E and the Papparazzi

We've begun to attract a lot of attention since we've started traveling within Europe. This probably doesn't surprise most of you since we unintentionally seem to bring attention to ourselves with crying children, our less than textbook parenting techniques, and our general inability to fly under the radar in any situation. But we've realized we draw a special kind of attention whenever we are sightseeing with E. Initially, we thought people were drawn to E because she was 2, has a lot of personality (must have been a freak genetic mutation), and is, in my extremely biased opinion, really stinking cute. But we've started to suspect there might be more to it.

It all started back when we took our family outing to the Jungfrau (a.k.a. The Top of Europe). In typical Mjaanes fashion, we decided the best time to head to the only kid friendly restaurant on the top of a mountain was at noon. Why wait until after the lunch rush when we could eat in a cafeteria with 347 other families who also lack the good sense to avoid dragging their children to a restaurant during the peak dining hours? We had just made our way into the mayhem, when Z announced he had to pee immediately or we'd all be sorry. So while Bryan dragged the boys through a sea of tourists balancing trays of overpriced schnitzel, E and I began the process of jockeying for a table. As I was scouting out the room for the family most likely to scarf down their food quickly and wipe down their own table, a nice young girl approached and offered to have us share her table where she was eating with her young boyfriend. Hey, must be our lucky day! I considered telling her the louder half of our party would be arriving momentarily, and then thought better of it. So we plopped down at their table and the girl pulled some Tic Tacs out of her purse and offered one to E. This probably would have been a good opportunity to have the old "Stranger Danger" talk, but E really digs Tic Tacs and I wasn't in the mood to handle a 2 year old meltdown in a crowded restaurant. The girl seemed nice enough and popped one of the Tic Tacs in her own mouth, so I figured the "Don't take Candy from Strangers" talk could wait.

This is when the nice girl turned a little weird. The next thing I know she's whipped out her camera and started snapping pictures of E like she's America's Next Top Model. I didn't quite know how to react beyond the, "Didn't see THAT coming" look on my face. E just stared blankly at the woman with a look in her eyes that said, "What the hell is wrong with this woman?" As I was contemplating putting an end to the strange impromptu photo session, the girl's boyfriend walked up and they very excitedly began chatting in Japanese and smiling wildly at E. We must have been quite the mother/daughter sight, staring at the 2 of them with dumbfounded looks on our faces. They soon left E and I sitting at the table with minty fresh breathe and a story to share with Bryan and the boys.



A couple months later we experienced our next strange encounter. We had all just boarded a boat on Lake Lucerne and were heading out on a sight seeing cruise. E and the boys had nabbed a seat near the kids play area and were happily building with Legos while Bryan and I enjoyed a beer and pretended like we didn't have children for a few minutes. Suddenly, a young guy in his early 20's walked up and pointed at E. He had a very excited smile on his face and asked us in broken English if he could have his picture taken with her. Hmmmm.....what is the socially acceptable thing to do in this situation? Check references? Do a background check? I opted for the cop out response that placed the dilemma on my 2 year old's shoulders. "E? Do you want to have your picture taken with this guy?" Probably wouldn't be the Supernanny's recommended response, but we were caught off guard and I never claimed to be up for a Parent of the Year award. Fortunately, E had the good sense to say, "NO!". He looked at me like, "Can you help me out here?" but I shrugged my shoulders and offered him a superficial, "sorry." You should have seen this guy's face. He went from the perkiest 20 something tourist I had ever laid eyes on, to a kid who looked like he'd just been told summer vacation had been cancelled. He sadly walked over to his table of friends, who seemed to be waiting in eager anticipation, and began talking to them in Japanese. They all sadly sighed and a few gave him consoling pats on his shoulder, all the while looking over at us and gawking at little E.



