A Proper Saxon Christmas Pt. 2: Nutcracker Men and Merry Cherubs!

True to his word, on the first Advent eve, Opa started putting up tiny decorations in special places around our home—or was it really the work of the Weihnachtsmann?

One by one, a miniature choir of chubby, wooden angels began to appear in the glass kitchen cabinet. Every day, a new one, each with a musical instrument—some playing a trumpet, or a harp, or an organ.

On the kitchen reading table now sat four deep red candles in a thick WeihnachtsKranz (Christmas wreath), to be lit one by one—one for every Sunday of the special Adventzeit.

And then there were the traditional, handgemacht (handmade) figurines of the Erzgebirge, little Raüchermanner (Smoking Men) who puff scented smoke when a Raücherkerze (incense cone) is lit inside, and wooden nutcrackers.

Now, the particular Nutcracker guy we have isn’t really a nutcracker at all, but a bushy-browed fellow on horseback, wearing brightly colored uniform! He’s always looking fierce, to represent those harsh German authorities of the Ore Mountain mines in the late 1800’s.

This region in East Germany bordering the Czech Republic, besides it’s delicious food, is also famous for its grand mountains, forests, and mining industry. It’s become my once-in-awhile-home since my son was born here in 2009.

An artisan hand-paints the nutcrackers in Saxony

The wooden figurines are well-known Erzgebirge handicrafts made by the local communities since hundreds of years. The ones that sit on our kitchen table now aren’t newly bought decorations; they’ve been in the family for years, sort of vintage artifacts—heirlooms—that resurface every December.

The little prune-men, with their bodies made of dried prunes, are some of my favorite. A family friend last week, added another artifact to our collection: a lucky prune chimney sweeper.

I’ll never forget the first time one I met a real chimney sweep, five years ago, in this house. My husband had told me that if the black-uniformed men ever came to your door, they were believed to bring good luck! I was pregnant at the time, and hoping for all the luck (blessings) in the world for my new baby who was on his way!

So when the doorbell rang one day, and a very tall, smiling man in a top hat and buttoned-down uniform cheerily appeared to sweep the soot off our chimney, I felt like a little child shaking hands with the Weihnachtsmann! (I only found out much later that he’d been hired, of course, to work that day.)

But innocence is bliss, and Christmas is for innocent children—and children at heart.

It’s what I love about my two kids’ ages right now (nearly 2 and nearly 5): they are still young enough to be whisked away in the mind to a place where wonderful things happen at Christmas!

We’ve read together, of course, the real story; they know about the angels and the Star, and the baby Jesus—but I do think a little of that other magic is fun too, when you mix traditions with culture and throw in a little of your own twists.

Yes, we can have real evergreens and traditional Saxon figurines…but we can cut out simple paper snowflakes and string them on the windows, too. We can tell stories about surprises and magic …but we do know that love is the biggest magic of it all.

And when Saint Nick leaves two gigantic chocolate men on the doorstep to eat, and more chocolate surprises in their winter boots (as he did last December 6)…

…or when you can write wish lists and be on your best behavior for the Weihnachtsmann, or when soft snowflakes flutter down, sprinkling everything in the village like the frosting on a birthday cake…

…and when you can enjoy all these simple pleasures with the wonder of a little child, then Christmas becomes, not a stressful occasion, but a lot of FUN.

I know it won’t be long until they’ll be older, and perhaps jaded. So, while their little eyes are still wide with wonder and delight, I’ll be enjoying the season’s magic, too.

Yesterday, as the son and I skipped through a slushy path on the way home from school, he looked at me thoughtfully and then posed a very serious question.

“Mom, do you know who actually gives us the uberraschungs (surprise gifts) at Christmas?”

“Um…the Weihnachtsmann?” (I’m hoping he hasn’t found the secret stash of packages hiding in our cabinet.)

“Well, someone else, too! Do you know? There’s the Weihnachtsmann, and Niklaus, and…do you know who else?”

“Tell me!”

