who-can-say-how-long.

Two pregnancy tests, and calls to family and friends for an over-the-phone confirmation, and there I stood looking at those little double lines in total shock.

3 days later, It was confirmed by the health clinic on post. 

Me. Little ol' me. Pregnant. 

I rode the post shuttle bus and cried from happiness as the bus driver blasted Colbie Caillatt's song, Brighter Than the Sun. 
My heart was singing those very lyrics to my tiny baby who was secretly just in there, doing what they do at that stage of life.

My first doctor's appointment was a mix of excitement, nervousness, and nausea. I sat in the waiting room waiting for what seemed like decades, breathing through my mouth, willing myself NOT to throw up. 

The person who coined the phrase MORNING sickness, clearly had things a bit easier than me. I had what could only be described as round-the-clock sickness.

Finally Dr. Rosin called me back. He smiled and shook my hand. "I remember you." 

I said "Oh. Really?" (My nerves for male doctors in connection with my hootnanny was still very sketchy.)
He said "Yes, Dee name Suman, stays in my mind."

I sat arrow straight listening to all his advice. I committed to memory all of the do's and do-nots for a healthy wonderful pregnancy. Only eat raw veggies if they can be peeled. (etc...etc)

He smiled and said "Ok, let's see this person we have been talking about."

I stepped into the phone booth sized dressing room and shimmied out of my jeans.

He said "I think you must know our chair by now." 

"The CHAIR" can be overwhelming at first, but now, I'm an old-hand at sitting in it and being reclined and lifted for optimum hootnanny viewing.

I said "Yes, I remember the chair... from seeing your wife."

In just a few minutes there we were, looking at the life inside of me. 

He was smiling as he said "See dee little fast fluttering that looks like buttahfly wings?"

I nodded "Yes."
He said "Dat is ya baby's heart beating."
I said "REALLY?" 

He nodded.
I started crying from sheer excitement. I said "Oh, I'm so sorry for the tears." (I still was unsure of german culture and open crying.)

He said "You are seeing life inside you, is ok to cry. This is your time to cry."
I said "I worry about everything."
The doctor said "You have done your job. You made a nice home inside you for dee baby. Now, is in His Hands. God is in charge." as he pointed to the sky.

I smiled and nodded.
Then the doctor printed the very first picture of my little blueberry shaped baby.

I held it with pride. Like nothing Olan Mills could produce could be prettier. 

I got congratulations from the front desk as they worked on getting my blood samples. My little photo sitting on my purse so not to get folded bent or ruined in any way. I kept thinking "I cannot wait for Michael to see our baby! 

I almost skipped back to the city bus. I smiled at every baby carriage that strolled by.  I wanted to hold up the photo for everyone to see.

I went home and waited for the next 3 weeks to pass, until my next appointment just to see my baby again.  Who cares about the bloodwork? I want to see what's going on in there. I had the most bizarre dreams, and food cravings that changed to nausea in the blink of an eye. 

I lounged on the sofa like a slug, sipping ginger ale, and praying to NOT throw up, praying TO throw up, and buying 7 different kinds of toothpaste, in the frantic search for one that would NOT make me gag.

I cold-turkey quit coffee, and my beloved diet coke with lime.

I became obsessed with plastics and their recycling numbers.

I bought a Natursutten Pacifier to protect my baby from BPA, and other chemicals.

I bought an Aden and Anais blanket for whoever it was growing inside of there.

My second doctor's appointment came. I was so excited. I rode the bus downtown smiling at the world. I was en route to see my baby. Which, I learned from babycenter, was now the size of a plum. That's a big jump from blueberry.

My favorite front desk nurse greeted me "Mrs. Suman! How are you? Did ya bring dee mutter book with you today?" (A mother's book, is basically a little book that a pregnant woman in Germany takes with her EVERYWHERE. It has all the important info in it. Dr. Rosin explained to me that it was AS important as my passport.)
I smiled "No, I am supposed to get it today."
She nodded "oh yes." 

Then she weighed me, and took my blood pressure. She informed me that she will "Erase One Kilo  for shoes and clothes. Every visit." I had lost weight from being sick, so erasing 1 kilo wasn't a concern for me at that moment.

I sat and waited for my appointment. I looked at the baby magazine they had in the waiting nook. Smiling at every baby.
Dr. Rosin called "Mrs. Suman?"  I stood up, and saw him with his last patient. He was tickling the belly of her tiny baby boy in his little carrier. The doctor  saw me and smiled.
I sat in the consult chair by his desk, as he told me everything I was immune to, what I was not immune to. He instructed me not to clean any cat "toilets" because I am NOT immune to Toxoplasmosis. (Which is bizarre since I've been around cats my entire life.)

Then he said "Let's look at the baby, now."

There I was in the chair again. I was watching the projection on the wall. I started getting nervous. I saw no fast heartbeat fluttering. I thought "He'll find it." I glanced at my Doctor, who was sitting there staring hard at his computer screen. My heart fell. Completely fell.

He looked sick.

I could see the wheels turning in his head...wondering how to tell me the bad news.

Finally, He pressed his lips together, and then said "I'm so sorry...the baby is not..."

And I have no idea what he said after that. 

I burst into tears.

He rubbed my leg and turned off the picture.

Then he came and sat beside me as the tears fell hard and fast. 

I said "I waited...so long for this...." I was crying so hard the chair shook. I said "Is it something I did?" and I looked at him.

He had tears. He was crying with me. He said "No. No Mrs. Suman. You did nothing wrong."
I said, and I'm not sure why I felt he should know, "I'm alone. My husband is deployed."

I asked what I needed to do. He told me I had to have a D&C.

"Will you be the one to do it, please?" I asked through tears.

He said that he would. That it would have to be on Sunday at the Klinikum, since that is when he was on call. (I knew I wanted no other person to remove the baby from me. I couldn't STAND the idea of a doctor who doesn't know me to do the surgery.)

He handed me tissues, then I asked to get dressed again.

The doctor allowed me to sit in his office and cry as long as I needed to.

When the doctor opened his office door to walk me to the desk, the nurse who erased one kilo from my weight saw me from across the way. 

Her face fell. She said "Oh. God. No. No. It can't be." and she ran to me. 

She threw her arms around me.

I cried all the way to the bus stop.

I cried on the bus ride home. 

An elderly gentleman got up and hugged me. Shaky with his cane, he put his arms around me. He had no idea the reason behind my tears. He just knew I needed that hug.

I cried from the bus stop to home.

When I got on the sidewalk right outside our apartment, I thought "Who am I rushing home for? There is no one there."

Once I got inside, I closed the door behind me, and slid down the back of the door sobbing. Earth shaking sobs that I didn't know existed inside of me. 

I contacted Michael's First Sgt. to let her know, in hopes that maybe Micheal could call me.

I never expected they would work so hard and fast to bring him home for the procedure. 

But they did just that.

Angry.

There I said it.
I'm angry.