Things really started getting odd during out trip to Italy. Anywhere we went that could be considered touristy, E was photographed. On our day trip to Pisa, I was a little concerned E was going to pull a Sean Penn and start assaulting the papparazzi. As we stood in front of the leaning tower of Pisa, taking our cheesy tourist photographs, I began to get the feeling we were being watched. Perhaps it was because we all looked like drowned rats after being caught in a torrential downpour? Or maybe we were being scoped out as potential suckers for a pickpocket scam? No, we were being circled by tourists who were working up the nerve to have their picture taken with my 2 year old. The area with the best view of the tower is pretty crowded with people snapping pictures and oohing and aahing in wonder at Pisa's main attraction. When we sat E up on a post to take a picture of her in front of the tower, a young 20 something couple ran up on each side of her and made silly hand gestures with overexcited smiles while their friend snapped their picture. Fortunately, at this point, we'd decided this weird phenomenon must be documented and we began snapping pictures of the freaks who were posing with our 2 year old. A couple minutes later, another woman walked up to E , put her arm around her, and had a picture snapped. Seriously?!?!?!?! When it happened for a third time in about 10 minutes, I began to create a genious business plan in my head. We could open up a little souvenir stand and sell tacky replicas of the leaning tower while charging 20 euros a pop to be photographed with E. I'm sure child labor laws in Italy are a bit looser than in the states, and this could be a goldmine!



Our last stop in Italy was Venice. It was here that with our combined IQ's, Bryan and I were able to figure out why E was such an attraction. While taking photographs of the kids from the terrace of St. Mark's Basilica, we suddenly found ourselves with a group of about 10 people crowded around us watching. And sure enough, next thing we knew they jumped right in and started posing with them. This is when it all started to click. There is one common denominator shared by all of the wacky E groupies. They were all Asian and all had beautiful DARK shiny hair. I've never been to Asia, but my suspicion is you don't get to see a whole lot of toe heads walking around. And E is as toe headed as they come with her light blonde hair and fair skin. Does this make it any less bizarre that random strangers want their picture taken with my now 3 year old? Absolutely not. Imagine the heyday these crazies would have on a tour of Sweden.



As we looked back at our snapshots of E and friends at the leaning tower, I noticed a woman in blue is sitting in the background of all of them, watching the bizarre scene unfold with a look of bewilderment on her face. Clearly, she didn't understand the attraction either and it makes the pictures that much more amusing. We will continue to add to our own album titled, E And Her Peeps. Someday when her blonde hair turns dishwater blonde like mine, she'll probably get a kick out of the 5 minutes of fame she shared with her Asian admirers. And as a side note, that lucrative business idea I came up with in Pisa has had a change of location. We'll be setting up our goldmine near the entrance to the Great Wall of China. E's college fund should be spilling over in no time.

I've fallen, and I can't get up!

I have discovered that in order to survive in Switzerland, there are only 2 things you have to be able to do. First and foremost, you need to become comfortable with people staring at you. It's not the polite American stare that ends the minute you make eye contact with the starer. No, the Swiss stare with no hesitation and hands down would take home the gold if staring contests were included in the Olympic games. At first, it made me a little self conscious. You know, is there toilet paper hanging out the back of my pants? Are my American children behaving obnoxiously?(Never happens). But I've come to accept that they just like to stare. Initially we were bold and actually grabbed our camera a couple times and snapped pictures of the unwavering starers. Oddly enough, they weren't phased by us taking a picture so it would last longer. So now we choose to accept it, occasionally roll our eyes at them, and usually don't even notice.




The second skill you need to manage in order to survive in Switzerland, is not nearly as easy as letting people gawk at you. When living in the Alps, if you don't strap skis on at the first sign of fresh powder, you are for all practical purposes, a complete freak of nature. I am very sad to inform all of you, that not only am I a freak of nature, but my three innocent children share this stigma with me. Somehow Bryan managed to learn how to ski while living in Wisconsin. Yes, Wisconsin. His family never skied, but apparently when he hit adulthood (I use this term loosely), he and his buddies somehow managed to find a hill in dairyland, and he taught himself how to ski. Not only did he manage to learn how to ski, he managed to get pretty good at it.



