The Turnip Parade

Fall has been a busy time for us here in Zurich and we just enjoyed a week of visiting with my sister, Kelly and my cousin, Jenn. It almost took a tranquilizer gun to get Kelly on the plane, but she managed to make it and Jenn managed to not bitch slap her on the airplane everytime they hit a little turbulance. I'm thrilled that they came, but if you'd told me I had to sit next to Kelly hyperventilating on an airplane for 8 hours, I probably would have suggested a trip to the Wisconsin Dells instead. Both of them were good sports and our whole family was excited that they came.

They both left their husbands behind to keep things running at home. Not surprisingly, both husbands managed to send one of the kids to school sick that week, and I'm pretty sure neither one of them managed to prepare a single meal that required utensils. However, both husbands were gracious about letting their wife travel and their kids seemed to enjoy a week of bending the rules while mom was away.

While they were here, the weather was a mix between grey overcast skies and a constant drizzle. November is clearly not the best time to visit, and I was relieved when on their last day here they finally got to see the mountains. I think they were beginning to doubt that we were anywhere near the Alps. Despite the lackluster weather, we had a great time laughing at each other and since the 3 of us hadn't spent this long together since we we spent a week at our grandparents together 30 years ago, it was kind of like a mini reunion.

The week was filled with lots of visits to chocolate shops, a fleet of wine tasting boats, a casino, a hooters restaurant, and lots of sightseeing. All of these were enjoyable, but what would a trip to Switzerland be if they didn't get too experience a strange Swiss custom? Yes, our house guests were fortunate enough to be visiting during what we like to call the "stinky turnip parade". I'd be lying if I told you this event is as exciting as the exploding snowman holiday, but it is equally as weird. And like the hostess with the mostess that I aspire to be, I made sure Kelly and Jenn were forced, I mean, invited, to participate in every aspect of the festivities.

Typically I would attempt to educate my faithful blog readers(I think their are 2 of you, Mom and Dad) on the history of the stinky turnip parade. The Swiss name for this celebration is Rabelichtli. It's prounounced exactly like the noise an 80 year old, 3 pack a day smoker might make upon waking up in the morning.(Have I mentioned that Swiss German is not the most eloquent of languages?) Unfortunately, I am unable to share with you the history of Rabelichtli, because apparently no on has any idea why they celebrate it. All I was able to find out is that "Rabe" is the word for turnip (or sugar beet, although I assure there is nothing sweet about them.)and "lichtli" means little light. This would explain why it is celebrated by transforming turnips into lanterns.

As one of the room moms in Z's class, I was responsible for preparing the supplies for the children to make their turnip lanterns. So I roused Kelly and Jenn and dragged them to school with me do some turnip gutting. This is similar to preparing a pumpkin for carving, except instead of goop and seeds inside, you find good old solid turnip. So by 9:15, my house guests and some other expat moms were using melon ballers to scoop out the insides of turnips. I had been warned that turnips stink, and stink they did. It starts out as just a strange vegetable smell, but the longer you sit in a room full of turnip innards, the stronger the smell becomes. Not the most pleasant odor first thing in the morning. It seemed like a bizarre activity and I wondered what kind of whack jobs decided to take a rarely consumed root vegetable and turn it into a freakin' lamp. This is when my sister questioned the level of sanity involved in deciding to carve a face into a pumpkin and light it up in the dark. Good point. Every country has it's crazies.



After hollowing out the turnips, it was time for the 4 year olds to begin carving designs into the outsides. The idea of carving the turnip is to carefully peel off just the skin of the turnip to reveal the white flesh of the turnip underneath. When a candle is placed in the turnip, the light shines through the white part. You can imagine how easy this is for four year olds to grasp. They were handed scraping tools and given the go ahead to create their own design. A few of them made a few little gouges in their turnips, and many started scratching at them with their finger nails. It quickly became obvious that the adult helpers would have to scrape away at the turnips while the kids looked on. This was followed by puncturing holes in the root vegetables with screwdrivers and carefully threading string through them so they could carry their stinky little lanterns.




You might think at this point that my guests had been subjected to enough crazy Swiss turnip activities. But moderation has never been my strong point, and I had also signed us up for turnip duty at C's school. We were fortunate that the smelly sugar beets had been pregutted and we would only have to assist the 5 and 6 year olds in scraping the designs in their ugly veggies. The shocker came when the kindergarteners were handed metal vegetable peelers and told to have at it. Huh? I pictured all these innocent little expat children heading home to their parents with ace bandages wrapped around their hands to stop thebleeding. And as you might suspect, it took about 2 minutes before the first kid took a chunk out of her finger. At this point, I quickly grabbed a peeler out of a little kids hand and took control of his turnip. I wasn't about to allow these kids to head home with blood stains on their Rabelichtlis. By the time we were finished, my thumbs were raw and the kids had lost interest. One little boy had mutilated his turnip beyond recognition. I kept waiting for someone in the croweded cafeteria to yell, "STEP AWAY FROM THE TURNIP,SON!". I casually brought the boy stabbing the turnip to the attention of one of the teachers nearby, but apparently they were just happy that he was occupied. She assured me he would have a turnip lantern to take home. Hmmm.... that really wasn't my biggest concern.

The culmination of all this gutting and scraping turnips into lanterns is the Rablichtli parade. Each town has their own Rabelichtli parade where the kids march through the town after dark with their laterns. Usually there is a marching band followed by lots of kids carrying their little turnip lanterns. Some towns have simple little parades, while a few towns away they keep the turnip farmers in business by holding the largest Rabelichtli parade in Switzerland. Our family decided to take part in the kids school parade. We were told that we would all take a walk through the woods with our lanterns and would be entertained by the children singing German songs in the woods. Ahhhh......doesn't that sound like a quaint evening of partaking in Swiss tradition? I envisioned a beautiful stream of light illuminating the pathway from the children's lanterns. I imagined an opening in the woods where the angelic children would gather around and lift their voices in unison.

That's not quite what happened.

When we got there everyone was hanging out in front of the school with their lanterns, eating sausages and waiting for the parade through the woods to begin. A few people were randomly lighting lanterns and one woman walked up to Bryan and said, "Can I light your fire?" This sent my sister into a fit of laughter and I think Bryan might have actually thought he was being hit on for a quick second. Sadly, she was more interested in his stinky turnip. (insert snicker here...)




One thing we've learned since being here, is that despite the Swiss being VERY anal, I mean, organized people, the school tends to be the opposite. There didn't seem to be one person sharing the evenings game plan with everyone, and as we were hanging around talking with friends, we suddenly realized that half the group had headed up a path towards the woods. It was an EXTREMELY dark evening and C paired up with his friend Rasmus and took off ahead of us in the dark. I just kept praying Rasmus's parents had kept up with them. As we got into the woods, it was every man for himself. The kids' lanterns did little to illuminate any path through the woods, and how no one broke an ankle on the obstacle course of tree roots sticking up out of the ground, I'll never know. Thank God our 3 year old buddy Miles had a flashlight with him or we wouldn't have been able to see a thing. The poor kid listened to his mom and me say "POINT IT DOWN, MILES! POINT THE FLASHLIGHT DOWN!" at least 100 times. About 10 minutes into the walk, I lost my sister and cousin, but I was more concerned with keeping E from falling off an embankment into the darkness. There were some areas with what appeared (in the darkness)to be a significant drop off on one side. From what I was told when our "parade" ended, my cousin Jenn almost rolled down the side of a hill when she stepped off one of these embankments. Apparently it was as funny as it sounds.