Michael is leaving tomorrow for a mission. We found out last night. During German class, at about 8pm.  Which means we had one evening and a day to get ready.
He is spending today running around tying up loose ends. I cleaned our apartment, because well...there's nothing else I can do.
And what's worse? He was volunteered for this. Not that he himself volunteered. Nay. Some brainiac decided "Mike could do it! Michael could fill the slot! Get on the horn with him now and share the joyous news!"
 None of the other 3 guys who are going are married. They didn't want married soldiers to go, I guess since they'd have to pay extra for them. I dunno how this crap works. All I know is they chose my husband because they needed one more person. Or something like that. Nice of them to do?
Tell him he's going, and leaving the in about 29 hours.... then tell him nothing else. Inform me of nothing. Which lets me know exactly how much they 'care' about spouses.

I saw Jill Biden on an AFN commercial. Oh she was talking about the sacrifices of military families, and how wonderful they were. I looked at the TV snarled then said "oh SHUT up, already." Out loud. To the tv.

My surliness is unstoppable.

Anyway, they won't even tell us how long he'll be gone. A month? 2 Months? 6 Months? He was told "It will at least be 30 days but it could be 6 months."

All of this fell right at the time we were REALLY trying to have a baby. I would've started the 100mg of clomid in just a couple weeks.
Now, well...clearly that isn't happening. The prescription is still sticking on our fridge, once a hopeful promise, now it's just a mockery.

All I can think is "So, you mean we won't be having a baby, AND my consolation prize is that I probably WON'T spend the holidays with my husband?  Oh wait, he may be back by St. Patrick's day...but don't hold my breath? Oh whew. Ok, I was worried there for a minute that we'd miss spending mother's day together, since clearly that's a biggie...for us."

I'm angry that my husband is leaving.
I'm angry that I don't know for how long.
I'm angry that other wives in this unit/company whatever it's called don't have to say goodbye to their husbands for some idiotic mission.
I'm angry that I cannot get pregnant.
I'm angry that every person I see has a baby and a couple of children in tow.
I'm angry that we just got the chance to use clomid, and the first round wasn't strong enough, so we missed our chance.
I'm angry that I'm expected to be happy for every fucking person who gets knocked up or just gave birth AND buy them a gift!
I'm angry that it wouldn't be nice to kick a baby carriage. I'm talking hauling off and kicking the shit out of a baby carriage.
I'm angry at people who say 'just adopt' or 'G-d has another plan for you." I want to say "Oh yeah, are you going to foot the bill for our adoption costs???? AND, since when have you personally seen G-d's blueprint/spreadsheet/power point for my life?"
And mostly, I'm angry that I have no particular person to be angry at except myself. I'm the one who is defective. I'm the one who can't reproduce.
I am the failure.

This, my friend, is exactly what Waylon Jennings was singing about when he belted out "Lonesome On'ry & Mean."
So, I am blasting it loud and proud in this apartment, just to treat the neighbors to my hostility.

Clomifen? Wasn't that the name of a Wicked Stepsister?

So, here it is. In our journey to attempt to become parents, I took Clomifen...you probably call it Clomid.
I read horror stories of moodiness.
Hot flashes waking people up in the middle of the night, and the bloatedness that accompanies this little white tablet.
But, I thought, it's only 5 days sacrifice, and then....Maybe Baby! Lots of people have luck out the wazoo with clomid. Heck, some even have such good luck they have 2 babies instead of just one. It's a wonder drug! Right?

Day 2 of the medicine, there I was, in my favorite grey loungies, hair in a half fallen ponytail. Feeling fat. Like the kind of fat that requires you to wash with a cloth tied to a stick.
 I wanted to cry over everything. Literally. People in love, People out of love, People who are deliriously happy. People making fun of the Pope's Ring, The smell of the brewery whafting it's initial chocolatey scent into our apartment...
Which lead to the ravenous search for chocolate, and the sheer tears of joy at finding my husbands hershey bar chilled in the crisper of our fridge. I tore into it like it was a letter from Ed McMahon from the great beyond telling me that I was a big winner of a bajillion dollars.
Then I proceeded to eat it as though I'd been starved for days, no make that months, and it was the first food I'd discovered.(Sorry Honey, it was the last in the pack, and, well, it was fair game)


Then I wanted to lick the salt of some plain lays and toss the chip to the side like a castaway.
It was not pretty in this apartment.

Day 3 dawned bringing with it the shrill sounds of the neighbor's kid in the courtyard, mingling with the other neighbor who believes in allowing her infant to self sooth (Thus letting her/him cry...no scratch that scream bloody murder for half hours at a time all day long. It annoyed me. It made me want to act juvenile and throw something out the window in the general direction hopefully hitting the rambunctious child, and scream at the self soother's mom.
 So, I took a walk downtown. Oh and let me just say, it was gorgeous out. 70 degrees (F), sunny, wonderful. Absolutely WONDERFUL.
That was when the hotness decided to flash. Not in the middle of the night, in the privacy of my own bedroom where I could stand in front of the fan butt naked if I so desired.
No, of course not.
It happened right there in the outdoor market. I felt the huge drops of sweat start to form and fall off my forehead. My deodorant decided to skip town on me, my arm pits started stinking, and I grew a sweat bead moustache.
No. One. Else. was sweating.  Even the furriest dog wasn't panting.

Day 4. Nothing. No side effects. No desire to cry. No desire to roundhouse kick anyone. In fact, I felt...great. Amazing. NEVER better. I danced around the apartment. I used the swiffer sweeper as a microphone.  I was lovin' life.

Day 5, Awesome day. Even the overcast yucky day didn't dampen my mood of glee.

So, Dr. Rosin told me to come to her office today at noon. Specifically she need to see me at Noon. For an ultrasound to see if the Clomifen actually did what it was supposed to, which is to produce follicles.

 I got there 10 minutes early. They now know me by name. The receptionist happily greeted me "Hallo! Frau Suman! How are you dis day?"
Then I sat on the white couch and waited. While sitting there, waiting for Dr. Rosin, even though I was looking at my Country Living Magazine, I got nervous.
Not so much about the sonogram. I mean, I'm kind of a veteran at this point.

But it was kind of like...the S.A.Ts for Ovaries....and what if mine didn't study hard enough? What if instead of prepping for their exam,  they were lounging on the sofa watching reruns of Good Times, laughing at J.J.'s antics, when they SHOULD'VE been studying analogies.

She came up to me and bent down "Hi! Ready?"
I, looking up from my magazine, shrugged. "I guess so."
We chatted a bit, she asked me some routine questions, then she gave me the gown to put on.
Dr. Rosin got to work right away looking for the follicles.  She furrowed her brow and said "Ok, so if you try to be smooth, it vill be...maybe vee can see dee...ovaries better, na?"
I tried to relax, but seriously? relaxing isn't easy, even with Snoopy looking at me from my socks.
She said 'Vell, deer is nossing on dee right sides, so I look at dee leff ones.'
I saw my right ovary up on the projector and I swear it looked at me and sang
"Keepin' ya head above water, makin' a wave when ya can! Temporary Lay offs! Good Times! Easy Credit Rip offs!"
 I could almost smell the doritos on my right ovary's breath.

