Dayenu!! A story of Passover Seder in Germany.

Michael & I attended Passover Seder.
Celebrating the Seder, here, in Germany was so very profound.
We walked up to the Synagogue, and couldn't help but notice the security cameras, and the fact that we had to be buzzed in.
Once inside the warmth of the people greeted us with smiles. Our new friend Mr. Mitzner took us under his wing. He lead us upstairs to the Synagogue. There stood the original doors from Bamberg's original Syangogue as a silent testimony. (It was burned the morning after Kristallnacht. To learn more click here.)
Michael chose a kippa from the basket and placed it on his head.
We sat holding our books waiting for the service to start. The simple beauty surrounded us as we watched others take their seats.

We weren't aware of the large Russian population, until Mr. Mitzner explained that the majority of the congregation was indeed Russian.
Michael & I were astounded by the Cantor's voice. It was beautiful as it bellowed out welcoming in the Sabbath.
The service was in Hebrew, German & Russian. So, following along was sometimes tedious. However, we did find our places, and we're joyfully singing along from time to time.
The sound of the whole congregation welcoming in the Shabbos was so beautiful, it brought tears to my eyes and joy to my heart.
My little husband standing in front of me, singing his heart out made me smile.
After the service everyone greeted everyone with a handshake and heartfelt and warm "Shabbot Shalom!"
We all headed downstairs for the yummy dinner that awaited.
Mr. Mitzner sat us at his table. He gave us the Haggadah. It was in German, but we followed along best as we could.
Our wine was blessed.
We dipped our bitter herbs into salt water to represent the tears and bitterness of slavery. Thus began the story of Exodus.
I have to admit, I felt that parsley growing and growing in my mouth. So, I did what anyone else would do, swallow it nearly whole then wash it down with some wine.
The matzah was broken.

The sweetest little girl stood in front of everyone and asked the four questions. My favorite part was when she held up the pillow. It was grasped in her hand and held high above her head as she read her part about relaxing.
There was more wine!
More Matzah! This time spread with beets and horseradish.

The Rabbi sang songs, and just for us Americans, she sang one in English (The Ballad of the Four Sons) If you'd like to hear the song click HERE.

Mr. Mitzner told us, and he was right, some people think the Seder is long, but if your heart is in it, it goes fast. The night seemed to zip by.
The first food we ate was an appetizer of Gefilte Fish. Now, I have to admit, I've looked at the jars in the store and grimmaced. Not ever brave enough to take a bite.
However, It is DELICIOUS. :) In fact, I had two pieces.
Then came the most amazing matzo ball soup. My husband all but licked his bowl.
Then we had boiled potatoes, tangy green beans, veggies and fork tender brisket.

We laughed, we talked, we ate & we drank wine (OK, so four cups of kosher wine can be A LOT!!)
It was such a memorable wonderful night.

Michael & I were talking about the wonderful people. He said "You know, I feel like I've known Mr. Mitzner my whole life. He's just that kinda guy."
I nodded in agreement.

I definitely feel blessed to have been invited to such an important holiday, in a land that only 74(ish) years ago would've been forbidden and life threatening. It was humbling and astounding. And here we were, breaking Matzo and singing praises of of how great our G-d is. Michael and I were both blessed and honored to be surrounded by men and women who welcomed us in like long lost family.

Dayenu indeed!

Happiness

Happiness today for me, was taking a bus ride on this sunny day, through this beautiful city. Nothing makes me happier than seeing the morning sun shine on this old beautiful city.

We took the morning bus to the Klinikum. (we both had appointments) The city bus becomes the school bus during mornings *and again in the afternoon*. (My sister had her introduction to this cultural difference by getting almost whapped by a big kid with his renegade backpack. She was saved by the German guy sitting beside her. When all the kids started piling on the bus that morning, Lynsey's rescuer shot me a look and started laughing. Both of us in on the intense crowding of school children that was about to occur.) But back to my story...