At this point in our death march, I'm wondering who the hell has decided to make this an annual event at this school. And what part of me thought it was a good idea to drag my 2 year old into a dark forest at night with nothing to light the way but a freaking turnip and a tea light?!?!? After about 20 minutes of stumbling around in the forest, we came to a clearing and I prayed we were going to be miraculously back at the school. No, this portion of the "parade" involved trapsing through a cow pasture. Really, what could make this evening less enjoyable then having cow shit stuck to your shoe? Fortunately, we managed to find our way through the pasture without encountering a cow pie, and after a walk back to the school, we were happy to reunite with C, Kelly, and Jenn and head home.

After bitching to several friends about a lack of German folk songs, I learned that since we were at the back of the pack. we missed the entertainment portion of the evening, which must have lasted about 30 seconds since we weren't THAT far behind. Next year, I think we'll consider participating in a Rabelichtli parade in our own town where they walk down the street with their turnips, rather than through the woods. But we did get to experience another wacky Swiss tradition and were able to share it with our visitors. This definately wasn't on the top of my "favorite things about Switzerland" list, but it's hard to compete with the exploding snowmen and kick ass chocolate. Although I have a sneaking suspicion there are some crazy Christmas traditions that might make the list. Have I mentioned the evil Santa figure that threatens to put naughty kids in his burlap sack? The Swiss never leave me lacking for something to write about...

W(h)ining our way through Tuscany

After a whirlwind month of travel, we're settling back into our routine here in Switzerland and one of my new goals is to post some stories about our travels. As much as we LOVE the traveling we are doing while we are here, in some ways I feel like we are frantically trying to fit in all the places we want to visit before our time here is over. I feel like Tammy Travel Agent researching places to stay and routes to get there. For most people planning a vacation would take a few days, but because my OCD flares up when making travel plans, I need a solid month of comparing accommodations, prices and the amount of time I am required to spend in the car with the kids before nervously committing to a location. After our recent trip to Tuscany, I'll be further restricting the amount of driving time required to arrive at a destination. We're still recovering.

We originally planned on a 10 hour drive to Rome to spend 2 days dragging the kids around to see really old stuff, before heading to Tuscany. It is my belief that God intervened in our plans, because the apartment we had booked in July suddenly became unavailable 4 days before we were supposed to arrive in Rome. I think God took pity on the kids, and as a way of making amends for giving them stupid parents, He spared them an additional 4 hours in the car. So we were able to book 2 extra nights in Tuscany and buckled down for a 6 1/2 hour drive.



Our drive to Tuscany was beautiful. We didn't have an exact address for the villa we were staying in, but their website gave some directions, so I figured we'd have no problem finding it. We plugged the name of the town into our GPS and we were off. When we got to the town, I pulled out the directions and realized they weren't exactly the kind of directions we were used to. There were no street names to follow, just directions like, "Follow the ancient town wall" and "Follow the signs that lead to Greve". They failed to mention that the signs to Greve were on a post with about 30 other signs, and unless you were going to stop in the middle of a traffic circle and take a few minutes to read all the signs, you were screwed. We managed to find our way to a hospital that was mentioned in the directions, and then were directed to follow the signs to "IL GAVILLACCIO". From this point on, the only sign we saw for "IL GAVILLACCIO" was the one hanging on the outside of our villa. Somehow Bryan took directions from a kind gentleman who spoke only Italian and we somehow managed to stumble upon it.



The villa was in an old stone building that was an annex to a castle that used to stand on the property. The inside was like being in an old Tuscan farmhouse and the outside had a beautiful patio with an olive tree growing in the corner. It had 2 bedrooms, a kitchen, and wine for sale in the reception area. Tammy Travel Agent did good.





Our place in Tuscany was in an area called Chianti. The nice thing about Chianti is you are out in the middle of vineyard country. The problem with Chianti is you have to drive at least 45 minutes to get to any sites. There were a few things we knew we wanted to see. We wanted to see the leaning tower of Pisa, we wanted to go to Siena, and we wanted to go to Florence. We also hoped to visit some of the smaller medieval towns like San Gimignano and Lucca. With 3 full days in Tuscany, it shouldn't be a problem to fit it all in, right?



On day one, we headed to Siena. It is a beautiful old Medieval town with a beautiful Duomo (fancy Italian word for church) and a unique Piazza (fancy Italian name for town square) that is shaped like a shell. After eating an Italian lunch and enjoying a glass of Chianti, we let the kids run around the square terrorizing the pigeons and then lured them away with the promise of Gelati (fancy Italian name for ice cream.) All was well, until E started showing the signs of distress that a 2 year old shows when she's been forced to walk well over a mile and is about 45 minutes late for nap time. We quickly headed to the Duomo, but by the time we got there, it became clear that, although God would forgive us for bringing our melting down children into His house, the elderly sightseeers making their way off the tour busses would not. We skipped the duomo and started the half hour trek back to our car. So much for seeing the sites of Siena.



One of the images I had conjured up of our trip to Tuscany was of stopping at vineyards, enjoying a wine tasting, and buying a couple bottles of wine to take back to Switzerland with us. Then I remembered that the kids would be with us. And leaving the kids unattended in the car while we hang out at a winery would be only slightly less horrible than the moms you hear about in the news who leave their kids in the car while they hit the casino. But a friend of mine who has visited Tuscany with her kids, told me her daughters LOVED going to wine tastings. Something about running around in the cellar with the wine casks while they tasted wine. So I thought, "What the hell, let's give it a try!" and it took me about 3 seconds to convince Bryan that this was a good idea. So we stopped at a very industrial looking wine store, dragged the kids out of the car and took them inside with the strict instructions not to touch ANYTHING! They did, in fact, not touch anything, but immediately started in with their favorite game they like to call, "Come and get me, E!" It's a simple game, really, that involves Z and C getting right in E's face and yelling, "COME AND GET ME, E!". E then shrieks with delight and begins chasing her brothers around while they taunt her. The thing about E is that she has some sort of malfunction that inexplicably causes her to shriek when she runs. She seriously never runs without an ear-piercing shriek coming out of her mouth. It's cute at the park, but not so much at a wine tasting. So Bryan quickly whisked them out of the store while I became the family wine taster. When I met him out in the parking lot with my bottles clinking, I knew by the look on his face that our day of family wine tasting was over.