Dr. Rosin said "Veeeeell...dee leff one is..." she sighed "Maybe dis time vee try you for 2 tabletten of dee clomifen per day. More is better for you. Dee leff one, is nossing. Maybe some little fo-leek-ulls, but dey is not big enough to..." she moved her hand around.
I said "Oh." I got what she was trying to say "Ok. Uhm. Is that normal?"
Dr. Rosin bobbed her head side-to-side to indicated she was thinking "Yeah, dis is a little bit normal. So, remember dat clomifen is only dee furrs steps in dee process. Is alvays dee furrs steps."
I smiled weakly.
My ovaries failed their S.A.T.s. Lazy Eggs. No sperm would accept them.
She said "So, I checks dee prolactine again for you, just to make sure dee....levels is good, na? If dey are not so good, I call you. If dey are good, I see you next month for again dee sonograms."

So...my ovaries were duds AND I had to get stuck with a needle? How was this fun?
My needle stick was quick. I like the way Germans stick you with a needle. Quick and to the point. Yes, it still makes me light headed, but I am handling it much better. I only break out in a small sweat now, and I still get light headed but it's more manageable.
I'm pretty sure they don't make a tshirt that says 'Hey, I can't have a baby, but I no longer faint from needles." But you know what? They should.

I stepped out into the sunshine. Immediately dodging 2 (yes 2) pregnant ladies. Side by side. Like attack of the Fruitful and Fertile. I let them and their crowded bellies pass by.
The day was too gorgeous to sit on a bus, I decided to walk to Tegut to get Michael's chicken for tomorrow.
 By the time I made it from Dr. Rosin's to the ZOB, I had dodged a total of 4 expectant moms, and countless new parents pushing their cute little Euro strollers.
 I decided to call Mike.
He answered on the second ring.
"Hey Baby!" he answered cheerfully. He knew where I was going today.
"Hi!" I said back cheerfully. I decided it was like ripping off a band aid. Just tell him. No frills no tears. "Well, I just got out of Dr. Rosin's. The Clomid didn't work."
He didn't answer right away "Wait, it did NOT work?"
I said "Yeah, but, I mean...it's ok."
He said "Oh. I'm so...sorry."
I said "Don't apologize to me. I mean, it's ok. It's not the end of the world. And she wants to...you know, she wants me to take more next time to see if...well, to see if it works, and plus, I mean my left ovary, it made some..whatever they are..but they were too small. So, I mean she said, there are other options if this doesn't work, but I don't want to do them."
He said "Ok. But...."
I said "To be honest, I don't know if I want to, even continue, this."
He said "Yes. Continue. Just a little longer."
I said "Well, It's just it's NOT the end of the world if we don't have a baby. It's not. I mean there is a lot of stuff we could do instead. Right? I mean...right?"
He said "Yeah. I guess, but What? I mean I want one, too. I want to try."
I standing at a cross walk waiting for the little man to turn green so I could cross Luitpold Strasse I looked beside me, in the stroller was a fat baby sleeping.
I said "But I mean think of what else we could do without a child. Like...travel. We could and...we wouldn't have to clean up...fecal matter...off of another human."
He laughed and said "Not yet anyway, not until we are old."
Which made me laugh.
Then he said "Hey. How bout when I get home the 2nd night I'm home, we go out to eat?" (the 2nd night because the 1st night, well, he doesn't know how late it could be when he walks through the door)
And right then...that was the moment I wanted to cry.
Only because I knew he was trying to do something nice for me.
I could hear it in his voice.
So, I cheerfully said "Sure! that sounds really good actually."

Then I went to Tegut and bought a chicken.

Kittens, Avocado Stoves and not a Pot Roast to be Found.

When Michael goes to the field, even if it's just for 10 days (like this time), I always like to have something special for him when he comes home. I will make a special dinner and a dessert. I figure he's sick of eating whatever they feed them when they go do whatever it is they do.
Plus, it's my way of saying I love you.

I learned it from my Mom and Grandma, who learned it from the women they came from.
If I feed you, I love you. Rest assured on that.

Typically, Michael puts his two cents in, making requests during his nightly calls home. Sometimes being out in the field brings out the little bit of Southern I've managed to instill in his belly, and he will ask for Skillet Corn (You may call it Fried Corn.)
He's been known to ask for Lasagna, Chicken Pot Pie, whatever.

Two days ago the phone rang. We chatted, he ranted, we laughed, I asked what dinner he'd like when he gets home.
Michael paused, obviously thinking, then said "Hmmm...could you surprise me?"
I said "Uhm...sure. No idea of what you'd like?"
He said no, and I shrugged.

I decided late last night I'd make chicken & dumplins. He loves it, grinning the entire time he's eating them.
The chill in the air, the acorns on the ground, the yellowing of the leaves...the weather is perfect for them. Plus it's been a year since we had the simple deliciousness of Chicken & Dumplins.

Michael called today. For a wonderfully mundane conversation of kittens. Inspired by an ad in a magazine I was looking at while we chatted. It was the cutest little grey kitten going grocery shopping.
I mean, REALLY how cute IS that? A kitty grocery shopping.
It's off the cuteness meter, that's how cute it is. Which absolutely makes me crazy cat lady, to admit it to you, but even describing it to Mike, made him chuckle. (There it is for you to enjoy the cuteness)

I said "So, I figured out what I'm going to make for dinner."
He said "Yeah? What's that?"
I said "Weeeell, you love it."

He said "Ok."
I said "AND we haven't had it in a YEAR at least."

He blurted out "POT ROAST?"
I could almost hear him salivate.
I said "Uhm, honey, it's not been a year since we had pot roast. It's been since June."

"Oh." He said "So, it's not Pot Roast?"

"Uh-uh. Something you love AND it takes all day to make." (well, not really ALL day long...but..He doesn't know that...)
Michael said "Well....I'm not sure what that is."
I said "Chicken and Dumplins!"

Trying to make it sound as glamorous and as Elvis-Glittery as a hunk of beef sweating in the slow cooker with carrots and potatoes as the back-up singers.

I have to admit, I felt like I was the model for the consolation prize on The Price is Right, when the contestant was going for the win of an all expense paid trip to Hawaii, but Plinko had other plans. Plans that let him down and gave him the Avocado green stove top range, instead.

"Oh! Yum!" He sounded excited enough.
So I threw in for extra measure "Since I make them from scratch, and it takes ALL DAY LONG, it will be extra special."
He said "Sounds really good actually. Good choice, baby! I can't wait to be home with you."
I smiled and closed my eyes and said "I can't wait, either."

So, maybe my Chicken & Dumplins aren't an avocado green stove, after all.

The horrors of flying

After a happy, fun (Regardless of my car breaking down) vacation in the States, the time had come for me to return to Bamberg (home of the barking/howling neighbor's dog). I dreaded saying G'bye. I hate Goodbyes and will cry typically EVERY time. My parents took me to the airport, and as I hugged them bye (quickly) I kept from making too much direct eye contact with them while in line for security. Just to keep the tears harnessed.