There were two little girls (A little blondish brown haired girl, and a girl with white-blonde hair) standing up on their ride to school. They were no more than 7, if that. At the next stop a little red haired girl (Her hair was in perfect piggy tails) hopped on. She saw the white-blonde girl standing there. She threw her arms around the little girl with excitement. Almost as if she hadn't seen her friend in years.
I told Michael "You know, she probably just saw her yesterday." We both smiled at the cuteness.
At the sheer exhuberance of love.
The little redhaired girl took her schule tasche off her shoulders at warp speed. She started digging in the little side pocket.
With a flourish she pulled out a mini toy pony. A princess pony at that. She extended her arm to show her whiteblonde best friend. Then promptly returned princess pony back to her schule tasche.
It was such a  moment of sheer innocence, that I was immediately endeared and charmed by the cute little trio. They stood talking little girl talk. The little redhaired girl with her hand on her hip.
Michael and I couldn't help but watch them and smile.

Even after our appointments, and eating our "American" style subs (Waaay better than any Sub I've ever eaten in America) in the warm glorious spring sunshine, and holding hands through the market (where we admired the pussywillows, and the HUGE mushrooms, and the fresh rosemary, and the furry dog parade) we still were amused by the trio of little friends.

It's the little things, indeed.

Thank Yous....

I took a walk the other day. It's the best way to arrange thoughts sometimes. Just me, my boots, fresh air.
I couldn't help but think of a phone call I had made.
It was a bill-paying call back to the States. The CSM was named Tammy. I mentioned to her that my husband was in the Army and we were living overseas. (The reason I mentioned this is she needed our address. I asked if she wanted our overseas address or a stateside address)
Tammy was so very sweet. She immediately asked me to pass along her gratitude to my husband (Which I will when I talk to him). I thanked her for saying such.
She then she told me that she wanted to thank me, she said "I call ya'll the homebound warriors."
I said "Oh. Oh well, thank you!"
(But trust me when I say, the only warrior I am is in the battle of these hardwood floors. Even if it is a chore, I don't feel like I need anyone to thank me for keeping my floors clean.)
It surprised me because that was the first time anyone actually thanked me for...being married to Michael.
She was so sweet and so heartfelt, it was nice. I thanked her & I told her she was a very nice person.

I've never sought gratitude for being married to Michael.

The thought lingered with me. I constantly see and am reminded of women who DO seek that kind of gratitude.
"Oh my husband is in the ARMY."
"My man is in the MILITARY"
"We are MORE special and we work harder than you at our relationships because our husbands are in the MILITARY"

As if they want a gold star for their marriage.

I try to seperate myself from that. Not because I'm not proud of Michael. I am. I am SO very proud of him. Every single day. Even when I catch him picking his nose, ok well maybe I'm more grossed out by that than proud.
When I see him in uniform, I feel such pride.
When he is away and I see guys walking around post in uniform, my heart desperately misses him.
In his uniform, or in his pjs, he is the most handsome man in the world. The bravest man I've ever met. The genuine & most courageous heart beats in his chest.

However, I do not feel I deserve gratitude.
"Thank you for what you do."What I do?
Well, let's see, what I do is love my husband.
That is not a great sacrifice.
I love him.
His job, is NOT my job. I married the person. His job just so happens to be in the Army. Of course that means we spend great amounts of time apart.
In a crisis, it may take him a couple of days to get home.
But, I do not feel I need to be thanked. As though loving my husband was a job. It is such a task that I need people to bow down to me with a 'I don't know how you do it' expression.
I don't want pats on the back, or any type of accolades.
I hate the implication that it MUST be SO DIFFICULT to be married to my husband. Oh poor you, you sacrifice soooo much.
I love my husband. It's not a sacrifice. It's where I want to be.

Some women define theirselves by that, and for them, that is great. I won't try to take that away from them. Being a spouse to someone who is in the military isn't easy.
But, being married to Michael isn't hard.
I married him because I love him. Not because I wanted to wear a yellow ribbon necklace or be a martyr.