As we continued our ride home, Bryan suggested he stop at some wineries and he would stay in the car with the kids while I went in, sampled some wine, and purchased more wine for our collection. Wine tasting by myself seemed a bit pathetic, but not as pathetic as coming home from Tuscany without a hefty supply of vino. So we saw a sign pointing us towards a winery, and Bryan turned in and headed down a winding driveway. There were several cars in the gravel driveway, so I figured it would be plenty busy. I walked around the side of the house where I heard voices and opened what I thought was the door to the wine store. I walked in the front door to find a table of old Italien men smoking ciggies. They briefly glanced at me, and then went on with their conversation. I was just getting ready to bolt when a girl came walking down the stairs with a basket of laundry and said, "Vino?" I have 3 words in my Italian vocabulary, and not surprisingly, Vino is one of them. I nodded and she put here laundry basket down, grabbed some keys, and led me back out the door. Around the back of the house, she unlocked a door that led to a dark room with a big metal vat and a small Italian man wearing a lab coat. I was relieved to see another door that led into the house, alleviating my concerns that the little lab coated man was kept locked in the little wine room. The two exchanged a few words in Italian while the girl searched for the bottle of wine I would taste. She grabbed a bottle opened it and was about to pour some in my glass, when the little Italian man abruptly said something to her. She grabbed the cork, walked over to the step ladder the man was perched on next to the wine vat and he took a sniff. I imagined he would sniff the cork and say something like, "Magnifico!!!" However, he crumped his nose, and said, "Eh." He then said something in Italian that I am guessing meant, "This wine is practically vinegar, but feed it to the stupid American. Anyone ignorant enough to stumble upon our lame excuse for a winery will probably be willing to buy it." She poured me a glass, I smelled it, (cuz that's what they do in the movies) and then took a swig. It tasted like a combination of grape juice and battery acid. She then told me, in English, that she would be right back. She needed to get some bread so I could also taste their olive oil that they make. At this point, I again considered bolting. I knew my options were limited. I either had to buy a bottle of their nasty wine with the homemade looking label, or run like hell past the little Italian man still perched on the stepladder. It kinda felt like I was sitting in this family's living room, and since I was raised not to hurt people's feelings (probably to a fault) there was no way I could leave without making a purchase. So she came back with bread, poured a big pool of olive oil on it, and poured me another taste of wine. This wine was slightly better than the first bottle. The olive oil tasted like, well, olive oil. So I kindly complimented her on her wine, told her I needed go, and handed her 10 euros for a crappy bottle of wine. This was the end of my solo wine tasting career.



The next day, we headed to Pisa to see the famous Leaning Tower. We decided to first stop in the town of Lucca that is famous for the well preserved walls that encircle the town. You can actually walk all the way around the town atop the town walls and we were told you can even rent a family bike there. We enticed the kids with the promise that mommy and daddy would pedal them around the town on top of a wall. This peaked their interest since it sounded kind of like we would be performing a circus act. However, we hadn't anticipated the torrential downpour that would overtake us 30minutes into our visit. Our stay in Lucca ended soon after it began, with us buying a 15 Euro used umbrella from a man who took advantage of the fact that we were huddled underneath a covered entryway. A family of 5 plus 1 overpriced umbrella equals 1 dry mommy and 4 wet family members. In my defense, I was wearing a pair of suede boots. Who can blame me.



After arriving at our car completely drenched, we crossed our fingers that the weather would clear and headed towards Pisa. There was no way we were coming to Italy and not catching a glimpse of the leaning tower. We caught a break and the rain stopped as we entered the town of Pisa. We all oohed and aahed as we caught glimpses of the tower on our way into town and to the cathedral square where the tower is located. I really expected the Leaning Tower to be all hype, and was fully prepared to find it overrated. Not that I'm a Debbie Downer or anything, (Waaah, Waaahhh, Waaaaahhhhhh....) but how impressive can a leaning tower really be? Well, let me tell you, I couldn't have been more wrong. It is really a beautiful sight and it's pretty amazing how much it leans. It IS a total tourist trap and I saw more than my fair share of cheesy tourists doing the "Hey look! I'm holding up the tower of Pisa!" pictures. Can you believe people actually do that? Seriously. The Mjaanes family is much too sophisticated for such low brow shenanigans.



We walked around and admired the tower and visited it's Cathedral before heading back to the car. Upon entering the car, we began to notice a less than pleasant smell. Perhaps the smell of 3 young children who have been caught in the rain? Or maybe just the funky smell of a family car that has been on one too many road trips? We didn't think much of it as we cracked the window and headed back to the villa.



Our last day in Tuscany, we headed to the town of San Gimignano. The smell in the car had gotten considerably more potent overnight, and we now clearly identified it as the not easily mistaken stench of urine. We figured E must have had a little accident in the car after we were all rain soaked in Lucca, and decided we would wash her car seat cover as soon as we returned. So off we headed to the quaint medeival town of San Gimignano in what we began referring to as the Urinemobile. We cranked down the windows and enjoyed a brisk drive through Tuscany with the wind blowing our hair. When one of the kids got too cold, the windows would go up, until someone (usually Bryan) couldn't handle the stench anymore and we'd go back to freezing our asses off. Not quite how I'd imagined our drive through the vineyards of Tuscany. After a brief visit to San Gimignano, the sun through the car windows had created a nice little oven out of our Urinemobile, and the smell was beyond potent. So we again opened the windows and began our trip home. This is when Bryan began to crack us all up with his hysterical Italian accent. "Eeet smelllls liika PEEEEEE pee!" He must have said those words 100 times on the way home, and I laughed until I cried each time he said it. Maybe I was delirious from having the freezing cold wind whipping in my face, or perhaps I'm just easily amused, but I can't even think about him saying it without laughing.



When we got back to the villa, the first order of business was getting the car seat cleaned out. As I headed towards our place with the kids, Bryan stayed behind to investigate the source of the Urinemobiles new scent. I suddenly heard him holler and turned around to see him doing a strange dance with an "I'm about to dry heave" look on his face. As it turns out, E must have been graced with an extra large bladder, and when Bryan began pulling the car seat out of the car, a stream of pee began draining from the bottom of her car seat all over him. Only the Mjaanes family would travel through tuscany with a pool of urine in the bottom of our daughters car seat. It's hard to believe the volume of pee could have resulted from one accident, but it's hard to retrieve honest information from a 2 1/2 year old.



That pretty much sums up our trip to Tuscany. We realized we needed to lower our expectations when traveling with the kids and never made it to Florence. Sad but true. But Bryan and I enjoyed making dinner together after the kids went to bed each night and enjoyed more than our fair share of wine. And although we might not have experienced the romantic side of Tuscany, we had a lot of laughs and made a lot of memories. And whenever I smell the unmistakable smell of urine, I'll fondly remember our family trip to Tuscany.

Our next stop, Venice! What better place to take a 2 year old than a city with lots of canals...

The Blind Cow

One of the things I like best about living in Switzerland is that there is always something new to experience. New cities, new mountain views, new recycling insanity, and most recently new bizarre dining experiences. As far as dining goes, I do not have what you would call an adventurous palatte. I'll eat almost any vegetable, some fruits, and any type of bread that is not code for brain. Meat makes me a little skittish, so my policy is no bone, no skin, no fat, no veal, lamb or horse, no problem. My husband can put a chicken wing in his mouth and suck every last morsel of meat, skin, and cartilage off of it. I get urpy just watching him. So the restaurant Bryan and I took my parents to last weekend was a bit of a stretch for me.

The restaurant is called the BlindeKuh which is German for the Blind Cow. The whole gimmick to this restaurant is that you dine in the dark. And by dark I mean, you can't see your hand in front of your face, much less your meal. It is supposed to give you the experience of dining while blind. The coolest thing about it is that the waiters and waitresses are all visually impaired. I can only imagine how annoyed they become with obnoxious diners like me who keep saying, "Oh my God!!! This is SO Weird! I can't see ANYTHING!" I'm sure they were thinking, "Thats the point, dumbass."

