Traveling with Children: Tips from the Field

There have been several reality checks since I became a mom, such as “wow, I really am never going to sleep eight hours again,” and “children’s toys with multiple pieces are designed to create permanent back pain and mental instability.” One of the most difficult reality checks, however, occurred the first time I traveled with Mac. I mean, I knew it would be different and difficult, but no one can really prepare you for the complete absence of relaxation on a supposed vacation.

Take Paris, for instance. We had a lovely time over Valentine’s weekend. We rented a small apartment two blocks from the Eiffel Tower and spent our days strolling the Seine, touring the Louvre, eating at cafés and generally enjoying Paris during it’s off-season. Ben and I were able to go out for a Valentine’s dinner sans Mac (more on that in the next post), making it one of our most memorable Valentine’s days ever.

Family photo op

HOWEVER, lest you be beguiled by a picture of familial, cosmopolitan bliss, let me let you in on a few things. As lovely as my son is, he is a toddler. Toddlers enjoy routine and naps. When said toddler does not nap, he is, at times, quite fussy. Imagine our cute little family touring the Louvre, inhaling the timeless art. Then imagine a nasal, vociferous little voice eloquently cutting through the expectant hush surrounding a David masterpiece. So cute, right?

Now, cut to the classic Parisian café. This is my LEAST FAVORITE part of traveling. Eating out with Mac, while necessary, induces stomach clenching and no end of spousal friction as Ben admonishes me to “relax.” I CAN’T RELAX BECAUSE I’M IN A PARISIAN CAFÉ WITH MY TODDLER. I mean, there are *real* people around! I’m perched on the edge of my seat, shoving food towards M at any sign of discontentment and at any noise save laughter. In Mac’s defense, we eat out with him a lot and he rarely really “loses his trousers,” as my mom would say. This does not prevent me from running exit strategies through my head whilst I try to both enjoy and shovel my food. 

Montmartre

And last but not least, a story that, in retrospect, sends Ben and I into gales of laughter. So we have this old mobile phone (that still has battery power) that our landlady gave Mac as a toy. I, unwitting idiot that I am, brought it along to Paris. At 5:15 AM on Saturday morning, the phone alarm goes off. LOUDLY. I have no idea what the sound is, and once I figure it out, I have NO idea where the (insert adjective) phone is. In a stuporous panic, I hiss at Ben to go find the phone, because god forbid Mac wakes up. We find the phone, only to realize that everything is in German. It is very difficult to translate things to English  while asleep and panicking, by the way. OH. And although I turned the phone off, it was possessed and this whole scenario was reenacted the next morning. Lesson learned: Never bring along electronic devices that possess unknown demonic powers. 

Champs-Élysées hot cocoa

I know I am not alone in my feelings about traveling with children. It’s not easy. I have found many tips about traveling with kids online, but often people give advice on one subject (i.e., traveling with children on a plane). I've had a hard time finding a more comprehensive approach. In light of this, I’m going to share some tips that have helped us in our travels and that cover a broad range of topics. Keep in mind that I have one child who is a year old, so not everything will be applicable to all families. I am no expert and most of these tips are probably obvious, but it can’t hurt to share a few things that have helped us along the way. (I am not being compensated in any way to endorse any product I mention below).

Transportation

I swear by purchasing seats in the bulkhead if you are flying internationally and your child is less than two and in your lap. If your child is under the weight limit (usually between 20-25 pounds), you can ask for a bassinet that clips into the wall of the bulkhead. Make sure to call the airline to confirm the weight limit and the availability of the bassinet. If the fasten seatbelt light comes on, you will have to pick your baby up, sleeping or not. Now, if your child is heavier than the bassinet weight limit (like mine currently is), the bulkhead is great because you can put your baby on the ground at your feet without sacrificing the ability to move or accidentally kicking the little one. It’s a miraculous thing to watch your sleeping child at your feet while sipping a gin and tonic and selecting your next movie.