Splashing his boots through the half frozen mud, with an intelligent look that only a nearly-five-year-old can properly pull off, he said:

“The postman, of course.”

Wide Awake in Winter

Do you know how snow-dust sparkles? I never knew—until yesterday.

If it is a sunny day, like the ones we’ve been having lately, then winter dances and pierces and sweeps through the senses.

Those snowflakes didn’t just flutter down. They swirled and twirled and whirled like magic. Crisp. Gleaming. White.

Pure white—but sometimes, when the sun’s reflection bounces off of icicles and snow-dust, suddenly, one sees vibrant colors. It is ten degrees below freezing point—and yet, walking through the woods, I feel warmth.

This month, the start of the New Year, I am doing lots of celebrating—a magical winter spell sets off the perfect mood; I gaze at the way sharp shadows of light strike the snow at 11 o’clock.

Did you get to celebrate something today?

Celebration isn’t always fireworks, candles and cake. Sometimes, celebration is simply being thankful. It’s acknowledging. It’s saying, “Yes, this is where I am meant to be, and I’m going to make the most of it.”

Celebration can also be commemorating: observing, honoring, and remembering.

I am honoring my daughter’s first babbles, her awkward “dance” (bouncing) every time she hears the sound of music, and the murmuring exhale she grunts when I tell her she’s eaten quite enough today.

I am remembering the squishy sound of my son’s gummistiefels as he sloshes through every muddy pile of melting ice.

And the way his concerned four-year-old voice pierces my train of thought loudly:

“Mom, the baby’s alive!”

(He means, she’s woken up—I must get back to mommy-work.)

So I’ll be realistic too. Not every moment is met with joy. There is the mundane, day to day that being a mother requires: endless nappy changes, dishes to wash and little people to keep happy and well-fed. Trips to the doctor’s office, meeting with the school principal, laundry to sort, hang, and fold. And always, a floor of toys to sweep.

And maybe, that’s why we need to celebrate the special moments more. Even the ones we think aren’t quite that special.

I take this 3-kilometer walk every day to pick up my son from school. The same routine. My fingers are frozen as we trudge through the show. But I try to make each day on the same route a new experience.

The sunlight’s glint is never exactly as it was yesterday; the village sounds are never just the same. On some days, I find horse-riders trotting through the streets; other times, snow-sweeping tractors plowing through the neighbor’s gardens.

I’ll admit, it wasn’t always so for me. With my first pregnancy, I was also in this same village, and I felt cold, and isolated, and bored.

It was a new experience in a foreign country (a new continent!), and I’d had all the usual moods a pregnant woman goes through. Not used to eat cold herring and schwarzbrot for dinner, I craved the warmth of tropical islands, the chaotic mess of the city. And oh, yes, I missed speaking English with other people!

It wasn’t easy, that first long winter, before my son was born. And of course, the days following, as a new mom, were even tougher.

But this time around, I’m getting a second chance at choosing: choosing joy over self-absorbedness, artistic expression over boredom. Choosing to see the sun through the shadows, to notice the way nature unfolds, envelops, and captivates. Choosing to appreciate and reciprocate the love of my family here, who care for us so well.

As I walk the same snow-swept paths along the edge of this Eastern German forest trail, I’m glad to be just where I am today.

Sometimes, my daughter is fast asleep in her stroller, and other times, she is wide awake.

Wide awake, I’ve realized, is how I want to be.

Exploring the world with the senses I’ve had all these years, but now finding new ways to use them.

Finding new ways to come alive.

Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.
—Oscar Wilde

Waking up in Wonderland

Sleep-ins, as all moms know, become something of a distant memory once a baby is born.

But today, I welcome my 8-month old’s wake up call, her whining to go outside.

Because today we are in the “City of Pines”—that lovely, cool climate escape called Baguio. I slip into some comfy strolling clothes, and then push her out into the sweet-scented open.