Bryan and I had been tossing around the idea of going ever since we got here and thought that my parents would be the perfect victims, I mean guests, to join us. Earlier in the day, I thought my Dad was trying to pull a fake stomach virus excuse on us. I informed him he was not getting out of dinner, and fortunately his stomach settled and we didn't have to worry about him wretching in the darkness to the horror of the other BlindeKuh patrons. In the end, they both ended up being good sports. The fact that we were going to be in complete darkness, did not dissuade my mom and I from having several discussions about what we should wear. God forbid they have an emergency and have to flip the lights on in the restaurant. Someone might see us and notice that my earrings don't quite make the outfit. When we arrived at the restaurant, it was in what looked like an old church. Aside from the name of the restaurant, there was nothing to indicate what lay ahead for unsuspecting diners.



When we walked in the front door, we saw some guys emptying their pockets into lockers. This is where we were told to deposit all of our belongings that produce any kind of light as well as anything we want to see again. If your favorite lip gloss happens to fall out of your pocket while dining at the Blindekuh, you can kiss it a dry lipped goodbye, because there's no chance you're ever going to be able to recover it. I watched Bryan sadly part with his blackberry at the door. I knew he was thinking, "But what if I need to google something that pops up in our dinner conversation?". As the spouse of an IT geek (I say this lovingly), you'd be shocked at how often his trusty blackberry joins us for dinner.



After locking up all of our belongings, it was time to check out the menu. I had already given thought to what I would be ordering. I figured I'd play it safe and go for a simple pasta. The thought of eating meat without thoroughly inspecting it for fat, bone, and thoroughness of cooking, made my stomach turn. Perhaps a nice salad would be on the menu. It might be challenging to eat in the dark, but God gave me fingers for a reason and when no one can see me, I'm not above cramming a little ruffage in my mouth with my hands. But when I looked at the menu that they had projected on the wall in the lobby, my options were very limited. Veal and lamb were on the menu, as well as a fish I had never heard of, and a vegetarian dish with the word "curry" in it. Hmmm...... perhaps I should have thrown a bag of pretzels in my purse and planned on ordering strictly from the wine menu. There was pan fried trout on the menu, but I was concerned that it might be served with all it's body parts intact. God help me and the rest of the restaurant if I popped a fish eye in my mouth inadvertantly. It can't be fun to clean up vomit in the dark. But the host in the lobby assured me it would be served sans head, so I settled on the trout.

Once our dinner choices were decided, the host telephoned our waitress asking her to come retrieve us from the lobby. We were told her name was LeezAH with the emphasis on the AH. If we needed her assistance while in the dining room we were simply to call out her name and she would come to our table. That sounded easy enough and we all practiced her name as we waited for her. Sitting in the dark for hours while none of us could remember her name did not sound like much fun. LeezAH appeared from behind a black curtain and the host introduced her to us. She then told us to form a train, with her at the front and she would lead us to our table. We grabbed onto each others shoulders and congo lined our way behind several black curtains into pitch darkness.



If anyone had been able to see us, the four of us would have looked ridiculous laughing and carrying on about how dark it was as we snaked our way through the dark. We all had different feelings about the experience as we first entered the darkness. Bryan, who was the most laid back about going, was the first to say he had a strong urge to turn around and run the hell out of the restaurant. Thank God he refrained from following his instincts since he was second in line and would have taken the rest of us down. And although I realize this emphasizes my tendency to be airheaded on occasion, I was completely shocked by how dark it was. I obviously knew it was going to be dark, but I thought certainly I might be able to see some shadows, or a little light leaking in from underneath a door. Nope. It was COMPLETELY dark. My parents feelings upon entering the restaurant were probably, "Why the hell did we spend 9 hours in an airplane to visit these two nut jobs?"

LeezAH walked us to our table and spent about 5 minutes getting us all in our seats. I was seated across from Bryan and next to my Dad, who apparently has no sense of personal space when his vision is impaired and practically sat on top of me. This was annoying until I realized how much easier it was to play funny tricks on him when he was in close proximity. You know, genius tricks like reaching behind and tapping him on his other shoulder. At one point he said he felt something run across his arm, but it just might have been the piece of bread I threw at him. We ordered some wine and were quite surprised that they actually serve it in real wine glasses. I've been known to break a wine glass in full daylight, so they were taking some real chances offering me stemware in the dark. When we finished our wine, we decided we'd try to call our trusty server LeezAH over for a refill. So my dad yelled out a timid, "LeezAH!" and received no response. We assumed she didn't hear him, so he tried again a little louder. The third attempt was quite a bit louder and was responded to with a mildly annoyed, "JUST A MINUTE". Apparently persistence is not appreciated at the BlindeKuh. At this point, I'm feeling pretty confident that Leezah will be spitting in my dad's food. When she did come over, she took our food order and asked what size wine my dad would like. He asked for 2 liters. Clearly he's as in tune with the metric system as I am. Leezah let him know she would bring him 2 Deciliters and then walked away (we think). We kept discussing the eerie possibility that she was always standing just inches over our shoulder the entire dinner listening to what we were saying.

When the food arrived at our table, it occurred to me how important presentation is when eating at a restaurant. I started out eating with my fork but quickly dropped it on the floor. Rather than risk Leezah spitting in my next liter of wine, I ate a majority of my meal with my hands. This being said, I didn't eat much of my meal at all. Every time I took a bite of the trout, I was convinced I was eating fish skin. My dad kept assuring me it was breading as he devoured his, but I wasn't convinced. I couldn't shake the vision of me eating trout skin in the dark, and stuck to eating my undercooked potatoes. It certainly wasn't a gourmet meal, but the experience was definately memorable.

When we were done with our meal, we conga lined back out of the restaurant feeling pleasantly wine filled and a little slap happy. This would probably explain the horrible politically incorrect picture we took outside the restaurant in front of the BlindeKuh sign. Bryan, my dad, and I posed for a picture with our arms out in front of us and our eyes closed pretending we were blind. Yeah, not proud of it, but I'm blaming the wine.

Back to School & Back to Sanity

We hit a family milestone this week and for a brief 3 hours, 2 days a week, all the Mjaanes kids are in school. So this was an especially exciting Back To School time for us. The down side to all 3 being in school is the fact that the family bus driver spends about 2 hours a day in her cramped 7 passenger car. Actually it's only a 7 passenger car if all of the passengers are under the age of 6, or a pack of circus clowns. And we refer to it as the bus because it takes diesel fuel and sounds just like my childhood school bus when it is rumbling through town. It actually makes me miss my mini van. As I say this, I realize the only thing that could make me less cool is if I start wearing "mom jeans" and velcro tennis shoes.



There have been lots of "Back to School" meetings and get togethers to keep me up to speed on what my kids will be doing at school. These are very helpful in regards to some of the information they share and also provide me with unlimited laughs when I come home and share with Bryan what I've learned. The funniest moment was at Z's Pre-K information session. The gym teacher stood up and told us about all the shoes the kids would need to bring to school. This in itself is funny because the kids need the following shoes to be kept at school:

-1 pair of slippers to be worn in the classroom (they don't want the little dirt balls tracking "the elements" into the classroom)
-1 pair of rain boots for playing in the rain (as well as rain pants and jacket)
-1 pair of outdoor sneakers
-1 pair of black sock/slipper things.(Maybe it was her accent, but I have NO idea what the hell these are used for.)