In the past, when we've needed M's car seat at our destination, we've taken his infant seat without the base. While traveling, it snaps into our stroller, we gate check the combo for our flight (unless by some miracle there is an empty seat available for Mac), and upon arrival, we just use a seatbelt to fasten it in the car. Now that he has outgrown the infant seat (and will soon require his own seat on flights), we plan on purchasing an inexpensive, lightweight, airplane-friendly car seat like this one just for travel. 

Gotta break up the prose

I always bring something for Mac to drink and have it easily accessible on ascent and descent. He has never had a problem with pressure in his ears, but there is a first time for everything.

If we are crossing time zones, I wear a watch and keep it on our original time zone. During the flight, I am easily able to see what time Mac thinks it is and I try to keep him as close to his schedule as possible, especially mealtimes and bedtime (thanks for this tip, Leah!).

I purchase an inexpensive toy (think consignment or thrift stores) and surprise Mac with it on the flight. This provides precious minutes of fascination and occupation. (Again, thanks Leah!).

I have three contingency plans in the event of total meltdown: string cheese, the iPad, and a warm bottle. I pack ten or so string cheese sticks and slowly tear them into bite size pieces. If done correctly, one stick can last 20 bites and, well, Mac loves cheese. I also pre-load a game or video (or two) onto the iPad and use it as a fallback. And the ace up my sleeve is a bottle of formula. I know M is over a year now and shouldn’t be receiving formula often. However, when we are traveling, obtaining milk isn’t exactly easy, so I’ve started using these packets as a temporary solution (I've also seen these at Target). They are easy to pack, are premeasured, and reduce the chance of a powdery accident. Flight attendants are happy to pour warm water into a bottle and if Mac is near delirium, it induces a lovely coma.

Layovers can be tricky. I cannot speak highly enough of our travel cot, the Guava Lotus. It is extremely lightweight at 13 pounds, takes 15 seconds to set up and take down, and can be worn as a backpack. It is a bit pricey, but this cot has saved us so many times. We take it as a carry-on and if we have a layover, we set the cot up in the terminal and Mac can either play or sleep. This is our favorite baby purchase to date.

If we are traveling by car, we try to break the trip up as much as possible. We drove seven hours to Provence, but divided it up into two days of driving. Mac can last about three hours before the nuclear option is exercised.

If we travel to a place without public transportation, we take a stroller that is relatively lightweight but can handle most kinds of terrain (cobblestones, rough roads, easy hiking trails, etc.). We have been very pleased with our Baby Jogger City Mini GT. It weighs 21 pounds, is incredibly easy to maneuver, and boasts a one-hand fold.

Obligatory Eiffel Tower selfie 

HOWEVER. If you are going to a city and plan to use public transportation at any time, skip the larger stroller and buy a lightweight, compact umbrella stroller that collapses easily and has a shoulder carrying strap. We bought the Maclaren Triumph for our trip to Paris and oh my gosh, was it worth it. It saved Ben from wearing Mac all day every day, allowed Mac the chance to fall asleep in a semi-recumbent position, and was easy to fold and carry. There is no way we would EVER have been able to use the metro or trains in Paris without it. Don’t even try a city with your heavy-but-awesome stroller. You will rue the day.

Last but not least, a good baby or backpack carrier goes a long way. We often bring a soft carrier and then just stuff it in the bottom of the stroller in case Mac needs a change of scenery. If we are in a place where a stroller would be ridiculous (like the Swiss Alps), the backpack carrier is a wonderful alternative and doubles as a high chair.

Next post I’ll chat about tips on eating out, where to stay, how to pack, and parental survival. 

Have you been worrying about the tiny details of your next trip? Let me know. I bet I've worried about the same thing. Even better, if you have a tried-and-true travel tip or gear recommendation, post below and make my future travels easier!

‘til next time.