My flight was at 10:40pm (And getting through security was a breeze, and NO body scan for me! I dodged it somehow and only had to go through the metal detector.)
I made it to my gate with time to spare, enough time to read People Magazine's Kate extravaganza. In the back of my mind I was silently willing my seat (24A) to be on the aisle.
When the time to board came, we were supposed to be called by row, but around row 35, people threw caution to the wind and it became a free for all.
In front of me was the ugliest Dutch child I'd ever seen. He was blond with curls galore, and looked like something you'd find down in Whoville. It was hate at first sight. He was already throwing a fit. Which set the tone for badness.
I kept willing the parents to take charge of their...spawn, as he kicked and bucked and generally acted like a wild chimpanzee.
Still in my preboarding state, I was still silently begging the Royal Dutch for an aisle seat. (I like the aisle better than the window because a) getting up and taking a stroll is MUCH easier when you don't have to crawl over the sleeping. b) what's to see out the window but endless miles of Ocean?  PLUS the shades will be closed to create a night effect. (right?)

Sumie and I aren't elite, and we don't fly 'Business Class'. We slum it with the others in Economy..but guess what? the "Business" don't get there any faster than us...and it's a party in the back.

Anyway, I finally get on board, and begin the seat hunt. There it is, in all it's cramped glory 24A..window seat. SERIOUSLY?
I put my back pack overhead and the 3 JERKS (with the hard core body odor)  in the row in front of my row have their seats reclined.
Aisle Seat guy, smug with the pride of my coveted seat gets up for me to get in. I have to situate at an angle thanks to the 3 in front of us. I sit and think "I bet I will have to pee 20 mins into the flight and Mr. Aisle seat will be snoring."
Then, despite how packed the flight already is, I think, BUT, maybe just maybe the middle seat was unbooked giving me and aisley some elbow room.
Much to my disappointment, what should appear but a little man. A little man who looked more like a character than an actual person. In his 50's he had a mustache that was well manicured and blonde, a pot belly, and light brownish blondish hair. He completed his look with khaki pants and a striped shirt.
I sighed.
He sat down and completed our sardining.
"Looks like we're in for the long haul."  He was talking ot me.
I smiled weakly. Just to be nice. He took that to me "PLEASE talk non stop to me."
"Amsterdam your final stop?" He said as he unwrapped his giant burrito.
"No. I'm going to Germany." I said.
"Whoa-ho-ho...where in Germany?"
"Nurnberg."
"So, what you're going there to visit? Or..."
Was this man with the census or something?
"My husband & I live in Germany."
"Wow." He said chewing his black beans "How come you live there? What is he in the military or something?"
I nod. Watching his mustache move with each chew. I didn't realize mustaches move but they do.
"Wanna know where I'm off to? Bahrain."
He didn't even give me time to guess. "Oh. awesome." I responded flatly.
"Not really awesome" he said coughing in my total direction "They are in the middle of ramadan."
"Oh. Ok."
I put my headphones on and was tuning into an episode of The Office.
"Wanna know something about Ramadan?"  He asked right over the theme music.
"No." I said to him, which is odd because I never am rude.
"Well..." he said continuing to tell me about a holiday I really am not interested in.

Meanwhile in front of me? Yeah the guy with the window seat had his shade open. Not that he could see much at night. A flight attendant came by and said "Sir, I need to ask you to please close your shade. We will be in daylight in an hour and we need to keep it dark in here for those who want to sleep."
He ignored her.
An infant began to wail.
About 20 mins later, Mustache man was still chatting it up, baby was still mournful and another flight attendant came by to ask B.O. to shut his shade. "Sir, You NEED to lower your shade. We will be in daylight in less than an hour." He lowered it to half.
I tuned into Modern Family as dinner arrived (WORD to the wise, NEVER when given the choice, go with the fish.)
Another flight attendant asked B.O. in front of me to lower his shade immediately. He lowered it, only to lift it again when she walked away.

I put the music on to drown out the sounds of that very disgruntled infant, Mr. Mustache (who in addition to scarfing down his burrito also cleaned his airline dinner. Commenting that the potato salad was 'amazing.'
 It was about that time that I started to smell the raunch odeur of cheese. Old moldy cheese. Limburger.
Mustache had taken off his shoes...and for the record was WIGGLING his toes. To spread the stinch.

I fell asleep to the sounds of Adele, only to wake to the stinch of sheer...farts... and blinding sunlight.

Here is something you should know about me...given the wrong circumstances, I wake up ready to throw down in fisticuffs.
I look over at mustache. He is sleeping sideways in his chair. Butt aimed and firing right at me.
Black beans.
I look in front of me, sunlight pouring in from the B.O. in front of me. He was obliviously snoozing.

I did something I'm not proud of, but come to think of it, I'm not ashamed of either. Blame it on the sunlight, the cheese feet, the gaseousness, being trapped in a window seat....

But I shook the back of the chair of B.O.
I shook it hard.
Hard enough to rouse him from slumber. He sat up with a look of sleep induced confusion. I smiled. Then I promptly faked sleep so he wouldn't know it was me.
When he drifted off, I shook it again.
I'm so mature.
During my shaking extravangza...Mustache rolled over to face me. Mouth open, burrito smells whafting not only from his rear, but from his mouth too. He coughed and hacked in his sleep all while facing me.

When we landed I wanted to kiss the floor of Schipol. Except I just went to the bathroom to apply some Secret, since there is no A/C in that airport.

On the 2nd flight, a nervous flyer was sitting in my seat by his wife. I took his seat, and thankfully it was an aisle seat, but that flight was only 55mins, so it wasn't that necessary. I look to my right, there was a german man, calmly reading his newspaper, picking his teeth.
He then inspected his tooth residue on his finger and promptly ate it.
I thought..."Well, I'm back in Europe."

Finally after 55 minutes of ignoring my tooth picking neighbor, I made it to Nurnberg only to see my sweet sweet husband's smiling face.
It is good to be home.

And now? Yeah, I caught whatever junk Mr. Mustache had, and so I'm coughing and hacking all over this apartment.

Que Sera Sera

I went downtown for an afternoon of shopping. Of course, I made a stop by Karstadt. There I stood on the 3rd floor, in glad amazement in front of the many fabrics lined up in blissful display. They were just waiting for someone to come and cut by the meter. I decided  right there that I am desperate for a sewing machine.
Yes, I ran my hands over each bolt of sky blue, baby pink, country paisley smiling with each bump. Clearly, I looked like an escapee from the crazy house.  Thankfully, I stopped short of dancing in graceful circles, so don't worry about me.

I was truly enjoying myself. Of course I sauntered down to the first floor where the finest display of candies await any jittery sugar junkie fiending for a fix. (I didn't choose a truffle, but went with the standard Bounty Bar. Which is the cousin to the Mounds Bar in the event that you didn't know)

Then I was out the door and on my way. While walking around outside (Looking for nothing in particular and anything really) there was a man with a clarinet beside a man with an accordian. They were living it up and making the MOST lively outdoor shopping music. In fact EVERYONE was amused. Oma's were clapping their hands off beat, some girl was dancing...It sounded like the 1940's come back to life...Ok wait...the 1940's Stateside...not German 1940's...don't want to necessarily conjure up THOSE images....
It was too nice NOT to stop and listen for a song.
Trust me when I say, every euro cent  people tossed in their opened clarinet case, they earned that day. And it was money well spent. That music was WORTH probably more than they got.

It made me feel like I was in a movie and Walter Burns & Hildy Johnson would be bantering right  there, if I only turned around to look behind me.

