Bugaboo Update, The Big Move, Closet Ambitions, and Friendly Omas

I can't find much time to do some old fashion blogging. Free time is very limited in Mama Jens' world. During the day when the baby naps or at night when both sleep, there are millions of things to do. My husband doesn't understand why I don't take a nap during the day...hmmm...I wish I could. I really should actually. My little one is awake so much at night these days. She cries, nurses, cries, nurses, nurses, nurses. And I feel (and look) like a train wreck when I wake up from all that. Its a good damn thing she's cute.

A little update on the Bugaboo, or lack thereof... I am pleased to report that we bought the Chicco London stroller over the weekend. I recommended this one way back in another post, and I can recommend it again. It is navy blue, very lightweight, has a reclining seat and a little footrest that goes up for when the baby falls asleep, and a basket on the bottom for your groceries, rejected pieces of apple, small carpets you find on the sidewalk, etc. Another perk is that it folds up small enough to fit in a car that is filled to the brim with a bunch of other shit, so that is quite nice too. That was kind of always a pain with the Bugaboo. And, it was only 84 euros (only 69 $ in the U.S.). It handles the Berlin obstacle-course style sidewalks well, and I enjoy carrying it up and down ubahn stairs, as it only makes my back hurt a little.

As for the Bugaboo, we were pretty convinced we caught the Big Ass Thief. We found a Bugaboo on Ebay that went up the same night ours got stolen and it didn't come with all the stuff it should have. We followed up and it turns out it wasn't ours. But, beware, Thief, we are checking every black Bugaboo that comes up on Ebay. We filed a police report too, which was a surprizingly easy and pleasant process. My husband just filled out this online form, and the next morning we got a follow-up call from the police, telling us they had our report and that Herr So and So was assigned to our case. Amazing, eh?

So, today, I started the excavation process on our closet. Holy freakin' hell. I learned a couple of things: First, we wear about 1% of our clothes. Two, my husband does not buy new clothes. And three, we're gonna need a dumpster for this project. We seriously have the same articles of clothing in there with which we came to Germany over 8 years ago. Some of the things even pre-date that move, meaning college, early 90's. Because of that fact, they have earned the respected title of "nostalgic retro items" and have been placed in the memorabilia pile.

And three more items of furniture have found new homes. Boy is this place gonna be empty soon. Yeehoo! Though we are doing this because we are moving in March, I would recommend it just for fun as well.

And I am starting to compile my list of "things I will miss and things I won't miss" list. It is a very strange feeling to be approaching this space of being inbetween lives. It has been so long since we lived in the U.S. and we are, in many ways, not too sure what life will be like there. We are very scared that we will get there and realize we have made a terrible, no good, very bad mistake. So, when we have those moments, we just go through the reasons why we are deciding to do this again, and conclude that it will all be fine. I think if we were going to a big city (NY, LA, SF), we would be a little more confident. But instead, we have opted for a smallish, very liberalish, university town, thinking that for the children it will be a better setting in which to grow up. The dirty, busy, loud, grey city setting is super when you're young and single and free and can actually go out at night. But with kids, its just sometimes plain stressful, and that is being said in a city that is actually pretty good when it comes to being child-friendly.

Man, is this random today or what?

On that note, I have to say that I have a few closet ambitions. Well, these aren't really ambitions as much as things I know I'd be pretty good at. One is to be a short-order cook. I am Speedy Mama Jens when it comes to whipping up meals in 0 to 60 seconds, and I think I'd be pretty good at something like that. It is a genetic thing, I think. Our family likes to cook, cook fast, and plan the next meal before the one being eaten is finished. The other thing I know I'd be good at is driving a taxi. (I bet that one threw you off), putting aside sense of direction of course. I am Racecar Mama Jens, zipping around the city like a flippin' bunny rabbit. I would love something like a Smart car. And then there is the Mama Jens Realtor Extraordinaire. I have this little obssession I have when it comes to real estate. It doesn't help that we are moving and will be looking at houses. I love houses, apartmnents, living spaces of all kinds. I could look at real estate until the cows come home. When I go to a foreign city, all I really want to do is hook up with a realtor and go looking at apartments. And then there is the whole Martha Stewart thing. Let's face it, Martha rocks. I think am her sometimes. We even have the same haircut. Big difference though is that when I burn something I say, "Fucking hell!" whereas she might say something like "Whoopsie Daisy!" Though now that I think about it, she probably says "fucking hell" too. She is a first rate criminal afterall, so there must be a little punk rock deep down in there.

And speaking of Martha Stewart, yesterday, my older daughter and I went to a hobby shop around the corner to gather supplies to make rubber stamps. The little one was all bundled, sleeping in her stroller. There was an older woman hovering around her, with a non-specific expression on her face. I thought, "Oh lordy, here we go. I'm gonna get a lecture from this Oma since I am doing something wrong, as usual." My mind started doing its Catholic thing. Oh no, she is too bundled. The snow suit, hat, scarf, blanket, and wool sack are too much. She is hot. She is overheating. Look, her cheeks are all red. Is she breathing? But then, I thought, "Oh, screw her (the old lady, I mean). She can make whatever comment she wants, bee-atch." So, I kept to my rubber stamping, and tried to ignore the hovering, the leaning close in, the peering under the glasses. After I paid, and was on my way to the door, she approached me. I got ready for my retort. She tapped me on the shoulder. She looked me straight in the eye. She held up her hand with that pointer and middle finger to thumb gesture, and she said, very dramatically, "Belllllisssssimaa!!!" I responded with a look of shock and confusion followed by a big proud smile. She said it again, loudly and whole heartedly, "Bellllissssimaaaa!!!!" I wanted to hug her and tell her my people were from Sicily and invite her over for pasta.

Have a nice Wednesday!