Little Big Changes; or Pictures of My Trash Cans

There have been a few changes in my life over the past year. Motherhood. An international move. New home. New church. New friends. Different language. But there have been ways that my life has changed that are so small, they almost aren’t worth mentioning. And yet…these Little Big Changes are worth mentioning because they are the shape of my new life. They affect The Mundane. The move, having a baby...these are events that occurred at one point in time. The Little Big Changes are the consequences, the side effects, the details of the events that actually mean something. So here is what The Mundane looks like these days (just insert "...as I run after a one-year-old" after each sentence to understand what being a new mom entails):

• I live daily life by an audible, external rhythm. Our village church bells chime once for a quarter-past the hour, twice on the half-hour, and three times for the forty-five minute mark. At the top of each hour, one set of bells chimes four times, then another set rings the hour (five chimes for five o'clock). Yes. You read that correctly. Each hour. Even 0300. The bells also peal (loudly, repetitively, beautifully) at 0730, 1100, and 1800. So you see, I don't really need a watch anymore.
• My wallet contains three driver's licenses, two currencies, one military ID, and two copies of Ben's orders at all times. When I'm traveling, I add five passports to the mix (same wallet...it's fantastic for travel). Needless to say, I have never been so well-identified in my life.
• I can't buy anything on base without my military ID and passing military checkpoints is a routine way of life. I also carry a ration card for hard liquor, coffee, and fuel (at American prices, no less). 
• My car now has one of those cool, slim license plates. I'm one step closer to Jason Bourne-hood (cue Moby). The multiple passports help with that.
• I have four, soon-to-be five, trashcans in my kitchen. Recycling is a big deal here, and so I have one trashcan (white liner) for glass, one (yellow liner), for plastics and metals, one (blue liner) for cardboard and paper, and one (freaking regular Glade trash bag) for everything else. And soon, I will add a bio bin for compostable waste. I have to say, I actually enjoy this system. It's like going to Office Depot but in your kitchen...an organizer's dream.

  

  If you use a filter, you can make your trashcans look somewhat more sophisticated.

• My sink and my refrigerator are miniscule. The size of our sink has provoked Ben's wrath on multiple occasions (I challenge you to wash an eight quart Dutch oven in this thing without creating a tsunami on my countertops), while the fridge forces us to eat fresh and shop often. Oh. And stuff it to the brim. We have an American fridge/freezer in our basement, but who wants to go to the basement for food? We just use the freezer...because Germans don't have freezers in their homes. No lie.

  

  This is it, folks!
• My washing machine and dryer are German...and so are the instructions on the dryer. Thank goodness the owner's manual was translated to English. Because what does "Pflegeleicht schranktrocken extra" even mean.
  
• I translate my grocery list (at least the non-obvious things) because I now do all my grocery shopping on the economy (Amurican for "not on base").
• I rarely wear cute clothes (like JCrew or heels or jewelry or Kate Spade or anything else that would totally look great in DC). Granted, I'm not sure if this is because I have a one-year-old and the only people I see on a day-to-day basis are my elderly, German neighbors or because I live in the middle of nowhere and some form of precipitation falls from the sky every. single. day.
• And last but not least...I no longer wear my wedding ring. I know, *gasp.* I now wear a simple gold band because one, Europeans rarely wear diamond wedding rings and I like to (pretend to) fit in, and two, I don't like feeling like a target for theft when we travel.
• I am now very good at driving on insanely narrow roads at decently high speeds. Oh, and roundabouts. We Americans are seriously missing out. I never want to sit through a traffic light again.

Mmmkay. We're off for a long weekend in Paris on Friday. When we return, life hacks for traveling mit Baby. Or, "How To Actually Enjoy a 'Vacation' When Accompanied by a Non-Adult."

'Til then. 

·       

Our World

I’m sitting in Landstuhl, sipping a lukewarm Milchkaffee and soaking in Sun and Alone Time. I’ve been trying to figure out the topic of this blog post since the last one and can’t for the life of me think of something pithy, brilliant, or engaging. So you’re stuck with this super-informative and possible boring post. Many of our friends and family ask us questions about why we're here and what life looks like. And perhaps you have the same questions too and perhaps you want a glimpse of the Mundane Details of our life. I hope so, otherwise this post will be such a waste!