The sun was shining, all in all...FABULOUS day.
I climb back onto the 902 bus to bring my discoveries back to our little apartment. I was early, so I knew I'd get a good seat.
In fact, it was 10 whole minutes before the bus was going to pull out. I stamped my ticket and got a front row seat. (Which I like the most because it's a single seat and no one is going to plop down next to you while asking "Geht's?" or "Frei?")
I settled in admiring the way the sun filters through the green leaves. (Funny that I was worried I'd probably never see green again a few months ago.)
There were three little girls sitting behind me to my left. They were probably 10 or no more than 11. They were chatting typical little girl chats. In their rapid conversation, I caught only some key words, Horses, Cats, School, Friends, Books, Songs, Chocolate, Mom, Music  (remember I'm still a baby german speaker.)
Then, to my delight, they broke into song. Que Sera Sera. In Englisch!
Their voices sounded so sweet. I turned back to look at them.
It was such a beautiful sight. 3 Little girls, happy, swaying back 'n forth to the words of the song. One with a sticker on her hand, one with her hair  falling out of her pony tail, one with smooth gorgeous blond hair pulled back from her face with a tiny head band. All three of them wearing friendship bracelets.

They sang
When I was just a little girl I asked my mother, what will I be?
Will I be pretty? Will be rich?
Here's what she said to me,
Que Sera, Sera
Whatever will be will be, the future's not ours to see...

There voices were so sweet, and so full of childhood happiness...
I turned around in my seat, and looked at the window fighting back tears. It made me want to CRY. Happy tears. A piece of home so far away in those little girl voices.

I couldn't help but hope all three of their futures are full of beauty, riches (even beyond money), painted pictures, lovely songs and many many days as fascinating as mine was that very day.

The List for Love

In my old blog, I found a list I'd created of what I absolutely wanted in a man. In all honesty, I hadn't even remembered creating this list.
But I do remember that this was very much what I yearned for. I believed these things would be the very foundation for a lasting love. I still believe that.
I wrote this exactly 3 months before Michael came into my life.
When I read this tonight, I sat dumbfounded, with tears in my eyes; because my Michael my darling husband who I love more than words can convey...fills everyone one of these wants and then some (Well, ONE of these he maybe a LITTLE sketchy on but who's counting?)

Sometimes the best way to count your blessings is to go back in time just a smidge to take a good look at where you started....



So basically, I've listed it. The things I want. The things I'm looking for.



He must be able to make me laugh really hard
Be goofy/zany with me
Really listen to me
Not judge me when I reveal the MOST secret thing about me.
Hold my hand
Make friends with dogs or cats and babies easily
Have philosophies on life
Let me put my cold feet between the warm crooks of his knees at night
Have belief in G-d, a Superior being, Something spiritual.
Have formed opinions about politics, principles and pizza toppings
Humor my need to be moody sometimes
Never leaves wet towels on the bed
Understand when I give him "the eyes" in a crowded room.(You know those secret "Can you BELIEVE this person?" Eyes)
Doesn't yell. Not at other drivers, or me.
Will be content to lay on his back in the grass, and watch the clouds, or the stars while talking about the universe, his most embarrassing moment, or the best chocolate cake he ever tasted.
Fake Accents with me
Dance with me
Can relish in the silence sometimes
Read to me. I don't care what it is Chopin, Foote, Us Magazine, Our horoscopes. Sometimes I just like to hear someone talking.
Doesn't shut off emotionally/lie/ Isnt' selectively honest/Never would deam of cheating
Makes me feel like the only woman in the world
Never ever under any circumstanes picks his nose in the car, at the stop light. Or anywhere for that matter. No booger fingers are gonna touch me!
Does not mirror my thoughts feelings completely. I like to banter.
Gets me. Really Gets who I am.
Is unabashedly with me.
Because I know I'll do all these things in return. Without being asked.


Don't think for one minute I do not know that I am a very BLESSED woman.

Bromocriptine, Clomid, and Me, Oh MY!

There we sat, in Dr. Rosin's office, as she told us, with concern in her eyes, that while my body thinks I'm ovulating, my ovaries...well, they are just sitting there arms folded shaking their heads back and forth saying "nope" in unison.
The tone of her voice was laced with concern, but she tried to ring the bells of positivity with her German accent.
You would think words like "We don't have the time to waste anymore..." 
"We can't just keep trying this or trying that in hopes it will work..."
"I don't know if you have any eggs left, or if you have a lot of eggs left but we don't want to risk anything at this point..."
And "If the clomid doesn't work after two cycles, I send you to specialists."
Would cause alarm and panic to rage through my body. I glanced over at Michael, whose eyes were wide, taking it in.
But, adrenaline was not rushing through me. No panic.
I felt calm. Rooted even.

My sister had called me the night before. "Do you have your Bible handy?" She asked right after our Hello! & howareyas?
I said "This is how I'm a terrible person, my Bible is in Georgia."
"Your BIBLE is in GEORGIA!? Well, do you have ANY Bible nearby?" She said.
"Sure. Mike's."
"Go Get it, You HAVE to read this." She said.
So, I go to get it and flip to Isaiah 54.
She said "Yeah, I found this when I was at church."
I read it and said "They taught a whole sermon on this? COOL."
She said "Well, not exactly. I was just looking, and found it."
I said "G-d was like 'yeah yeah...turn the page...keep turning...HERE, read this!"

1 “Sing, barren woman, you who never bore a child; burst into song, shout for joy, you who were never in labor; because more are the children of the desolate woman than of her who has a husband,” says the L-RD. 2 “Enlarge the place of your tent, stretch your tent curtains wide, do not hold back; lengthen your cords, strengthen your stakes. 3 For you will spread out to the right and to the left; your descendants will dispossess nations and settle in their desolate cities. 4 “Do not be afraid; you will not be put to shame.
Do not fear disgrace; you will not be humiliated.


She's been struggling as well, and I know G-d was speaking to her personally. But, I also think He knew I'd need it, the very next day.

So, there I sat in Dr. Rosin's. Fully unafraid. I've seen with my own eyes the Love of My Creator.  I've felt it in the air arround me. I know above all G-d is in control.



I know this because of one 4 year old's birthday. It came after 4 years of personal struggle for me. There I sat on the floor watching her rip open presents and with pure joy, exclaiming with excitement at each discovery. I felt overflowing love for her. Love so strong that I was immediately humbled and I heard G-d whisper to me "See, I've been here all along while you were searching so hard for Me."  I had always believed in G-d, but at that moment, I finally FELT Him.

I firmly believe that is why I sat there in Dr.Rosin's pretty little office beside my husband, glancing at her desk calendar marked that Saturday was her daughter's 5 year old Geburts party, with the sun shining in through the filmy white and gray curtains, full of assurance.  Thinking: This. This is just another trial.

I think I sometimes hear the laughter of Sarah. Like Hannah I have a husband so very much like Elkanah, and I strive to pray with such passion. If we have a child, if we do not have a child, if this medicine works, if it does not...
I know G-d loves me.
Is that one shining moment at that birthday party enough to last me a lifetime? Absolutely.

