They lose their sh*t; I lose my mind

For the past 3-6 months, my kids are constantly misplacing or losing things. Important things. Expensive things. I’m not talking umbrellas or paperbacks (tho, those have been lost too). I’m talking keys, phones, wallets, train tickets, money, IDs, jackets, earbuds, hats, thermoses, computer chargers, razors, phone chargers. You name it, they are losing it. Like little costly breadcrumbs, trails of Underhill possessions are scattered everywhere. Berlin, Starnberg, Switzerland, on the trains, at the school.

Catching up with life, the universe, and everything

This post should bring me up to date with blogging (and I suppose bring you up to date with the Underhills).  Now that we are back from our spring break travels (see earlier posts and FaceBook for full pictures), we are spending this weekend nesting and doing household chores. But we did take a bike break today to watch the surfers on the Isar River in the English Garden. That’s right: surfers on a river in the middle of Munich.  

A foggy week

I do apologize for the lack of posts, and, in turn, this scattered bit of writing. In re-reading my draft, it would appear I have a lot to say, or, at least, I have lots of little things to say, as I’ve overloaded myself with footnotes, like I’m David Foster Wallace, or something.  Each side-thought probably could be its own post, but the chances of me fleshing out eight posts  tonight are slim to none. So I’ll let the footnotes stand. But before I get to my rambling, I’ll start with some pictures from this weekend, in case that’s all you popped in for.

The man child strolling

The sweetest little girl

my hearts

spring!!!

the Chinese House

A lovely Sunday

Munich wanderings

Tram riding

Munich wandering

Crow in the Crow Nest

Munich wanderings

Munich wandering

Pig shaped salami. Wut?

Ask me anything: Shopping

My, what a large, economical selection you have

An idea came to me today as I was responding to my friend, Mary’s, email. She was asking me about shopping here in Germany (among other things), and I thought my response might make a good blog post. I’m going to start an “Ask Me Anything” blog category. If you have a question for me, shoot me an email or DM, and if I have anything interesting enough to say on the topic, I’ll add it here.  Today I’ll prattle on a bit about my shopping experiences so far, including food and household goods.

Daily moments of “huh?”

It’s not all jet-set travel and alpine romps over here, folks. There is also the business of running a household and general day-to-day living.  While it may not be very exciting or glamorous, it does have elements that pose challenges if not down right confusion for me on a regular basis. Here’s a quick little post about the four major areas along with photos so you can practice your German at home.

Anatomy of an international move part three: nothing left but the flying

A few of you have asked us how things are going so far, and I have to admit (while knocking on wood) that it’s going pretty well. The movers came yesterday and today. We fly to Germany on Sunday.  Between now and then we will head to Maine and enjoy a 1920’s costume New Year’s Eve party with our dearest friends (because why wouldn’t we 23 Skidoo before we 3.5 year skiddadle?)

Anatomy of an international move part two: checking off big boxes on the to do list

As you can well imagine, we have some major items on the to do list. Perhaps the biggest item of all — the one that has so many contingent items and a lot of associated stresses — was securing a rental home in Germany.  We can now check that item off our list (at least I am 95% sure we can).

Anatomy of an international move part one: coordinating with the movers and shakers

Ok, everyone everywhere must apply the following caveat to anything I say or write that is Germany/relocation related over the next few months/years: “I am humbly grateful for this amazing opportunity and recognize how  lucky we are to be having this adventure via Larry’s work. I know how unbelievable this is and how incredible it will be for our family. I am super excited for it all and am going into it eyes and arms and attitude towards the universe wide open.”  #blessed #firstworldproblems and all those other social media epigrams.

That being said:  Oh boy, some parts of this are really, really hard.

When it comes to your kids, you don’t know what you don’t know

For instance, I had no idea that Elliot is incapable of slitting open an envelope.  He basically has to mangle it to get out whatever is inside.  Who knew?