We live about an hour-and-a-half west of Frankfurt in a teensy, tinsy village called Jettenbach. It is literally in the middle of nowhere, only reached by traversing over-hill-and-dale roads. Jettenbach has a population of approximately 800 people, about thirty of whom are Americans, although I never see them. My neighbors are German and I’ve managed to meet a few other Jettenbachers at village fests. It is great for language practice, as most do not speak English. The nearest large-ish city is Kaiserlautern, about forty minutes away. We’re forty minutes from the French border, so really fairly far southwest in Germany.

 The area we live in is dominated by Ramstein Air Base, a massive base near the town of the same name. There are approximately 50,000 Americans in this region and approximately eighteen additional, smaller American bases (a remnant of Cold War era politics). These bases are, shockingly to me at least, still in operation. And so, there are Americans at each base. Ramstein AFB is by far the largest, with a “mall” complete with movie theater and the military’s version of Walmart (the Base Exchange/Post Exchange, or BX/PX for short). RAFB also houses hundreds of soldiers and their families, has a library, grocery store (commissary), post office, bowling alley, Chili’s, Macaroni Grill, elementary school, and a high school with over one thousand students. The coolest part of the base is the massive runway, where on any given day a massive C1-Something-Or-Other takes off on a mission of some sort. RAFB serves as the headquarters for NATO and the control center for Middle Eastern, African, and European military operations. It is also the center of American life in the Rhineland-Pfalz region of Germany. Ben and I are often on base for groceries, a random toiletry, or the gym. It is an odd thing that showing my military ID at a guarded military entrance is a normal part of life now. For geographical assistance, we live about twenty minutes north of the base.

Landstuhl Regional Medical Center is the second-largest base in the region and is about ten minutes away from RAFB. The hospital is placed at the top of a large hill, hidden amidst a forest of pine trees, and overlooks the town of Landstuhl. This is where Ben works and where military members and their dependents receive their medical care. It is also where casualties of war receive care. For example, if a soldier (usually an American but possibly one of our allies or even a civilian) is injured in the Middle East, Africa, or Europe, RAFB sends a plane to their location to retrieve them with physicians and flight nurses on board. They return to RAFB, where the injured individual is transported to Landstuhl for stabilization. If necessary, they are then flown from RAFB back to the US for further treatment at Walter Reed.

There is, as you can see, a large American community here. Some live on base, but most live “on the economy,” in a surrounding German village. People here are quick to help each other, quick to make a friend. There is a sense that we are all in the same boat. We all miss family, most of us are trying to figure out German culture and language, and we’ve all had to build community from scratch. Everyone understands military lingo, which is a language in and of itself. I am just now figuring out what some of the thousands of acronyms mean. Everyone uses the NATO alphabetical system (my last name is Delta Alpha X-ray Oscar November). Everyone is either an Army family or an Air Force family. We all stick out in German culture and are used to constantly feeling humiliated in our attempts at speaking Deutsch (yesterday I told the post office clerk that "I want understand" while what I meant was "I understand a little Deutsch"). We miss the same foods (Mexican), wish Target was close by, and that family was closer. Some Americans really hate it here and count down until their return stateside. Others, most I think, love living here and realize that we have an amazing opportunity to travel and live in Europe.

So there you have it. I hope that this gives some insight into how our life here is arranged, what we are actually doing here, and what the American subculture here feels like. Next up, I'll recount all the little things that have changed my life in a big way.

What questions do you have? I’d love to answer!

Sound Bites

In an effort to speed up the process of my re-entry into the blogosphere, here are a few glimpses into Daxon Life over the last six weeks:

French much?