Austria...the land of no Kangaroos

Salzburg, Austria.
You may be asking yourself, 'what inspired those two to choose Salzburg as a destination?' Or maybe you're not saying that at all.
But here's the reasoning behind our decision...
 Rick Steves. I know you already could tell the two of us are Rick Steves fans. Just look at us. We scream RICK! There we were tuning into his blu ray (Don't judge, YES, we purchase his tv shows.)
While Rick was whisking us away to To "Beautiful Baroque Salzburg!" ...  There we sat on our hideious hammie-down sofa, me in my infamous bo duke tee, paired with my favorite blue flannel jammie bottoms (the ones with the cresent moons on them). Mike was in his Star Wars loungies and matching tee.

There was Rick, in all his nerd glory standing in a fortress, talking about the endless Mozart concerts. (The Impromtu on the street concerts AND fancy pants ones in a concert halls.)

I looked over at my husband and said "Wow. That looks pretty. We should go."
He looked at me and said "Yeah. We should!"
Now, typically "yeah we should" means..."we'll get around to it someday..."
But when the episode was finished Mike got up and got our big yellow map book of Europe.
He said "Ya know, it's not THAT far from us."
I said "What isn't that far from us?"
He said "Salzburg."
I said "You know, I read that book (On Hitler's Mountain by Irmgard Hunt.) and her dad took her mom  on romantic get-a-ways to Salzburg."
He said "I remember you saying that."

Next thing I know, there our two happy selves are at the Bahnhof buying two train tickets whisking us away to Salzburg.
Everyone but everyone tells you travelling by train in Europe is simple, easy, and agreeable.
And guess what? Those people do not lie.  It was thoughtless travel. And before we knew it, there we were climbing off the train in Salzburg.
I have to preface this story with saying....our first impression of Austria was NOT that of a magical fairy land that dances to the tune of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. In fact, it looks more like a war torn former soviet town. Fresh off the train, the bahnhof area does not seem welcoming, and the rundown dirty cable cars look...like you need to hang tight to your euros.

We hop on the #2 bus (Perfect name for it. It smelled. It looked like you could get Botulism,  Leptospirosis, or maybe Trichinosis, just from standing ON it.)
Mike says to the driver: Sprechen Sie Englisch?
The Driver nods and says: Ja, a little. Sure.
Mike says: Will this bus go to the Mercure hotel?
The Driver says: Ja, sure. It goes to deer. Maybe...it is stop...(he counts on his fingers) Seben?
Mike says: Danke!

We count off the stops but at stop 6 NOT 7 the driver yells back "Hello? Dis one! Dis one is dee stops for dee hotel, ja? Ok?"
I yell back "Vielen Dank!!!" as we hop off the bus.

We found this same attitude everywhere we went. So, the bahnhof looks like there are children to be sponsored nearby and Sally Stuthers is going to hop out of the side hatch and ask you to spare a dime for them... But first looks can be deceiving. Austrians are not only nice but HELPFUL, and turns out Salzburg is beautiful, once you get past the grit.

We decided a night walk to old town would be perfect, that and we were hungry. Salzburg was beautiful at night. No shops were open but people were out milling about, despite the cold air coming off the Salzach River.
We were happy to get back to our hotel room and into our warm beds. Yes, we were twin bedding it June and Ward Clever style.

The next morning we got an early start to cram pack in as much Mozart as possible. After all, the town is famous because of him. He was born here, and he is still a major Rockstar. You can't walk without tripping over something Amadeus. He's like their Elvis...without the fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

We went to his Geburtshaus (Birth house) and his Residence. If you are ever in Salzburg...skip the Residence, go for the Geburtshaus. It's big, it's yellow and it has a HUGE sign that says "Mozart's Geburtshaus" You can't miss it.  We liked his birth house much better. You can see a lock of his hair, his childhood violin, a ring he was given from royalty (you see it in a portrait then on display).
His residence has his original piano and it's an audio guided tour so you do get to hear a lot of his music...but it just didn't pack the same punch as his birth house (In my humble opinion).

We also climbed up to the fortress for views of the city. We had HUGE pretzels, We went into the Salzburg Dom. This is a MUST see. The art alone will make you gasp. I felt so small in the huge cathedral. Interesting fact? In 1944, the Dom was bombed by the allies. I couldn't help but wonder if my grandfather (whose plane was shot down in Austria) could've had some connection with the bombings there...
But, it's now completely restored and very glorious...

We saw the statue of a man standing on a golden ball, and the human sized chess board. There were tons of dogs and lots of babies...and the window shopping is fantastic...but with stores like Louis Vuitton &Vogue, you can rest assured that ALL the Suman's did was window shop.
Like I'm going to spend over 1,000€ for a purse when we have a hand-me-down sofa? Uhm. my goodwill vintage purse find is more up my alley.

The strange/local color things we saw? A caricature of Hilter graffitied on a wall, a silver statue man of Mozart who was handing out postcards and bowing with grace. (He scared me). A man playing Amazing Grace on the accordion (VERY beautiful, too I might add) A mullet that was shaved on top and dred locked in the back, a blond eurotrash decked to the nines, a couple making out more than PG 13 style right in old town, a woman screaming in accented english that her food was "Shit" and she was "piss" (Pissed off). Mike wanted to make a video of that debacle.

Alas, we skipped the Sound of Music tour, promising ourselves we'll do it if/when we return.
We had a lovely time, and I think we enjoyed it more because we weren't in peak tourist season...
Those Mozart concerts that lured us there? Well, we didn't want to pay the big bucks for a fancy pants concert, when really we did a fly by the seat of your pants trip and didn't bring fancy pants clothes, and the impromtu ones? Yeah, there were signs that said "No Koncerts today."  Oh well, Macht's Nicht...

Salzburg was still beautiful. Still fun, and still enchanting....

Tess.

When you live far away from where home is...a whole ocean away... it mostly is exciting. Being in a new place, where the language you speak is the 'foreign' language, everyday can seem like an adventure.

Yet there are many times when the excitement is eclipsed by the distance.
Such was the time when Tess passed away. It didn't feel like a grand adventure. It felt distant. I actually felt exactly how far away we are from family, from friends, from home.

Now, it needs to be said, Tess is a cat. A cat that I tried ever so gently, ever so determinedly, ever so...forcefully to make 'my' cat. My pet. I adopted her. I took her home with me. I named her. I bought her toys and collars, and various kitty essentials.
In a nutshell, I loved her. I still do.
From the moment I took her to my mom's house, when she was but a wee kitten...Tess made it official. She was not my cat. Not for nothing.
Tess couldn't have cared less about me. Not that she didn't tolerate me, because she did. With her impatient tail flick she would let me lounge my head on her big bell. She would head butt me for affection.
From the moment she met my mom...well, I no longer exsisted. Well, no, that's not true. I became...an extra in her movie.
She loved mom. She would sit by mom. Sleep by mom. Spend time with mom.
Me? Yeah, she'd grouchie meow at me. IF she decided to acknowledge my presence.
Oh, but I still loved her.
I loved her for her moodiness. I loved her for her love of christmas. I loved her simply for the sweet way in which she carried her duck (named lucky duck) in her mouth like he was her kitten. She'd walk with him and cry/meow. She did this when she thought she was alone.
One sight of anyone, and she dropped the duck and looked impatiently in your direction. A cool denial of her affection for Lucky Duck.