I think the school may be getting a kick back from the local shoe store. The gym teacher went on to say that the outdoor sneakers would be very useful when the children go jogging by the lake. WHAT? This lovely English woman plans on taking 18 children under the age of 5 JOGGING by the lake? No one else in the room seemed to find this hysterical so I stifled my laughter. But all I could envision was a herd of unruly preschoolers running amuck along the lakeshore while the teacher frantically blew her gym teacher whistle and realized the flaw in her plans. I've got money on the lesson plans changing and the kids learning to play a lot of Duck,Duck,Goose inside.



We were also informed that C would be getting his gym uniform in the near future. Huh? You're actually telling me that these teachers get 18 five year olds to change clothes for gym class and then change BACK into their school clothes AFTER gym class? There can't possibly be enough time left over for a game of cricket, or rugby, or whatever Swiss sports they attempt to teach these kids. How is it that it takes me 45 minutes of coaxing and pleading to get my 3 kids dressed for school, but these 2 women can do it twice in 45 minutes with an entire herd of restless expat children? I can't imagine what feats of athleticism these kids are attempting that would warrant a change of clothing, but perhaps they kick the jogging up a notch in Kindergarten and move on to some hardcore marathon training.



Z's classroom teacher was looking for volunteers to be the room mom this year. She said there would be more than one room mom for the class, so I thought, "why not?". I figured someone who knows what she's doing will volunteer and I'll be her clueless American sidekick who agrees with all her ideas and fetches her holiday napkins from time to time. This seems to have backfired and the 2 other women who volunteered have only lived in Switzerland for 2 weeks. The teacher suggested that I could "show them the ropes". I tried to explain to her that I have been searching for the ropes for the past 4 1/2 months and currently see no signs of them. She smiled, handed me a class list, and requested a phone tree be completed by next week. The Pre-K students in Miss Karen's class will soon be enviously eyeing the festivities in the other classrooms and wondering how they got stuck with the incompetent room mom. Poor things.

Being a big Kindergartener this year, C is taking his new "big kid" school in stride. When I see him hop out of the car and head towards the front door of the school by himself, it strikes me how quickly he is growing up. I think most Moms know that little ache you feel in your chest when you have these realizations. Luckily, he almost always looks back at the car with a big smile and blows a kiss which convinces me he is still a little guy who needs his mom. I figure when he's a teenager someday, he'll be jumping out of the car while rolling his eyes, and hoping his dorky mom pulls away before any of his friends see him. Until then, I'll cherish the little look he gives me over his shoulder.



His kindergarten class is in full swing and C has already had a chance to be "Kid of the Day". This is a very exciting day when he gets to bring home the class mascot, Sharon the Sheep. Sharon is a stuffed animal and I feel quite fortunate that we were able to host her at our home quite early in the school year. I figure by November, Sharon is probably a grimy, germ infested sheep and it would be sad to make Sharon spend her visit with us in a plastic bag. But it's kind of like buying a stuffed animal from a garage sale and bringing it home for your kids to cuddle with. It's just not a good idea. Fortunately, Sharon was in pristine condition 1 week into the school year and she enjoyed her evening at our house. She accompanied C and I to the recycling bins (Woo Hoo!) and joined us for story time before bed. Don't ever say we don't know how to show a sheep a good time.



Another exciting part of "Kid of the Day" is that the kid gets to bring 2 toys from home to share with the class. C couldn't decide what to bring and made a few comments about how he doesn't have any "cool" toys. I suggested he make something out of legos and maybe take his leapster in to show the class. Apparently, my ideas sucked because he TOTALLY ignored them each of the 15 times I suggested them. He eventually picked out a book to take because he knew his teacher would read it to the class. When I asked him what his 2nd toy would be, he looked stumped for a few seconds before his face lit up like a kid at Christmas. He said, "Mommy, you forgot something that I have!" and he went running up the stairs. I figured he would bring down some amazing toy that was stuffed in the back of his closet, so when proudly showed me what his 2nd "Kid of the Day" toy was, I was quite stunned. He held out in front of me a beat up gift box, with several popsicle sticks and a handful of toothpicks affixed with masking tape. This little creation had come home with him from school last year and I hadn't seen it since May. This particular morning he called it a "rocket ship" and he was BEYOND thrilled to be sharing it with his class. Now, as a mother, my mind went to how this toy would be received by the other 17 kids in class. I imagined some girl with an English accent saying, "What the bloody hell is THAT? That is NOT a proper toy!". Okay, so most Kindergarteners don't swear, but kids CAN be mean. I envisioned him coming out of school at the end of the day with his head stuffed through the gift box and a "Dork of the Day" nickname that would carry with him until he was 16. I didn't want his little heart broken when his classmates didn't share his excitement about the box/toothpick/popsicle stick creation. But if you had seen the look on his face that morning, there was no way I could tell him to pick something else. There's nothing sweeter then a proud 5 year old. So when he jumped out of the car and headed into school, I prayed I wouldn't see him in tears 6 hours later. I also vowed to make a stop at Toys R Us in the next few days to find my kid a "cool" toy for his next big "Kid of the Day" moment. Fortunately, I must have underestimated the value kindergarteners place on creativity, because apparently it was well received. Maybe I'll just let c pick through our recycling from now on and make his own toys.



E began a 2 year old program 2 mornings a week and seems to be captivated by the experience. When I showed up at school to pick her up the first day, the other kids were crying and running to their moms as soon as they walked in the door. I stood about 8 feet from E out in the garden waiting for her to notice me. She looked my direction a few times, but was so engrossed in her teacher's explanation of how a log is like a circle, that she didn't even notice I was there. I'm already seeing the differences between boys and girls. She will share with me every detail of her day, while the boys can't seem to remember ever BEING at school. She's also much more aware of being stylish in class and insisted on having her nails painted before the first day. The 2nd day, as we were heading out the door to school, she dramatically screamed, "WAIT!" and ran back in, only to reappear a few seconds later carrying a dress up "tirara" (tiara) and a fake plastic credit card. Good Lord, we are so screwed when she hits her teens.



So everyone in the Mjaanes family is adjusting to our new school year routine. I'm enjoying being able to grocery shop and go to the gym without kids in tow, and they are happy to be driving their teachers crazy, since they had driven me crazy by mid summer and I no longer presented much of a challenge for them. Hopefully I'll have a little more time to blog now that they are in school, although currently I'm busy trying to figure out what the hell a phone tree is and how in God's name I'm going to make one. I may be the first room mom in history to be replaced within the first 3 weeks of the school year.

Hot and Buggy

I will begin this blog entry by reiterating how deeply grateful I am that we have this opportunity to live in Switzerland and experience living among so many culturally diverse people. The traveling we are able to do far exceeds any expectations I ever had for vacationing with my family. Yes, I am clearly noting that I appreciate this gift we have been given and plan to enjoy our time here to the best of my abilities.