The breakfast buffet at the hotel’s restaurant smells of buttery croissants, homemade jams, and finely brewed coffee. That, mixed with Asian aromas from the giant spread: garlic-spiced longganisa, honey soy chicken, fish fillets and a large pot of steaming congee. I spy salted egg, banggus and ampalaya ensalada…

But we’re not up this early to eat—not just yet. We’ll wait for the sleeping boys and then pig out later. I’ve packed my camera, so we’ll go revel in this morning hour.

We catch mist rising; cascading streaks of early light. Hints of a perfect day awaiting us, its sun-showers spraying through a forest of impossibly tall pines.

More pretty things on the pathway: beds of flowers, decked with frosty Christmas beads and giant glass baubles, a wishing pond with dancing kois and invisible water nymphs. At its bottom, a thousand coins glisten.

Dare I make a wish?

And still more pretty things: Paved up-hills and down-hills, winding roads to travel on foot. Further on, we overlook a silent lake. There’s a sprawling golf course in the distance, nestled in this carpeted playground of vibrant green.

Baguio city, tucked away in the Cordillera mountain ranges,  was once the recreation destination for US soldiers, when they held bases around the country. Because of its high altitude, the temperature is always pleasantly cool. Today, it’s just 17 degrees, a refreshing change from the usual humidity we’re used to.

My baby basks.

She is silent, enjoying, taking in the peace and stillness of this wonderland. Every now and then, she coos a little, and when the hotel staff greets her with a good morning, she eyes them suspiciously before breaking just a half smile from an upturned, pouty lip.

She’s a bit suplada like that.

I scold her for being unfriendly, but maybe she just needs to get out more. We turn down towards an open road, continuing our stroll until it’s time to sleep again.

And this time, I welcome her dreamy midday slumber with a nap myself.

+++

As partial payment for a project I did for the Philippines Dept. of Tourism this year, I was given a four-day complimentary stay at The Manor. This charming luxury hotel is located at Camp John Hay and—besides other delicious things—serves the most amazing gourmet salads.

Home

My Girl

Scanning blank pages on this new morning. White space to fill—not mine, but my daughter’s. This new life which has yet to be lived; days and milestones yet to be celebrated.

Moments yet to be realized and treasured.

A brand new start, for something that hasn’t existed yet. How do you capture innocence? How do you celebrate life so pure, so angelic, so vulnerable?

We begin a new journey together, my love. And as we do, I hold your hand, but hope to not hold you back.

Life is for learning, exploring, making mistakes, and trying again.

Life is for love, and loss, and living again.

You must write in the pages of your own book—I can guide you, but not write them for you. You will learn with time, grow with the moments; intuition will guide you, and love will always bring you back home.

You were born into a family of travelers, wanderers, explorers, adventures. We will give you the experiences which will be yours to keep, the boat to set sail and launch out to new horizons. But what you find there and where you decide to anchor will be up to you and your choices.

I can hold you and nurture you only for a little while. I can be your strength just a few years.

When you finally go out on your own, when you finally know what it means to follow your heart, I trust that you will hear it beating in all the right directions.

I trust you will find your way.

Just as you found your way to us.

Alexandra, born March 1, 2013

Sometimes, Moms Wish They Were Einstein

Last night, as I sat in the living room watching Masterchef, my son was sorting his Bob the Builder ABC flashcards on the carpet, and found one that particularly interested him.

He examined it for a few minutes silently, staring and staring—before I noticed what he was doing.

“What’s this, mom?”

“It’s X, for X-ray.”

“But what’s this part?”

“Bones, those are bones. Your body is full of bones.”

“Do dogs have bones?”

“Yes. Most living things have bones.”

“Do chairs have bones?”

“No, chairs are not alive.”

He kept staring at the picture.

I turned off the TV.

“Read this one, mom!”

“I just read it, it’s X for X-ray. Remember, when you go to the doctor, he sometimes takes pictures of your body? That picture is called an X-ray. He checks you to see if all your bones are okay.”

“You mean, like not broken?”

“Yes, not broken.”