• Mac and I survived our international flight with aplomb. The stateside journey, however, brought out depths of despair in both child and mother that I hope never to witness-slash-experience again. Thank goodness for flight attendants who warm bottles for moms and Overly Nice Texans (capitalized because they are deserving of proper noun-hood). 
• Christmas was...the first time reality trumped expectation. In other words, difficult. And yet there were solidly good moments of cheer, encouragement, and fellowship. Ben made Flaming Rum Punch. It flamed very well indeed. Mac loved his cousin, especially when he got the chance to punch her in the face/knock her over/pull her ears, etc., etc. We're not sure if his affection was reciprocated. Christ's Advent seemed much more real this year, perhaps because I very much needed Light in the Darkness.
• Macallan turned one, his party was a success, and he now has an ungodly amount of toys. Which foreshadows many more Christmas-followed-by-birthday Decembers. I laughed when I realized that I was throwing an "old-fashioned" birthday party with only streamers, balloons, and cake. No themes, adult beverages, or whimsical decor here, thank you very much. (Mind you, this is because I planned this party a week in advance. I have a feeling that I will give into the Pressures of the Age sometime in the future).
• Our trip to D.C. was wonderfully strange. Mac decided to stop sleeping, so there's that. I decided, while sobbing over a misplaced earring, that the trials of living out of a suitcase for four weeks were getting to me. It was truly wonderful to see friends and be back in our home city of seven months ago, and yet so very strange to not be home. It was challenging to "catch up" with best friends when what I wanted to do was just live life with them instead of cramming seven-months-worth of conversation into a neatly allotted two hours and twenty minutes. 
• It was equally strange to board a plane to Europe, not with a sense of excitement and oh-my-gosh-I'm-going-to Europe, but thank-God-we're-going-home. And to be happy to hear Deutsch again. What is happening.
• Exactly six days after returning home, we decided to go to France for a long weekend. Provence to be specific. Yes, insane. But mostly enjoyable. We listened to Serial on the long drive (I think he did it but shouldn't be in jail), practiced eating in French restaurants with a one-year-old (child-friendly apparently means white tablecloths to the French), slept in a Provencal country home, and wandered through tiny French villages. Ben was in truffle heaven...there was a truffle market, a mass in honor of the patron saint of truffles, and a truffle auction. I indulged my passion for old stone by investigating castle ruins and stopping in as many medieval churches as was allowed. Mac continued his sleep strike and a fun time was had by all.

Our B&B

Old stone. My favorite.

And now we're back. Legitimately back. No-travel-plans-for-at-least-two-weeks back. I'm trying to figure out the balance between motherhood and self-interested pursuits. Such as blogging. I've invented a new color for someone's palette: Dementor Grey. It is a color that sucks one's soul out and leaves an affinity for red wine and pjs in its place. Seriously...I haven't seen legitimate sunshine in two weeks. And the Grey continues. 

Next up...why I think this season of the Bachelor is worth watching.

Just kidding. Stay tuned.

A Word Study

Daunting. 

Seeming difficult to deal with in prospect; intimidating. 

Synonyms: intimidating, formidable, disconcerting, unnerving, unsettling, dismaying; discouraging, disheartening, dispiriting, demoralizing; forbidding, ominous, awesome, frightening, fearsome; challenging, taxing, exacting. 

Daunt. Verb. Circa 1300 AD. From Old French "danter,"meaning "to vanquish." From the Latin "domare," meaning "to tame."

Thank you, Google and Online Etymology Dictionary. I kind of love etymology. One, because I am a huge nerd. Two, because the history of words is such a lovely tapestry. Threads connecting civilizations, cultures, languages throughout time, ever changing, ever reflecting change. History from a different perspective.

But that isn't what I am writing about. How would you use daunting in a sentence? I immediately think of grand tasks - summiting Everest, vanquishing a great enemy - you know, the things great literature is made of. How about these sentences for examples:

"The international trip was daunting to the mother." 
"The mother was daunted by traveling internationally with her baby."
"The constant, rambunctious movement of her son meant that the 20 hour international journey was daunting to the mom."