Unfortunately, my abilities do not allow me to enjoy Switzerland when it is 90 degrees out, air conditioning is almost non-existent, and the Swiss seem to be oddly opposed to putting screens in their windows. I just can't suck it up and smile when my hair is dripping with sweat and I'm being attacked by bees and flies in my own home. I've had to choose between increasing my risk of heat stroke to uncomfortably high levels, or opening our windows and inviting in a large number of insects along with a slight breeze. I opted for the bugs, although if I am stung by one of the dozens of bees that I now cohabitate with and find that I have a severe allergic reaction, I might find I'd prefer death by heat stroke over death by suffocation. I would imagine dying while covered in hives with grossly enlarged lips would not be very dignified. Let's hope I never find out.



Bryan surprised me with a thoughtful gift the other day that he thought might solve our insect problem. He stopped by the florist at the mall and picked me up a plant that truly says, "I love you and think you deserve only the best". He bought me a Venus Flytrap. I was really excited about it prior to opening it. I envisioned an unruly carnivorous plant that would snap it's mighty "jaws" shut on any fly that came within 12 inches of it. I don't know where I got this unrealistic vision of a venus fly trap but as stupid as it sounds, I pictured it snapping bugs right out of the air. Clearly I was wrong, and the plant has not lived up to my expectations. Bryan and the boys decided that killing flies and using a toothpick to stick them in the pathetic little "jaws" of the plant so they can watch the leaves close around it is great fun. I wouldn't know because I am too busy chasing bees around the apartment to partake in their lame science experiment. What I really need is a fly swatter to take on these little pests. Currently my weapon of choice is my "German in 10 Minutes a Day" workbook. The kids now shriek "Get your German book, Mommy!" when a bee begins circling around them and I come running to the rescue, spastically flailing my German book around hoping to get a good whack at it.



The other day this bee issue may have caused me a potential new friend here in Switzerland. We were sitting outside on our balcony trying to enjoy a nice dinner when the bees attacked. At this point, I'm a little ashamed to tell you that I was pissed off. Not a lady like term, but the only one that really fits the emotions I was feeling. So I went inside, grabbed my German workbook and came flying out onto the balcony with a vengeance. I was smacking dinner plates, the table top, the grill, and anything else that a gutsy Swiss bee might land on. Bryan kept asking, "Is that really necessary?" The kids cry out whenever a bee comes near them and I'm going to blame my murderous bee rampage on my maternal instinct to protect my offspring. It makes me feel a little less insane that way.

Well, this is when Bryan decides to motion to our next door neighbors balcony where the nice American woman that I've been getting to know, is sitting outside quietly reading a book. There is absolutely no way she didn't look over and see my embarrassing display of "crazy lady" pest control. And to be honest with you, if I were her, I'd probably be a little frightened at the sight of my slashing about the air with my German book. She was kind enough to not look up from her book when I realized she was sitting there, but I'm not expecting an invitation for coffee anytime soon.



If we haven't scared away our next door neighbors, I'm quite certain we have the rest of the neighborhood wondering about the goings on in our flat. Tonight we were enjoying a nice family dinner while discussing the highlights of the boys first day of school. Sounds nice, until you factor in the fact that every few sentences a bee would fly around the dinner table and the kids would scream. Bryan grabbed the German book and thought it was funny to holler, "Let's teach em some German!" as he slapped the bees to the ground. He'd then toss the dead bee out the open window. This was mildly amusing the first couple of times. After that we were all getting a little aggravated and Bryan's bee swatting became a bit more violent. This is when he took a big swing at an unsuspecting bee and the German book flew out of his hand, out our 4th floor window, and down to the street below. The funniest part about it was the look on his face after it happened. It was a mixture of confusion and amusement and I laughed until I cried as he quickly ran out the door and down the stairs to retrieve it. We're lucky he didn't take out a nice old Swiss Hausfrau on her way to the recycling bins. But she would sure have one hell of a story to tell when she got home.



Aside from the bugs, what makes the heat just that much more unbearable, is that the Swiss people don't sweat. They walk around town with their bags of recycleables without so much as a glisten to their faces. I don't think they know quite what to make of the red faced American lady who complains about the heat all the time. The whole family sticks out like a sore thumb with our beet red faces. But the heat doesn't even seem to phase the Swiss people. This is probably why they have not embraced the concept of air conditioning. Imagine my horror when I realized the gym I had just joined DIDN'T HAVE AIR CONDITIONING. Seriously, have you ever heard of a gym that doesn't have air-conditioning? You would think, since the gym is right on the lake, that they would at least crack a few windows to let in a little breeze, but no. Not a single window is EVER open. After 2 minutes on the treadmill, I look like I just jumped out of the shower, while the Swiss woman with no sweat glands next to me finishes her 5 mile run without so much as a shine. I also find it humorous that they have a sauna in the locker room. Seriously? So not necessary.

Fortunately, everyone says this heat wave is not typical of Switzerland and with Fall just around the corner, I'll be back to loving Switzerland in no time. Fall has always been my favorite season and I can only imagine how nice Switzerland is with the cooler temperatures, changing leaves, and fewer bugs. One of the things I've committed to this fall, is starting German lessons. With the kids back in school, I'll have time to wipe the bugs remnants off my German book, scrape off the asphalt marks, and get to work.

Highs and Lows from the US of A.

July was an exciting month for the Mjaanes family. After 2 1/2 months of living in Switzerland we returned to Chicago for a month long visit. Here are the highs and lows of our trip...

The plane ride home alone with the kids. Shockingly, I'm going to put this in the "high points" category. As the day of our departure loomed nearer, my level of fear rose dramatically with each passing hour. Bryan would also say that my level of bitchiness rose considerably as well. Unfortunately for him, it peaked when he came up from loading the car and gently asked me if I was ready to leave. He then suggested (again very delicately) that we leave right away because the car battery was dead and we were going to have to take the train. I will spare you my reaction to this news and just let you know that it was not a sane woman's response. After reacting ridiculously, I ordered him to go down to the pizza place on the ground floor and ask them to jump our car for us. At this point, he was just glad to get the hell away from me and quickly headed downstairs. We are now forever indebted to the wonderful owners of Cafe Luna and I'm really glad they have amazing pizza because we will be eating there frequently and tipping well to repay them for their kindness. But from that point on, the trip went amazingly smooth. The boys were angels and kept themselves busy with leapsters, legos and movies for the 8 1/2 hour plane ride. E was a little higher maintenances, but as long as I constantly offered her new activities from my bag of tricks, she was pretty happy. I was very proud of all three of them and might even consider flying alone with them again. Maybe....




4th of July Family Tournament. This sadly goes in the low point category. Every year we head to my parents house for a 4th of July celebration. Included in this celebration is a very competitive tournament that usually includes Backgammon, darts, and (I can't say this without snickering) Corn Hole. Clearly we are not the most athletic family. Some families like to play softball or volleyball, but we prefer activities that allow us to either sit in a chair, or at least stand in one place while throwing something that weighs less than a pound. The Mjaanes family was the reigning champion from the 2008 tournament. I don't mean to gloat, but we swept the competition last year. For an entire year, we were the proud owners of the Youngs Family 4th of July tournament trophy. It's actually an old golf trophy my dad got years ago. To make it official, someone taped a handwritten slip of paper over the real plaque, that says "4th of July Tournament Winner". It usually spends the year in a closet, despite my dad's demand that it be displayed on the winning family's mantel for the full duration of the year. But this year, I was on my own since Bryan was still in Switzerland. I'd like to say this is the only reason Team Mjaanes placed dead ass last, but part of the blame lies in the fact that my father cheats at Gin Rummy. Because it rained all day on the 4th, we decided to play gin rummy instead of darts. Bryan is the rockstar of the family at darts and I thought it was in my team's best interest to rally for cards as a replacement rather than play darts while holding an umbrella. My father will deny he cheats at gin rummy, but there was a heated discussion regarding the number of cards that should be dealt and he refused to replay me with the standard 7 cards after beating me while playing with 11. Ridiculous. But since it was at his house, he provides all the prizes, and everyone gets to pick a prize regardless of their standing, I let it go. And since my 12 year old nephew didn't yell "IN YOUR FACE!" as the annual handing over of the trophy picture was taken, I let him have it and set my sights on the 2010 tournament. Plenty of time for practice....