We packed up the mess in the living room and headed upstairs, where I decided to show him some kid-friendly anatomy pictures on the Internet.

And the questions kept coming…

“Is that a toten-kopf?”

“Yes, toten-kopf in German. In English, it’s called a skull.”

“And is that a zipper?”

“Hmmm, it does look like a zipper. It’s called your spine. It’s the bones that go all the way down your back.”

“Mom, how does poop get in my body?”

…as we talked for the next hour, I felt just as in awe. Here was my child, turned three years old just a week ago, and here was the great big world of knowledge he was so eager to learn about.

“E-ner-gy…small intestine…large intestine…” he repeated all the words that interested him, as we found some educational videos on Youtube, he took charge of my laptop for the next hour, begging me to watch the next one, and the next, to learn about digestion, and body organs, and heart-beats, and zipper-bones.

And how I wished I were Einstein! So I could properly explain all those thousands of legitimate questions.

I love three-year-olds, this delicate yet strong age of innocence; curiosity; development. I love waking up every morning with my boy, knowing that it is a brand new day of learning, loving, and life.

Today is the last day of 2012…cheers to a new year of discovery!

What I Learned Living in Italy without Internet

From May till September of this year, my small family lived on Lake Como in Northern Italy, where my husband worked at a water-sports center for the summer season.

The tiny apartment we were blessed to call home for those few months was charming in an old-fashioned way. It was a bright yellow centuries-old flat, on the corner of a narrow cobblestone street, so close to my neighbor’s window that not only could they see our underwear hanging out to dry; we could also hear their every whisper, laugh and (all too often) shouting marital disputes at 3am.

We, like any normal people, wanted to buy a super-fast wifi connection for our temporary home. But in order to do that, we would have to sign a whole year’s lease. Knowing we weren’t going to stay in the country that long, we opted to not have it. (When we finally purchased a plug-in Internet device, it was so slow that it was worse than having none.)

This made for daily trips to the wifi-friendly Bar Pace café across the street, where we sipped creamy cappuccino, ate fresh, fluffy croissants, and checked our emails for half an hour.

Weekends on the lake got a little more active, with parachuters dropping down from the Alpine slopes, kitesurfers plowing through the rippled waters, sailboats in regattas, and dozens of sunbathers enjoying summer.

But most of the time, life in Como was mostly uneventful; night-life was non-existent.

And after those slow-paced months, the realization hit me:

I didn’t miss not having Internet.

I didn’t miss not being “socially” connected.

I didn’t even miss texting!

I had a Twitter account, and a Facebook Page, and even a LinkedIn, yet never felt the urge to check my friends’ updates—never knew what was going on in half a thousand other people’s lives.

Here’s what I did do:

Ate chocolate gelato every day

Swam every day with my son

Read more books

Saw more sunsets

Did a lot of people-watching

Did a lot of listening

Went running every morning

Used my telephone only to book occasional dinners at restaurants, doctor appointments, and reach my husband

Painted more 

Drank lots of prosecco and vino rosso with girlfriends, without distractions

Read more stories to my son

Fed swans and ducks every day

Watched Futurama episodes as a family on our laptop, every night

Learned a little Italian (“Bambini! Attentione! Macchina!”)

Got off my butt to exercise and lost 16 lbs

 

For those few months, I also did more dishes, laundry and house chores than I’ve ever done in my short history of being married and being a mom. It was exhausting, since I also spent every moment with my son.

I spent every moment with my son.

And my husband, when he came home from work, did, too.

Today, I’m reminding myself of what life was like without an Internet connection there in Italy, because in a day or so, my world will change.

I’m buying a Smartphone.

Because of new changes, lifestyle moves, new work, travel and just plain Real Life, I’m getting back to being universally connected. I don’t want to be unrealistic about new business start-ups, career and family, and it’s essential that I strive for a balance (Main point: STRIVE.).

Yes, I’ll suddenly be ever-present in the online world, able to see all my updates and send out messages on the fly.