Yep. That is what I am writing about. No great enemy to vanquish. Unless you count jet lag to be that enemy. Now that I think of it, that'll do. Mac and I set out on a Grand Adventure on Monday. We travel from Frankfurt, to Amsterdam. Then Amsterdam to Minneapolis (whyyyyyy......), then Minneapolis to Oklahoma City. It's about 20 hours of travel time total and the longest leg is an eight hour flight. OH.

Did I mention I'm going alone? ALONE. I have this image of my 25 lb. son climbing over fellow passengers, writhing in my arms as he fusses, not sleeping because he has reached the point where he is so tired that sleep is impossible. You know, Manic Baby Syndrome. Meanwhile, I am starving and unable to use the facilities. Did I mention I'm sipping a vodka tonic from Mac's sippy cup? It might happen. I am hoping that Mac's charm and good looks will get us far. (And yes, I am using my child for my own benefit). Best case scenario...a lovely grandma is sitting next to us and just can't get enough of my toddling child. With my luck, it'll be this guy (this is actually hilarious).

Inhale. Exhale. I know it will be fine, mostly because it has to be. I have a few tricks up my sleeve...a fantastic travel crib that will become Mac's haven on layovers. String cheese in abundance. New toys. Prayer. I'm tempted to convert to Catholicism just so I can cross myself multiple times throughout the day. Alas, it is not to be. In the end, I shall vanquish and tame this ominous, forbidding, exacting journey. And on the other side, I will be an Expert on traveling internationally with a child. I might even write a blog post about our journey.

Wish me luck, dear friends. Or better yet, send me a Delta drink voucher.

'Til next time.

Expectation

Expectation. I remember as a child that wonderful feeling. This time of year everything seemed magical. I remember how every Christmas preparation was laced with excitement...paper chains, Christmas lights decorating strange places in our bedrooms (i.e., curtain rods), the careful setting out of the fine porcelain manger scene. On the four Sundays preceding Christmas, my family would gather in the dark, light the Advent wreath, eat Little Debbie Christmas Tree Cakes (one of God's great gifts to mankind), drink hot cocoa, and breathe in the Expectation of Something Big Coming. Someone Coming. And then, on Christmas Eve, when each of my siblings and I were literally bursting with excitement (because Everything was beginning), we would have our Christmas meal, open our ornaments from our parents, and try not to light ourselves on fire (because one year, it happened...shout out to you, Mom. Be wary of cute holiday decor that involves attaching small candles to dinner plates). The fifth candle was lit, the room was no longer dark. We all demanded to sleep in the same room (until I was too Old to do this...such a sad Susan moment). We lit a candle, snuggled up, and fell asleep well after midnight. And the next morning (read five hours later), much to my parents' yearly chagrin, we would run wildly through the house, wake said parents up, be told sternly to return to bed until it was 6 AM, chatter excitedly and obediently in our beds, and then...Expectation Fulfilled. Stockings bursting, parents sleepy, children bright-eyed, treasure-hunting, package-ripping, laugher-making fulfillment.

Expectation. That wonderful child-like sense of wonder, of trust, that what you expect will be as grand as you hope. I remember when my child-like wonder gave way to the reality that Christmas was just another day, followed by more days. Regular ones. It was so hard for me to grow up, so heartbreaking. Even now, the memory is sad. Because the wonder seemed to have gone forever.  These days, now that I am Mature (insert wild laughter here), I see that Wonder can be found again. Flashes of joy are all around. But they are flashes, not beams. And I see that that is ok. Watching Mac get giddily excited at the sight of the Christmas tree...Flash. A visit to a town that fulfills all Christmas fantasies...Flash. The uneven cobblestones, a mug of hot Glühwein warming soul and hands, the sight of variating medieval stone comprising buildings, walls, streets ...Flash. The first snowfall of the season. Pine boughs gilded with snow stacked row after row on the hill across from my house. Flash. Flash.