When he is gone on training, or on missions, yes I sleep alone. I miss him every moment he is gone. Life is boring without him.
What do I do when he is gone?
I read books.
I do the laundry.
I go to the commissary.
I pay bills.
I make dinner for one.
I watch dvds because let's face it, AFN gets old after a while.
I go out to dinner with friends.
I take the train to neighboring towns to musuems.
I feed the ducks downtown.
I lunch with a friend on Marxplatz.
I call my sister and my mom.
I go to German Class.
I do wii zumba.
I take walks.
I plan out menus of what I will cook when he is home.
I drink coffee by the gallons.
I learn about places/sights/restaurants in our town (or neighboring towns) and then I can teach/show/bring Mike to those places when he comes home.

None of that takes the place of having Michael home with me. However, when he is gone, I know he's not doing things that fun. He is working.
To truly make any marriage work, you have to have your heart in it. The same goes for being married to someone in the Military.
(I still haven't grown to use the term "army wife" or "army spouse" because I am Michael's Wife. Michael's Spouse.)

I see all these poems about how spouses are the 'silent ranks." I'm not in any rank. I'm not in the military.
I've read how women sleep with their phones by them for that call, and that is true. But if he's too tired to call, guess what? I don't cry or get angry. He's just tired. Of course I want to hear his voice, but I love him so much that if he's tired, I'd rather he sleep. He'll call me when he can.
I've read about girls crying and getting so sad that their boyfriend/husband is going to basic training and it will be X amount of weeks before they will hear from their guys.
I can't help but think, What did you expect? Daily phone calls? Not going to happen, sister. The sooner you accept it, the better.

There will always be little girls who want to gossip and spread rumors on military posts. I have to say, I have successfully avoided them. I don't really care who is supposedly doing what with who. I don't.  Most of these girls/women I will probably never see again once they move or we do.
I chose my friends carefully and thus far, the friends I've made are awesome.
Any advice I could/would give to someone who wants to marry someone who is serving in the military is this:

1) You will be alone...a lot. You need to be ok with being alone. Alone and away from family/friends. You NEED to like your own company.
2) You need to accept that you will not choose where you live. Not the town, Not the country. And to some degree not even the housing.
3) Go see the town you live in. Make it yours.


And for cripes sake, PLEASE, if you move overseas, remember YOU are representing our Country. Please don't be White Trash, Ghetto, Redneck, Idiotic. Please. It's embarrassing. Honor the host nation by being polite. It's not hard to try to blend in or to  respect their culture. Please don't think you are owed something by the nationals. Please. It makes us all look bad. It makes the ones who DO actually respect others have to work EVEN harder to disprove that all Americans are ignorant.

If you can embrace that, when someone does thank you for being married to your husband, it will sound/seem strange to you.

And Tammy, thank you for your kind words. I can't imagine loving anyone else. Michael is the funniest, most amazing person I've had the pleasure to know. I love him more than there are words to express. You should see how cats gravitate to him, and how dogs want to get in his face, and curl up in his lap. He does nerdy dances with me in the kitchen. His mac and cheese is so legendary that it's been renamed Mike-n-Chee. He steals the blankets, and surprises me with little things like my favorite candy bar, a bouquet of flowers, or a sweet little stuffed animal. He folds the laundry because I HATE to. He never left my side for ONE minute when I was in the hospital. In winter he never fails to throw snowballs at me. Sometimes we play chase around the living room, because he doesn't want me to 'credit card' him. He watches the stars from our bedroom window with me. He always always always leaves one of his t-shirts for me covered in his sweet smell when he goes on training or missions. He is my everything, and I appreciate you recognizing that he works so hard! I will let him know you appreciate him.

The Hardest Day? Probably just the emptiest day.

I had been warned.
"The hardest day will be when you get your first period after the miscarriage."
By several people who had been through a loss like that.
One woman told me that it only stood to remind her of her miscarriage and she couldn't help but sob.