But I don’t ever want to forget the sweet life, the real Dolce Vita.

And that was, dear readers, being ever-present for my son, for my husband, and for myself—without distractions of modern living.

It was being able to hear myself think.

It was being able to hear both of my boys laugh, play, and even snore.

It was being able to silently pray, without static.

I’m making this note today so that maybe, even when Amazon delivers my brand new gadget, I can still find a balance-point–somewhere in-between real life, and the sweet life.

Maybe I can keep in mind what really matters.

If you have helpful tips on parenting while still being realistic about other obligations, work, etc, I’d love to hear from you 🙂

“Play with Me, Mommy!”

We’re great at social networks, but how are we connecting with our kids?

“Play with me, mommy!”

My toddler said these words about five times today, and he says it just about every day.

“I’m baking you a playmate here inside my tummy!” is my immediate reaction—together with a sigh to myself that maybe when the second child really is big enough to play with him, they’ll both leave me alone to do my work in peace.

But today, reading HandsFreeMama’s blog got me thinking. And thinking. And realizing.

My son is nearly three years old. That’s not quite a toddler anymore. Before I know it, he really won’t be saying those words anymore. I’m also aware that the day will come, when I will want to play with him, and I won’t be “fun” or “cool” anymore.

Time flies too fast; you suddenly understand that when you’re a parent.

There’s a reason I opted for being a work-from-home mom, and only taking job offers which allowed for that. Essentially, it was so that I could be there for my child. When I had a 10-6 job in a cozy air-con office, it sure was nice getting a bigger salary. But I’d leave the house early morning, and then at the end of the day, when I came home to my kid, he was nearly asleep. I felt like I was missing out on his life. I wanted to take more charge of my parenting.

Problem is, now that I have plenty of time to spend with him, the opposite happens. He brings me joy and aggravation. I send him off to kindergarten so that I can have a few hours to do the work I need to do. And when he comes home, I am happy that my husband is here to take him outside and play, and do all those rowdy boy things.

I need to stop.

Stop trying to be properly productive, to have things to show for, to stop saying to my son, “Go play by yourself for a bit.”

Because these days will never come again.

Of course, we also need to be realistic as parents. It’s my choice to send him to Kindergarten, because we moms DO need time for ourselves (I was homeschooled, and have nothing against it, if a mom is 100 per cent focused on homeschooling and has the energy for it—like my mom was), and so that time is allotted to work on what I need to do.

But I also need to LOVE.

Autumn in Germany

Love him during this time when he still hugs me back, no matter what. Love him through each stage of growth, firmly.

I need to SPEND MORE TIME.

Time when he is around, to get down on his level and see things from his perspective.

I need to DANCE.

Like today, when we played kiddy music and spun around and around the room, holding hands and giggling, dancing like silly clowns and having the time of our lives being dizzy.

I need to BE MORE CONNECTED.

We talk about striving for better connectivity in our social networks; we put effort into cultivating adult relationships for career and profit; but how do we connect with our kids as parents? How aware are we of their feelings, their needs, or their dreams?

I just need to BE THERE.

Sometimes, when we wake up in the morning, my son, husband and I just lie in bed and HUG and CUDDLE. We often fall asleep again for a few more minutes, in each others’ arms and warmth. We just spend those moments being there, together.

In those moments, I can feel like nothing else matters—not the worries of last night, not all the going-ons in my head, not the trivial problems and challenges of life. It’s just peaceful. These are the moments I want to remember, and want my children to remember.

I want them to remember that their mom was there, and always had TIME to play with them.

On Mood Swings and Mommyness

This is my 100^th blog post. So, I wanted to make it really special. I thought to craft a post that would inspire or intrigue, or just interest…someone.

However, horrible mood swings are taking place this week (and thank God for female hormones we can blame it on). So instead of being anything fantastic or enlightening, or thoughtful, this note is just to say that sometimes, it’s hard work being a mom.