As we left Rothenburg (the oh-so-perfect town mentioned above), a lady in a store wished me a lovely Advent season. And I've been thinking on that since. She didn't say "Merry Christmas" as I did. No, she wished a lovely season of Expectation. Not the culmination, the waiting. I'm sure she didn't mean it to be quite so laden with meaning. Christmas here in Germany isn't so much about the day as it is about a season, stretching from Advent to the Feast of the Epiphany on January 6th, with much more observance and respect for the religious aspect of the holiday. (We are trying to incorporate this into our family life...Christmas as a season focused on the church holy days instead of one day). But I took two things away from that exchange. One, I think I may start wishing people a lovely Advent season...that is, after all, the season we are currently in. It isn't Christmas yet. And two, as we wait here in the Dark, as each week the candles are progressively lit, as simple flashes of joy crop up here and there, I need to be reminded that my greatest Expectation has been fulfilled. That all these flashes are just a foretaste of what will come. That Darkness has been banished, chains have been loosed, redemption has been accomplished. The Light is come.

And so, I wish you a season of great Expectation. Flashes of joy all 'round. 

'til next time.

Stubbed Toe Syndrome

Dear All.

As I sit tucked away in a cozy chalet in the Swiss Alps, I find it very humorous that we had to come here to finally gain access to the internet. And let me say how very sorry I am that, after starting a blog, I then stopped said blog. It's a pet peeve of mine, that starting-and-stopping of the Cyber World. I can honestly say that I am, however, above my own reproach. Because one must have internet to post on the internet. I know this probably sounds a bit like my last post. Ya  know, the one in AUGUST. But nothing has changed so there you have it. In all seriousness, while it has been nice to be detached from the addicting and perhaps dehumanizing effects of social media (more on that here: https://marshillaudio.org/catalog/topics/media), I've also felt that detachment to be a bit like a stubbed toe. Expectation: walk across the room (book a trip, do the budget, talk to family, answer emails, blog). Reality: take three steps and crumple from the mind-numbing pain of a stubbed toe (drive 30 minutes to sit in the parking lot of the public library, use the internet, and listen to your 10-month-old protest his inactivity). And....repeat. Thankfully, sanity and the internet come in the form of a nice, German Telekom representative on Thursday.

In the meantime, another update (soon these posts will be less update, more stream-of-consciousness...you lucky thing you). Our home is finally settled. More settled than our home ever was in DC, in fact. And I am in love. I've never lived in a place that makes it easy to live, if that makes sense. We have space, a view, quiet, room to grow. It is easy to keep clean and has a cozy-cottage feel. I've spent time making it just as I want. It is now such a haven, one I am incredibly thankful for. Stay tuned for the tour-of-my-house-in-pics/video post!

Fall is in full swing in our neck of the woods. I'm enjoying becoming friends with a favorite gathering of trees and swath of field. Each day brings slight changes to foliage and landscape. Instead of a fall season that lasts two weeks, this season has lasted over a month and the leaves are still drifting and the colors are progressively more vibrant. Most days are crisp, beginning with dense fog, and progressing to a drizzly grey. I'm ruminating on how to best cope with these melancholy days. I love the cozy feeling they induce, but that coziness quickly turns morose after about four such days in a row. My mom suggested having a grey-day ritual. Perhaps turning on a certain playlist at 4 PM every grey-day or making a special drink or something. I'm also thinking about following the church calendar more closely to help the time pass in a meaningful way. Anyway, ideas and suggestions are very welcome.

On that note, I'm going to sign off. As I mentioned, we are spending a long holiday weekend in Switzerland. It is off-season, so the tiny town we are staying in (only accessible by cable-car/train) is mostly deserted. Snow is everywhere, the quiet is pleasantly deafening, the view is breathtaking (and we set it to music), and we're enjoying a slow morning, multiple cups of coffee, our wonderful all-wood chalet, and, yes, internet. But enough of this online stuff. I'm off to read a book.

'Til next time.

A

PS - For reasons I will not go into, I can't upload pics of Switzerland to this post. Check out my Facebook/Instagram page if you are dying to see some.