Despite all her distance (to everyone but mom) She was a loving cat.
She loved music. She would lounge and listen to Aretha with my mom. Tess could hear the theme music to American Idol..and no matter where she was in the house, she'd bound to the Tv. Every single time it would come on. Then, as soon as the show was over....she went back to her business of lounging, napping, or just watching out the window.
She would talk to birds...and in her younger days, she was a huntress. Killing little mice who found a way to sneak inside. In her older days...she let one climb in her food bowl and scurry back outside...leaving the hunting to my parents.

Tess was a good cat. She was a family member. My mom had a close undeniable bond with her. They were a pair. And truly, Tess was in every way, my mom's cat. Or Mom was Tess's person, to put it more accurately.

So when my dad told me over the phone that she had died...it truly felt like a piece of me was missing. Living so far away, I felt the helplessness of not being able to say goodbye. I sobbed on our living room sofa while Michael tried to comfort me.
He gave me a cool washcloth to put on my forehead.
He got me a cool drink.
He looked at my photo album of Tess with me.
I told him about what kind of kitten she was. How silly she could be. The way she took a bite from my sister's sandwich when Tess thought Lynsey was taking too long to eat.
 I remember the last time I saw her. She head butted my hand. I told her I was going to Germany, but I'd be back. She purred and rubbed her head against my hand, then flicked her tail.
Funny how when I think of going home...I think of Soozie there to greet me..tail wagging in excitement. And of Tess...hopping off Mom's bed to come say Hi.

She will always live forever in my memory.

Do you believe in love? Cause I got something to say about it, and goes something like this...

Saturday Michael and I decided to go to Bamberg for shopping and such, but only after the laundry was done and various other little around the housey things.

He left the apartment for what seemed like would be a long time.
And upon his stepping out, I decided to step in to the shower.

I was soaping up, and as I covered my hair in suds, I suddenly got a song in my heart.
One that I couldn't keep inside.
I think showers MAKE people sing. Not for nothing, we've all seen The Flintstones. Fred singing in the shower and was struck with real vocal talent...
In my heart of hearts, I believed the suds, the steam and the echo would turn me into Madonna.

So there I am belting out:

You've got to make him
Express himself
Hey, hey, hey, hey
So if you want it right now, make him show you how
Express what he's got, oh baby ready or not
Express yourself
You've got to make him
So you can respect yourself
Hey, hey
So if you want it right now, then make him show you how
Express what he's got, oh baby ready or not

I'm not saying I was using the body wash bottle as a microphone. And I'm not saying I wasn't. But my eyes were closed (to prevent soap getting in the eyes but also to testify), and the Hey hey's were coming from the heart. I rocked the whole song. The scent of olay body butter with ribbons cheering me on. The water spraying sounding like fans going wild
And after I finished holding out the last note...
I heard giggling "Hey Honey. I'm uhm...home. Just didn't want to scare you. Keep expressing yourself."

I opened my eyes, I put my microphone to my side, my cheeks blushing.
I didn't even know I how long I'd had an audience...
But I think I can pretty much say I have at least one fan.

Trying on sports for size

I was the kid who kicked and missed the kickball. I walked to first. I picked cloverflowers in the outfield. The only part of my body that ever played volley ball was my head, when the ball would ricochet off of it. I would've rather stuck my nose in a book than dodge a ball. In fact, I never quite understood (even at the tender elementary school age) the desire to throw a ball HARD at someone. Quite literally, it took hearing Taylor Swift squawk out 'songs' before I fully grasped the concept.

I lived my life in contentment, free of sports. Then two days ago all that changed. Michael is on a two week training, and I could just blame this on his absence. As in absence makes Amber believe she should try out sports.
Here's how it went down....

At the Unit/Company/will-i ever-figure-out-Army-terms Christmas party, I met another spouse. Barbara.
Later, I ran into her at German class. We exchanged emails.
Our guys go on training.
We emailed. We went to a play (Nutshell: Germans pretended to be Southern Americans "Let's go to Chic-filla, ya'll")
She says to me "Do you play raquetball?"
Me: No.
She: Would you like to learn?
Me: Sure. Sounds fun (What? WHY? why did I Say that?!)
She: Ok. Let's play tomorrow.
Me: Great!
I mean how hard can it be? Hit a ball off a wall. No problem...it's easy as someone rolling a ball towards you for you to kick....right?

She comes over to bring me with her to the gym. I'm wearing my normal zumba clothes...LONG exercise pants (to cover up the fact that husband gone=3 days unshaven legs) and a regular old tshirt.
Immediately I feel....underdressed. awkward.

Just to set the picture...just so you'll grasp my insecurity.. Allow me to describe Barbara.
She is very striking. She has a model's body, tall, thin, graceful. Her Polish accent makes men stop in their tracks.
And bare in mind she is SO nice that I didn't notice any of this until we were walking into the gym. She's in her cute gym clothes. Which immediately made me realize...she shops for gym clothes...I wear whatever is old enough to get soaked in an unwashable sweat smell and not care.

Standing next to her tallness, I immediately felt like she was Dorothy and I was in the lollipop guild welcoming her to munchkinland. There she is in those capri-style workout pants and a cute tank top..and not even a hint of a fat roll anywhere on her.
There I am in my ol' trusty bo duke tee and...well you get the picture....

I struggled putting on my goggles and felt like Amelia Earhart complete with bad hair, and quite sure that I was going to get lost over the wild and wooly seas of raquetball, never to be heard from again....
While Barbara gently glided on her goggles and looked...like she wasn't wearing any.
What? How did THAT happen?

So, whatever, this is about fun, right?
Uhm. ok. But...

She plays raquetball. And gracefully. She looked like a swan moving to whap that little demon blue ball back to the wall.
Then this poor girl blessed with short little Padgett legs looked like...the little engine that could...n't hit a ball to save a dolphin.  Because unlike her, I expected the ball to come to me. Not the other way around.
And one time I even reached out to catch it. I actually tried to catch the ball.  NOT the object of the game.

I don't need to do sports. Zumba, sure. The occasional stationary bike, gotcha. Maybe MAYBE an eliptical. Sports. Nein.

She would say "So only let dee ball bounce once. If it comes to you you haff to go leff or right to get it to hit to dee wall, ok?" Her polish accent echoing off of the little cage of doom we'd willingly closed ourself into.

When I did hit it (rare occasion) she would exclaim "Sehr GUT Frau Suman!" 

My Amelia goggles were sweating.  Not my body, mind you, no. The area around my eyes. Was. Sweating. I was foggin' up.  Apparently those damn goggles were too tight, and they suction cupped themselves to my face. Not only that,  while Barbara's bun was in perfect place, my pony tail was falling out and looking quite oily.

When we finished she removed her glasses, no sweat build up inside of them. She looked fresh as a daisy in may.
My goggles tangled in my lost-cause pony tail. She started giggling "You have to tell ya baby dat I gave you black eyes." 
I said "what?"
She said "Ya goggles is too tight. Ya husband will say 'why you have black eyes?'"
I looked in the mirror...there it was. the perfect imprint of the goggles from forehead to cheekbones. But not black, beet red. No no, beet red is kinda pretty with the magenta tones...I'll just say it TOMATO red.