With Meredith, we’ve had two examples recently of her exhibiting behavior that I wouldn’t have thought possible.  Both times she acted exactly opposite to any training and planning and rules that we had established. The first episode happened when she opted to self-medicate her sore bottom. But instead of getting corn starch (which we used instead of baby powder when she was little) she applied baking soda, (baking soda that she needed to climb onto my granite counters and tippy toe reach off the highest shelf).  So not only did she endanger herself unnecessarily with the climbing but then she caused a chemical reaction on her already sore bum.  Pitiful. My biggest concern (of the many in this scenario) is that if she is so quick to self medicate in an ignorant state what’s to stop her — when she gets, say, a head ache — from going to my bathroom and taking what she thinks is ibuprofen, because that’s what mom takes, only to overdose on whatever vitamin or medication happens to be in reach?

The second incident happened just last week while I was on the third floor and both kids were on the second floor. The doorbell rang, and in the time it took me to walk down the stairs and across the house Meredith had unlocked the door for a complete stranger.  I heard her ask, “Who is it?” which is normal protocol. But when I rounded the corner I saw her standing with the door ajar.  “Who is it?” I asked her, as I descended the stairs.  “I don’t know,” was her reply.  I got to the landing and I saw an unknown man standing on my porch.  A fuse or two may have blown in my mind. Thankfully he was a National Grid employee in full uniform and carrying a clip board, but come on!! I have no idea what the man said or what he was looking for. I basically told him we were all set and shut the door. I then proceeded to calmly but sternly go up one side of that girl and down the other. I’m still pretty frosted about the whole thing.  What if I hadn’t been home?  What if he was not a good person?  What if, Wombat?  Sigh.

While both occurances ended harmlessly enough, they are enough to really make us question her judgment and her maturity.  You see, she is an old soul, and she gives off the impression of maturity. She speaks confidently, even when her information is faulty.  And she desperately wishes to be older than she is.  And wiser than she is.  And more experienced than she is. We have to keep reminding ourselves that she is young.  We have to keep reminding ourselves that we don’t know what we don’t know.

the memory of living things

Everyone handles the things of memories differently. Some people collect matchbooks from special places. Some people take a snippet of hair from a beloved pet or relative. Some rely solely on photographs for memory. Some people take a pebble from places that have touched their hearts.  Or they buy a figurine. And while it seems many of us wrestle with de-cluttering, there are always some things with which we cannot — will not — part. The very special souvenirs, tokens, momentos.  That’s all well and good when they have a home on a curio shelf, or in a hope chest, or on the coffee table in proud display. But if you’re like me (and my mother before me) you run into problems when your special things are also a living things.  I’m talking here specifically about plants.

That’s right: plants. For some reason, sentimentality towards flora runs deep with us.  We have a French lilac that reminds us of my grandmother. We seek out Bloodroot and Trillium and Jack in the Pulpit to remind us of Lillian.  We force Amaryllis and paper whites in honor of Nancy. We have special cuttings from our prior homes, plants that have travelled with us: Iris, day lilies, hosta,  roses. Not everything transfers well of course, but we try really, really hard to keep them all alive. When we can’t save them we do mourn their loss.

My friend Jami in Virginia gave me some pussy willow cuttings before we left last spring. I hand carried the twigs all the way home and planted them in the ground, but I wasn’t overly optimistic.  This was a rough winter up here. Absolutely brutal. So imagine my delight when my mother brought in this sweet, little sprig.  As fierce and strong and resilient as my friend  Jami, the little pussy willow persevered and is now sharing its little fuzzy buds. 

So, with that hopeful little sign, I took the pussy willows that I bought months and months ago (and forced to root) out and planted them next to the strong little Virginia pussy willows.  With any luck, we will have a wall of pussy willows in a couple years to memorialize the hard winter and to remind me of Jami and of Virginia.  They are next to the grapevine that reminds my mom of her childhood with Mrs Huburt.