Mine came on a sunny day. Sitting on a bench on Maxplatz while eating lunch from Nordsee with my friend.
I went to the WC, and instead of crying, I smiled.
It meant moving forward, it meant no more waiting to try again.
I actually did a little shimmy dance in the stall before leaving & paying my 50 euro cents to the attendant.
Who would've thought having to buy a box of o.b. would be cause for celebration?
When I came home, I called Michael at work.
He said "Really?! That is GREAT!"
Crack open the wine bottle and let's Kool & the Gang it...CEEELEBRATE good times C'mon! (While I wasn't doing the high kicks or wearing super cool white pants this was pretty much me:

I found it puzzling. I felt fine. Excited  and hopeful, even. I rationalized that it didn't remind me of the miscarriage, since I had a D&C. So, it wouldn't stand as any reminder for me. Only a promise of hope at trying again.

Fast forward through the Berlin weekend. To yesterday, Michael left for his weeks long training.
The first time he has been away from me since November 19th. Initially, I didn't think too much about it. Just that I miss him so when he's away.
I woke up at 4:30am to see him off. To stand at the window and wave as he walked away into the dark morning. I got my favorite blanket and pillow bringing it to the sofa. I turned on the television. Piers Morgan was on.
There I was, lounging in the dark just me and Piers and his interviewee (Rosie O'donnel btw)
I snuggled in and the thought hit me.
Wow. The last time you did this, you were pregnant, and awake trying NOT to throw up. And now, you are not pregnant, or sick.
I turned off the tv, collected my blanket and pillow and took it to our bed.

Later on I took the bus to the post office to pick up the package that was waiting. Normally on such a gorgeous sunny day, I'd had chosen to walk, but it was SO bitterly cold out. I opted for the bus.

In our mailbox was a card, a national geographic renewal notice, and a letter from Tricare.

I opened all three letters, standing at the bus stop. I opened the card (a sweet thank you note from Mike's sister) I opened the National Geographic renewal (eh)  I saved Tricare for last, only because that was the order I pulled the letters out of the mail box. It was a routine explaination of benefits. Explaining the costs of my blood work from my first prenatal visit.
I held it in my hands staring hard at it. Looking at the words, the cost.  Empty words, and a lot of money paid out for emptiness.

That. That was the harder than any period on a park bench.
I climbed on the bus, and chose an empty window seat and watched the sun rays dance through the trees empty of any leaves.
No tears to cry.
Just empty.

Berlin!

MLK Weekend gave Michael a 4 day mini vacation, which gave us time to FINALLY get to Berlin. We rented a car, and were off to the capital city of Germany.
The trip took us through snow, but when we arrived in Berlin, there was no snow, (Thankfully) only cold weather.

We didn't mind the cold, or that we chose to see this city in winter...there were less tourists. Sure, we had to bundle up, but who cares?

We stayed in the Art'otel in Kundamm. (Go ahead, take a virtual tour here: http://artotel.photowebeu.com/kudamm/index.html)

It was a nice hotel, that we got for a steal on booking.com (Check it out fellow travellers) **Another bonus of winter travel! Reduced rates!
We were in the neighborhood of these fine attractions The Beate Uhse Museum, and Dunkin Donuts. (Of course we breakfasted there, sehr klasse.)

We cram packed Berlin Attractions into our weekend. To achieve maxium sites in as little time as possible, we made a must see list and I highly recommend it for ANY travel destination you are planning...
We saw almost EVERYTHING we wanted to see.
With the exception of the Ritter Sport Bunte Schoko World Museum, and the Currywurst Museum. (BUT, there is always next time, right?)
We started our morning off (of course after a donut) walking toward the Tiergarten. While we didn't visit either of the zoos, we did walk along enjoying how scenic the natural huge park looked.

We met a fluffy dog, and enjoyed the sun rising slowly as we crossed Cornelius Brücke.

We saw the Victory Column (which is still seen by some as a Nazi Symbol) and walked down Strasse des 17 Juni toward the Brandenburg Gate.