Barbara then took me to the stretch out room. "Ok, now we stretch."
Honestly, I didn't feel the need to stretch. I just stood there while "playing". I don't think I was at risk in pulling a muscle.
But ok. I'll stretch.

Let me explain...in this room there is a ballet bar along a mirrored wall. Barbara just places her leg swan like right up on the bar. Meanwhile shortie over here had to kick it up there. Several times just to get the foot on the bar. I may have even said HU! but let's not talk about that.....

We stretched...I felt like a gumdrop next to...a candy cane.

After all was said and done she said "Do you know what my nickname is?"
Me: No
She: Basia.
Me: Pretty.
She: We pretty good friends now, so you can call me Basia.
Me:  You can call me.....on my house phone anytime.

(I have no cool nickname...and I was thisclose to making one up just to fit in...but I know my husband would eventually blow my cover...as in...
Basia: Hello Am-dizzle.
Me: S'up Basia!
Mike: Who is Am-dizzle?)

Basia then said....Ok we go to the commissary for junk food.
Ok Ms. Metabolism...have at it...I'll just have...a splenda packet or two...

I Used The Men's Room In Brussels.

My buddy, who has earned a variety of nicknames lately, (My current most-used nickname for him "Hunchy Bear" which I created while trying to say Honey/Monkey/Buddy Bear.) surprised me with a New Years Trip to London.
And at first, I thought it was a joke.
But the boyish grin on his cute little face convinced me that he was in fact telling the honest to buddha truth.
Only catch? We were traveling caravan style on a charter bus.

Before I knew it, we were standing in the snow in front of the chapel, waiting with other shiver-ers for our bus. We scored the other front row seats on the top level of the bus, So we had a clear view of the road, and the motion sickness was cut way down to zip.
Nothing but nothing could prepare us for a 10 hour bus trip across Europe on a bus full of soldiers. At about 12am, I was roused from slumber by two disgruntled soldiers in each others faces. Yelling obsenities at each other, and just before it came to blows, someone came to the rescue and seperated the feuding duo.
Mike woke up and tried to stand up and then said "What's going on?"

Shortly after that, I watched as we blazed (however much 'blazing' you can do at 100 kph) past the sign Nederlands. I smiled. Out of Germany, finally.
I fell asleep and woke up in Brussels. I had no idea when we'd even gotten to Belgium. I just NEEDED to use the bathroom. And I needed 70 euro cents and quick.
I rushed into the bathroom and to my surprise, the bathroom break was a freebie. I wiped the sleep from my eyes just to insure I wasn't dreaming. Then I saw it. Yellow tape over the women's room. All that was available was a Handi and the mens room.
The handi was occupied in a situation very similar to a woman in the movie The Sweetest Thing.
Our "tour guide" a long haired non-rick steves said "Don't worry, I'll hold the line. Go on in." And he motioned to the mens room.
It was dark in there. Dark and intimidating.
There was artwork that I couldn't read, and didn't even want to try to GUESS at the I'm sure Foul Words that adorned the shakey stall walls.

I imerged a changed more jaded woman.

But no less, we were still enroute to Jolly ol'...and I couldn't wait. I was chomping at the bit to step into London. The city I'd dreamed of over and over again as a little girl.

I fell asleep again and woke up just in time to see the Welcome to France sign. I got adrenaline rush. I felt like dancing up and down the aisle of the bus singing "I could've danced allll night!" there I was, in FRANCE. In FRANCE. Who cares if it wasn't Paris. That will come in due time...but France! I thought half way of waking up my snoring Sumie. But I was just too excited. I took it all in. The little houses, the farmland, the factories...all from the light of street lights because really at 4 in the morning, how much light is there?

When we made it to the ferry, my excitement grew. There, as we crossed the channel and England came into view, stood the gorgeous white cliffs of Dover.
I got another stamp in my passport welcoming to me England.
We'd made it.
There we were driving on the wrong side of the road, right into London.
There was no sun light, only foggy overcast. I wanted to cry as we got to London. The houses all lined up, early birds up to get their coffee, tea, donuts, whatever were walking across the zebra crossings. And all I wanted to do was cry. I was THAT excited.
And when our bus went into the city I took it all in. I pointed excitedly to St. Paul's.

We weren't aware that our tour began...immediately. No showers, no freshening up because hotel check in wasn't until 2pm. And here we are at 7am rolling into London, tourists sardine can style.
I chose to wear pj's on the overnight trip. Because...well who wouldn't? It was, after all, most comfortable.

So, when we got off the bus, there I was, in a sleep shirt, and loungie pants, and winter boots. Basically not the outfit I wanted to wear when I first stood under Big Ben. But even the lack of 'real' clothes didn't extinguish my exhuberance.
We walked past Big Ben, West Minster Abbey, into St. Jame's Park where everything was green, and there were swans swimming as though it's no-big deal. I skipped when I saw the Diana Princess of Wales Memorial Trail Marker.
How could I be anything but speechless as the guards on horseback trotted past us on the way to Buckingham Palace?

Standing there by the Palace I'd seen in my many many royal books, I said "Wow. The Balcony isn't as high as I thought it would be." I stood there staring at my childhood dreams. I thought to myself, If someone would've told me when I was a little girl that I'd be standing right by Buckingham Palace....well, I'd feel just as excited then as I do right now.

The good news about our trip, is Michael and I ditched the tour group. For a variety of reasons..the first being...we didn't want to be limited on what we could see/do in our limited time. AND there was a girl on the tour that when she saw ANYTHING with the name Victoria on it she had to ask "But where is the Secrets"
Honestly, we didn't want to deal with the stupidity on this trip...we wanted to mingle with Brits. We wanted to walk down little side streets, we wanted to Mind the Gap, and climb to the Whispering Gallery.

In our few days there we managed to eat fish and chips, see Queen Elizabeth I's tomb, stand where Diana's coffin was during her funeral, Stand in the exact spot where Fergie married Andrew and where William will marry Kate (Everyone gently corrected me calling her Catherine.)
We climbed the stairs of St. Paul's just the same ones Diana climbed on her wedding day. We walked hand in hand down the long aisle at St. Paul's to stand exactly where she curtisied to the queen on that day.
We watched street shows in Trafalgar Square, ate Mcdonald's standing outside the crowded Piccadilly Circus McD's.
I walked the soles off my boots. Happily.

In St. Paul's while we bought a little souvenir bird and plaque, a man said "Where's home?" (Mike & I agreed to say we were from Maryland since being from two different places takes longer to answer that question)
Once we started talking to him, we told him we were actually from Georgia and Seattle. He then began telling us about our respective football teams. It was really awesome to get football updates from a British guy. We smiled about that for days.

Our New Years eve we found ourselves right by the River Thames across from the Eye of London. We enjoyed watching crazy people dancing, all the funny hats, and generally taking part in the good cheer. The fireworks were absolutely unreal. I got misty eyed when everyone sang Auld Lange Syne.

One thing is certain. I did not want to return to Bamberg. I loved England. I loved the friendly faces. I truly loved not having to 'think' about the words to use, the conjugation of verbs before ordering food, or talking to people.

But we did have to come back to Bamberg, where snow mounds awaited, and dreams of London hung like fog in our hearts and minds.