Grocery Shopping. This was definately a high point of MY trip. One of the activities I HATE here in Switzerland is going to the market. Why do I hate this errand? Where do I begin. It's probably best if I just share with you the wonderful things about grocery shopping in the States that most of you probably take for granted. First, I was able to pull into the parking lot and park for FREE. Then, I was able to casually stroll up to the line of grocery carts and pull one out WITHOUT INSERTING A COIN. I felt like I had forgotton something when I started pushing my cart around. I realized it was because I didn't have a giant bag of stinky pop bottles and yogurt containers to shove into small holes in the wall for recycling. God Bless America and their lack of environmental consciousness. I do my part the other 11 months of the year. Then it was time to actually SHOP. Aaaahhhhh..... the American concept of bigger is better. Is it hot dogs you want? Ball Park, Kosher, Turkey, Fat Free, Light, Beef, Cheese filled, foot long, microwavable already in the bun...... I could go on and on. The Swiss? They offer you one ridiculously overpriced package of hotdogs. Take it or leave it. This is true for almost every product, with the exceptions of chocolate and cheese. The beauty of it is, if I WANTED to buy 1 of every kind of hot dog offered, I could actually fit it in my American sized refrigerator and still have room for a Costco sized box of Capri Sun. Here, refrigerators are about the size of the one you had in your dorm room to hold beer and leftover pizza. And the freezer is literally an ice box, too small to fit a normal American sized frozen pizza. There have been times when I've been faced with a difficult decision in the beverage aisle. Do I buy a bottle of wine to fit in the fridge, or a carton of milk for the kids' cereal? Fortunately my kids will eat toast.
After I had filled my cart with a weeks worth of convenience foods, I entered the checkout line and piled it all up on the conveyor belt. This is when I realized I hadn't brought my eco friendly bag. Did the lady at the checkout glare at me and make me buy 8 new eco friendly bags? No. Not only did I not have to buy new bags, I didn't even have to bag my own groceries! An apparently mute and heavily tattooed teenager placed all my groceries in 10 perfectly sturdy plastic bags.
In Switzerland, the most stressful part of going to the market is after I have paid for my items. This is when the checker and I begin our race. I have to have all my groceries in my reusable bags by the time she is done with the next customer and needs my bagging lane. It's intense and I'll do anything to win the race. Including throwing wine bottles on top of my overpriced eggs and bread. Losing this race of speed and agility results in annoyed looks from both the checker and the customers who have been delayed. You might has well just stamp "STUPID AMERICAN" on my forehead.
This is why grocery shopping ranks as one of the highlights of our trip home. Next time you are perusing Super Target with your cart full of economy sized American products, say a quiet thank you to the American philosophy of Bigger is Better. I'll be at home trying to cram a frozen pizza in my ice box.






Airport Check-In. This small portion at the end of our visit falls in both the high and low points categories. If it wasn't so hysterical in hindsight, it would have been one of the low points of our trip. While we were home, I shopped for items that aren't available to us in Switzerland. Everything from furniture cleaner to prescriptions we needed to stock up on before leaving the states. I even decided to buy some extra toys while we were home since they are so expensive here and it's a pain to go to the toy store every time one of the kids gets invited to a birthday party. Needless to say, by the end of our visit, there was quite an assortment of products piled up on our dining room table. I originally had delusions that we would be able to pack everything in the 3 suitcases we brought over, but quickly realized on the day we were leaving that I needed to run to Target and buy a cheap new suitcase. When I brought it home, Bryan wisely counseled me on separating the heavy non-clothing items in order to even out the weight of the suitcases. No problem. Or so we thought. When we attempted to check in at the Swiss Air counter, the ticketing agent went about her business efficiently and finally asked Bryan to lift each suitcase onto the scale. This is when things went awry. Apparently 3 of our 4 suitcases were overweight. And not just a little overweight. At the moment I can't remember what the weight limit is per bag, but they weigh them in Kilograms which made the problem that much more irritating. Is a kilo more than a pound, or less than a pound? I know I've been in Switzerland for almost 3 months, but I've managed to remain clueless about the metric system and I like it that way. The ticketing agent suggested we try to repack our bags to even out the weight. "How much is the charge for an overweight bag?" I asked thinking "No way in hell am I going to start repacking in the middle of the international terminal at O'hare". Fast forward 5 minutes later when I am frantically pulling random crap out of my suitcase to lighten my load. For $450 dollars, I'll make a fool out of myself anywhere. When I pulled out 4 giant cans of black beans, the look on my parents faces caused me to immediately holler, " THEY DON'T HAVE BLACK BEANS IN SWITZERLAND! I NEED TO MAKE MY CORN AND BEAN SALAD!" For the record, it's a really good corn and bean salad. Next came six bottles of grape jelly. With a pathetic whimper I passed them on to my mom to shove in her purse. When I pulled out a ziploc bag full of Bryan's favorite deoderant, I heard someone say, "What, they don't have deoderant in Switzerland either?!?!" Yeah, if I couldn't make my corn and bean salad, Bryan would have to perspire freely until he broke down and bought a Swiss brand of deoderant. 1 bag of chocolate chips, 2 cans of Manwich and and a bottle of Old English furniture oil later, Bryan headed up to the desk to weight the bags again. I watched his face as he placed each one on the scale and it wasn't hard to tell that we had not accomplished our mission. 2 bags were still well over the weight limit. "Take out my toiletries! I'll carry them on! I can layer my clothes if I need to!" This is when Bryan looked me square in the eyes and said, "Screw it. We're paying the extra charge." As some of you know, I am what I like to refere to as pleasantly thrifty. So the thought that I had purchased $150 worth of toys to save a few bucks, and now would pay $300 to take them on the airplane was more than I was willing to accept. But my sane husband had made his decision. "Go get the black beans if you want them. We might as well load up the heavy ones since we're going to have to pay for them anyway." What followed was an odd sight. I can only wonder what the other passengers in line were thinking as my father and I ran cans of black beans, bags of deoderant, and other miscellaneous items from the bench where my mom sat to the check in counter at O'hare. I was overwhelmed with the emotions of pleasure to have my black beans and grape jelly, and horror that they were costing me $300.
This time we had a different ticeting agent. Bryan let her know we had 2 bags that were overweight and he laid his American Express card on the counter. She checked in all the bags, handed us our boarding passes and told us to have a nice flight. Seriously? All that drama and she wasn't even going to charge us? I elbowed Bryan as I discreetly removed his AMEX card from the counter before she could either change her mind or realize her mistake. Thank God, or everytime my kids didn't finish a PB and grape jelly sandwich, I would have had to give them the old "grape jelly doesn't grow on trees" speech and force them to choke it down.