We came up on the back side of the Gate, passing the huge Reichstag. Which looked proud covered in German Flags.

It was somewhat strange walking over bricks that represented where the Berlin Wall once stood. The huge soviet memorial stands within sight of the Brandenburg Gate. It looks overpowering and very propaganda-ish. There was a bird on top of the huge soviet statue's head.
It made me instantly sing the wonderful Sesame Street song "There's a bird on me" (Remember it? if not take a trip down memory lane by clicking right here )

The sad quiet memorial of Victims of the Berlin Wall was touching and so very heartbreaking. It stands in the shadow of the beautiful huge Reichstag. (We waved to Angela Merkel...ok not really. She was no where to be seen)

We snapped pictures of the memorial to politicians who opposed Hitler, but did not go in to see the Reichstag.

We did check out Rick Steves suggestions about Berlin..but I have to say, while the book did list the sights near/on Pariser Platz, the book did NOT properly convey that you do not have to go in search of these sites. In fact, the travel guide lead me & Michael to believe we had to search for them.
Nay, They are right there in the open. RIGHT by the gate. For example, Hotel Adlon. The hotel famous for Michael Jackson's baby dangling antics is literally RIGHT there beside the Gate. You can't miss it even if you TRY.
Same with the Kennedy Museum. How can you MISS seeing a GIANT display of Jackie's face? You can't. It's right there by starbucks.

While on Pariser Platz, enjoying the view and posing for pictures, we were approached by SEVERAL women. They would cry out "ENGLISH? DEUTSCH? ENGLISH?"
Then they would hold up a little card that said "please give me money for bread."
She would put their best beggar face on and then say "Please. Please? Please? PLEASE? PLEASE? PLEASE?" despite telling her "no." and shaking your head she would continue to beg please as fast as she could.
Clearly these women do not take no for an answer, and they will follow you down Unter den Linden hoping their incessant begging will wear you down and you will give them "only 1 euro, please please please" just to shut them up.
We ducked into a souvenir shop to get away from the one who zoned in on us. (There were A LOT of these women milling about the platz)
Michael said "I would bet they are part of human trafficking."

It made me wonder....are they simple beggars or is it something more sinister? and why do the Polizei allow them to be so annoyingly harassing?

Regardless we continued our walk down Unter den Linden, which is a street under a lot of construction, we stopped to see the Neue Wache, which is a very sad almost creepy memorial. We visited Bebelplatz and saw where students and professors burnt newly forbidden books in 1933, at the 'request' of Joseph Goebbels.
It's hard to imagine how such a lovely platz could be the place of such willingly stupid destruction.

Despite our lunchtime hunger, we found a minute to stop and admire the beauty of the Berliner Dom. It was fantastic in spite of my growling belly.

We found a cute/trendy place for lunch called Wrap Me. You can build your own wrap. I chose white beans, lemon rice, honey chicken and a spice sauce to top it all off.
Trust me when I say, I killed that wrap. We had walked up an appetite in the cold. (Since we were right there by the Spree River, cold isn't a word to aptly describe the temperature!). Warming up in the restaurant was fantastic.

After munching we headed out to the Neues Museum. Since the tickets were timed, and we didn't want to wait around for an entrance time, we skipped seeing Nefertiti :(.
However, we chose the Pergamon Museum instead. We were NOT disappointed. The sights in that museum are AMAZING. The Pergamon Alter stands there proud and waiting for you to dream of what it looked like in it's glory days.

We saw Athena, the gorgeous gorgeous gate of Ishtar, the market gate of Miletus.

It was truly well worth our time.
We were totally in awe of the Pergamon-Panorama of the Ancient metropolis. The painting by Yadegar Asisi brings to life the ancient city. We could've spent forever just admiring this gorgeous panorama.

After exploring the museum, we walked back along the frigid Spree River. There were artists selling their goods. I wanted nearly everything I saw.

We then crossed back over the city to take in the Murdered Jews of Europe Memorial. Even though the sun was glowing, the Memorial looked dank and highly depressing. As it should. It is a massive memorial.