If you are a mom and reading this, I know how it feels—you want to please and nourish your family; you want to be the best you be—for them. Cook the right meals, set good appointments; get stuff done.

And sometimes, that just doesn’t happen.

Sometimes, you are horrible, moody, lazy, and do everything wrong. Your own standards can’t be reached, your love cannot get you through the day; you burn the cake and the kids wet their beds twice (no, thrice) in a row.

That’s just how life goes, and since we can’t force creativity or inspiration, or special moments, we learn to live and deal with them. Day after day.

But isn’t being a mom all about tending those special moments? Creating memories that only we can understand; seeing the good and potential in others that only we can see; giving and giving again of our love, even when it is tiring and our patience is running out, and there feels like nothing left?

Isn’t it about living anyway, and knowing that in the end, it’s all worth it? My reward comes in the little hugs and kisses at the end of a long day. The cuddles from my boys, who have their own ways of saying, thank you.

My reward comes in knowing that every day, I’m painting a canvas of a life—just letting it flow—without trying to reason or put it in a box. Without trying to force it. Just letting the colors of this new, little life mix into each other and produce their own work of art.

Yes, day after day.

…If you are a mom, what gives you the strength to go on another day?

South Tyrol Pt. 2: Traveling with a Kid

Traveling as a couple is much more different than traveling as a couple with a child.

Do you notice how kids make strangers smile, and the world seem a bit friendlier? Kids also throw your whole schedule off, force you to go at a slower pace; they test your patience and your spontaneity skills. They test your team-working skills, how you balance life as two separate people guiding another little life.

And if your child is a boy, you notice every truck on the highway, every crane on the roadside, every airplane in the sky.

If you have a kid, you can’t drink as late into the night as you’d like, or check out every bar that takes your interest. You might make stops at the dinosaur museum that you’d never wanted to visit before, or the zoo, or the local playground that had been there all this time, yet you never noticed.

You may wake up earlier, and see the sunrise…you may wake up many times at night, and enjoy the moonlight. You may be more tired when traveling, or more irritated…or, you may just have more fun.

If you are a parent, how has travel with a kid changed the way you journey?

 

No, You Don’t Forget the Pain

A personal note from another mom today, sharing her birthing experience, reminded me how much mine was all about realizing the limits of my physical capabilities, and being willing to trust—both in the Lord, and in higher science.

In the months leading up to my son’s birth, I prepared as best I could, because I wanted it all-natural. It just seemed the “right” thing to do. And who doesn’t want to do it right? I studied websites, read books, talked to people, attended classes, requested a water birth, and did everything I knew was possible.

But then, it wasn’t just a few hours or a day of labor. Mine is the birth story you shouldn’t hear if you are about to go into labor. It wasn’t pretty at all, except pretty painful.

Even if I had the best medical system in Germany, the best doctors, the best health care, an emergency C-Section was still needed after two whole days, and yes, please, I was so ready to just have them cut me open and yank it out.

(Nowadays, whenever I want to get mad at my husband for little things, I remember how he stayed by my side in the operating room, and how he still stayed married to me after seeing me in that disgusting, sorry, ugly state…and I love him all over again.)

My lesson here, was that you can—and should—plan well, but when the time comes, the best preparation you can do is mentally being ready to expect whatever may happen. Know that if, and when you have to go through something that was not planned, like an emergency, be ready. Doctors are there for a reason. Medically trained staff and nurses are there to assist you, so let them. Don’t fight it, and don’t feel disappointed.

It’s not true that you forget the pain of labor when you see your child, I can tell you that.

And what actually follows are sleepless nights, endless diaper changes, and very cranky new parents.

But when, a little later, your child starts to smile, and laugh, and talk, and walk, and hug you, and call you “mama”, and do all those little-person things…that’s the moment you remember the pain you went through, and are glad you did.

So be happy that soon you will have your new life to love, and it will love you back with so much more. More love that you thought you were capable of holding in your heart, will be yours for a lifetime, and nothing can ever take that good feeling away.