Friends and Family. The best thing about our trip home was by far, spending time with our friends and family. The simple activities like hanging out in the backyard with friends, spending time with our families, going to dinner with the girls, and having a houseful of kids over for playdates, are some of the things we miss most while we are away. It felt like we had dropped right back into our old life and it was very sad to have to say good-bye to all of them again. Home is the one place where you can let your guard down and just be yourself. Our friends and family there just get us, or at the very least look past our weirdness and love us anyway. We're still optimistic that the Swiss will come to enjoy, or at the very least tolerate, the wacky Mjaanes family. Maybe I'll make them some of my famous corn and black bean salad to win them over.

Top of Europe - Take 2

Some of you may remember my post about our lame attempt to visit Jungfaujoch, the highest train stop in Europe. Without reliving the horrid details, the trip ended prematurely due to poor planning, poor parenting, and to be blunt, pure stupidity on our part. But the Mjaanes family doesn't shy away from a challenge due to one failed attempt, so a while back we made attempt number 2. Some adventurers take several attempts to reach the peak of Everest, the Mjaanes family takes more than one attempt to reach a mountain tourist attraction by train. Sad but true.




I'm happy to report that this trip was MUCH more successful. We had done our homework, (a.k.a. tried once before and learned the hard way) and decided to make it a 2 day trip. So we stayed in Wengen, which is a little resort town on the way up the mountain. Wengen was perfect because there are no cars, there is a playground in the middle of town, and it was off season so there weren't many tourists to glare at my loud American children. The owners of the hotel were extremely friendly, and really tried to make our stay a comfortable one. However, they didn't have any children, and this was immediately apparent when, upon arrival, they handed my 5,4, and 2 year old kids glass champagne flutes filled with juice. They also kindly let us know that if we wanted to have dinner at the hotel, they offered a children's dinner prior to the adult dinner seating so we could enjoy our meal without the kids. Aaaahhh... dinner without the kids........ Apparently here in Switzerland leaving your children unattended in a 2 story hotel room with a balcony isn't frowned upon. But Bryan and I are still clinging to a few of our American ways and decided rather than chance our kids pilfering through the mini bar while we enjoyed our quiet dinner, we'd enjoy dinner with the family.

Bryan indulged me that night and offered to put the kids to bed while I went out exploring the town by myself. I'm pretty certain he checked to make sure all the shops in town were closed before he granted me this gift. He also demanded payment for his services in the amount of 1 beer from the hotel bar when I returned. For an hour alone in the Alps I would have personally dragged a barrel of beer up the 5 flights of stairs to our hotel room and then gone back to grab a glass of wine for myself. But fortunately my husband underestimated my desire for alone time and I quickly agreed to his small request.




Wengen is the most beautiful place I have ever been. And although I haven't traveled extensively, it is hard for me to imagine there exists a place more beautiful. There was a church a little way down the path from our hotel that sits on what must be the best piece of land in the area. The church itself is quaint and cute, but you can't beat the benches they've placed in an out of the way spot in front of the church. You can sit and look out at the valley, with the snow capped mountains in the background and waterfalls in the distance. Although I'm not an extremely religious person, I consider myself to be spiritual and it feels like you can't get much closer to God than sitting on one of those benches. I could have sat there all night, except for the fact that I could see our hotel balcony from where I was sitting and I kept wondering if Bryan was cursing me as he beerlessly tried to get the kids to sleep on his own.



The next day we packed up our things and headed up to Jungfaujoch. Most of the train ride is through the mountain so there isn't much to look at. Which was fine because on this particular train ride, we were paid back for all the times that our kids were less than pleasant to share a train car with. There was a little German boy seated behind us who apparently had some ear trouble due to the altitude. And when I say had some ear trouble, I mean this poor kid looked like he had been possessed by the devil. He screamed at pitches that forced you to wince and worked himself into such a sweaty red faced frenzy that I even offered his mother our last dum dum lollipop to try to soothe him. I don't take lightly giving up E's candy pacifiers, so when the kid refused it and the obnoxious older brother grabbed it and shoved it in his mouth with a laugh, I embraced the Swiss custom of shooting a dirty look before enduring 30 more minutes of ear drum peircing screams and a few flailing arms to the head. My kids had no thoughts of misbehaving as they were too busy looking on in horror at the meltdown of all meltdowns happening in front of their eyes. I think I saw a look of respect in E's eyes as she witnessed a tantrum that put her little American outbursts to shame. It's so nice to be on the other side of things for a change....




When we got to Jungfraujoch, we were greeted by a zillion other tourists, many of whom were keeping the typical tourist stereotypes alive and well. It seemed as if a couple dozen Japanese tour buses must have dropped off what appeared to be a beginners photography class. They were on the glacier taking pictures of each other posing in numerous animated positions. I have never seen so many smiling happy Japanese tourists slipping and sliding on top of a glacier while cameras clicked away. One particular man chose to wear wingtips for his glacial adventure, causing me to curse myself for not tossing the camcorder in my bag. Picture a baby deer with a large camera on his neck on a sheet of ice. Now replace the baby deer with a tall lanky Japanese tourist, and it was as hilarious as it sounds.




Bryan and I enjoyed the views from the glacier, but the highlight for the kids was the ice palace. Inside the glacier there is a tunnel built into the ice. Aside from a railing you can hold onto, everything is ice. It's not the place for the claustrophobic, and with the high altitude it can feel a little closed in. As we headed toward the entrance to the ice palace, Bryan decided he was feeling a little lightheaded and wanted to sit down. I'd like to say I was full of compassion and concern, but I think I reminded him of how he used that same complaint to steal my thunder in the delivery room with 2 of our 3 children, and suggested he buck up. I wasn't about to experience the hell of Jungfraujoch with three young children while he hung out on a cot at the first aid station. Fortunately my tough love approach annoyed him out of his lightheadedness, and we enjoyed the day as a family of five.




The kids also got to take a dogsled ride which I think was another highlight of the trip for them. For some odd reason, I find dogsledding fascinating. I think seeing the Iditarod race would be a thrill (for about 5 minutes) and when I heard they had dogsled rides, I was all over it. But because I'm a moron from time to time, I actually thought they would let you crack the whip and yell "MUSH! MUSH!" while the dogs pulled you standing on the back of the sled. Apparently there is more to dogsledding that cracking whips and shouting "MUSH" because Bryan found it quite funny that I thought I was going to lead a pack of dogs on top of a mountain. It was much less exciting in reality and they just sat the kids in the sled and someone who apparently knows how to give dog commands took the kids for a slow ride around a short track.




So our second attempt at Jungfraujoch was a success and we feel like we are starting to figure out this whole traveling thing. I think the key is to allow twice as long as you think you'll need for every activity and accept that you won't end up doing half the things you planned on doing. Inevitably there are meltdowns, fights, 4 times as many potty breaks as a normal family needs to take, and 296 photo opportunities for Bryan to stop and take dozens of pictures of. On this trip I believe we took over 400 pictures. The happy Japanese tourists have NOTHING on Bryan. For our next adventure I may even buy him a fanny pack and some black socks to complete the stereotype. We're just doing our part to keep the typical American tourist stereotype alive and well in Europe.