We left there, and walked down Friedrich Strasse towards Checkpoint Charlie. (not without first stopping at Starbucks for a treat)

At the checkpoint,There were friendly Germans posing as American Soldiers. Michael made friends with one joking and laughing with him as we paid the 2 euro to get get our passports stamped from checkpoint charlie.  

Friedrich Strasse is the street of honking horns. As we walked down the street, several cars were good naturedly honking their car horns in various different tunes. We found it highly amusing. I started laughing at the expression of one  honker (He reminded of Night at the Roxbury)

It prompted me to say "Wow. Berlin in the town of Honking"
Michael responded "And the capital city of all honkies."
I had to laugh, because it is so true.

We finally made it back to our warm hotel room, completely walked out. We fell onto our beds and talked about how fantastic Berlin is, and when we come back we are NOT missing that Currywurst museum no way.

I admit, I loved Berlin. I had an exciting time exploring the city that has had a colorful and haunting past, but in our hearts, we are partial to southern germany and the easy charm that you can only find in Franconia. :)

Will we go back to Berlin? You can bet your jelly donut on it, JFK! 

Ranty Me.

I am a different person now.
Well, I feel different, yet the same.
The fears I had before, are not the fears I have now.
Some friends I had before, I no longer have.

I mostly feel like not talking about it, the miscarriage, because it's too personal. Too intense. It makes people uncomfortable. Geez, it's been nearly 7 weeks, aren't you over it by now?
I only really talk about about it with my husband. While we lay in bed at night. He and I watching the stars as they move across the sky slowly.

Only a select few have a window into what it was really like there, in the hospital that day. I can count them all on one hand. And I love each one, and pray each one is blessed for their kindness. And because of them, I have a love for Germany that runs deep into my soul.

From two of the people that were there with us, when I have looked in their eyes. I see no pity. Compassion but not pity.

Pity is the ONE thing I despise. I do not want anyone's pity. It makes my stomach churn. It makes me want to snarl. Or at the very least roll my eyes. I want to say to them If you never laughed with me, then you have no place to come and cry with me.
Expressing sorrow for our loss is one thing. It actually is nice and appropriate for someone to express condolences. And for the few people who have openly expressed their compassion and condolences for us, it warmed my heart. It meant more than you can know.

But going the extra mile to say you know, without saying you know, annoys me. Please don't send me packages of stuff in hopes 'stuff' will make me feel better. Or telling me to be glad I wasn't 7 months pregnant, really?

I hate that sometimes it made for fodder for conversation. Making me glad for the Atlantic, and all those sky miles seperating me from it all.

I expect no one to understand what I am feeling.
 It's anger. It's saddness. It's frustration. It's fear. It's resentment. All unapologetically. They are MY emotions, why should I apologize?

I am angry. I feel jipped. No one can give me any answers? WHY?
I am sad.  Why did my baby have to die?
I am frustrated. WHEN can we try again? SHOULD we try again?
I am afraid. What if it happens again?
I have resentment. I do NOT want to hear about anyone else's morning sickness, or how bad it is. She should be GLAD she is sick. She should relish it. She should take comfort in the fact that she knows her baby is still in there growing. I do not feel sorry for her, or wish her non-sick days before the 1st trimester is over. I don't. Deal with it, because I would've GIVEN anything to have kept feeling that nonstop nausea.

And it is NOT every single day that I feel this way. Some days, I feel just fine. I laugh hard with my husband. We good naturedly trash talk each other when we do our nerdy little jig saw puzzles. We plan trips to Berlin, and Prague. We plan our weekly menus. We go on walks. We do silly dances in the kitchen to crack each other up. We gossip. We quote our favorite movies, and days will go by without any tears falling. I can even look at the Natursutten pacifiers without feeling devastated.

But sometimes, something will catch me by surprise, someone will tell me about someone who is pregnant,  and I'll think...I just wish things could've been different.
And I feel in limbo...waiting to start again.

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.