Twelve years ago, when we were newly dating, Bryan whisked me away for a day of skiing in Devil's Head, Wisconsin. I think by Swiss standards, this is a bunny hill for the 3 and under set, but for me, the uncoordinated newbie, it was a mountain. He started me on the bunny hill and I recall taking out a little kid on the towrope right off the bat. As you might imagine, Bryan realized I was the woman of his dreams when he saw me take out a small tot for my own self preservation on the bunny hill. Not one of my proudest moments.

After a couple hours on the slopes, I could turn, occasionally stop, and often fall with gusto. No big surprise. Everyone falls when learning to become the next Picabo Street. But one major issue kept me from attaining my dream of becoming a master skier. When I fell, my ass couldn't get back up. Seriously, I could not physically figure out how to get my back side out of the snow and back to a standing position. It's really hard to be cute and alluring with your new boyfriend when you are grunting and flailing on the ground with ski poles dangerously flying through the air. At one point, our love story almost came to an early end when Bryan uttered the words, "This is like skiing with my Grandma Marge". I didn't know Grandma Marge at the time, but I had a hunch that she probably wasn't hitting the slopes with a vengeance at the advanced age of 87. When I did have the pleasure of meeting her, God rest her soul, I learned that she was wheelchair bound and suffered from a serious case of cankles. I would have been proud to be compared with Grandma Marge in many arenas, but not when it came to athletic prowess.

Needless to say, we didn't do a lot of skiing after that first ski date. Otherwise I might be blogging about my life as a single 30-something trying to find love on the internet. But now that we are amongst the staring, fondue eating folks in Switzerland, we've decided it's time to really hit the slopes. The Swiss are so ski crazy that when February rolls around, they shut down the schools for a week and everyone heads into the Alps. So we booked our February trip to a ski resort, got the boys signed up for ski lessons with their friends, and bought all the accessories to look the part of a ski family. I quickly learned that looking the part was MUCH easier than getting from the top of the slope to the bottom with any kind of dignity intact.



The first members of team Mjaanes to take lessons, were the boys. We signed them up for four group lessons with 2 of their friends. Aside from being crammed with all of our ski equipment, our crappy little Opel Zafira was filled with excitement and anticipation as it climbed up towards the mountains through the sleet for the first lesson. We met up with the 4 other families who were skiing that day and despite the icy rain, everyone was in good spirits. Bryan decided not to ski that first Sunday so we could keep an eye on the boys and make sure we got video footage that we could embarrass them with when they are older. Considering they had never been on skies before, the boys did great. Z even unintentionally learned the fine art of skiing backwards down the bunny hill. He practiced that move several times that first day.



After their lesson, we all headed across the street to a little Swiss restaurant and our party of 20 had lunch. Everyone was excitedly talking about the skiing they had done that day and I was naively swept up in the whole idea of becoming a ski bunny. At my age, you would think peer pressure would be a thing of the past. But no, by the end of lunch, I was ready to sign up for my first ski lesson, put my almost 3 year old on a pair of skis and let an instructor work his magic. It's amazing what a few friends and and a couple glasses of wine can convince you to do.



Fast forward 1 week, and team Mjaanes is back at the bottom of that same ski hill. E looks adorable all slipping and sliding in her tiny little skis, and since she is the bravest and most daring of the Mjaanes kids, I don't think twice about handing her over to her cute little blonde ski instructor. At this point, my nerves have kicked in and I realize that I may be in over my head. My friend Stacey offered to take a lesson with me, and despite the fact that she had skied as a teenager in Switzerland, I agreed. The poor thing had no idea what she was in for.



We met Patrick, our friendly Swiss ski instructor, and he kindly led us over to the bunny hill. There were 2 other adult women taking lessons, but everyone else was between the ages of 2 and 6. I don't have a lot of faith in my ability to ski, but I figured in no time I'd be whizzing past the boys on the bunny hill. Maybe even taunting them with a little, "Later Suckahs!" as I headed towards more challenging runs.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Things went terribly awry right off the bat. I'll preface this story by telling you that I'm generally not a fearful person. I don't get scared easily, and I don't worry terribly about getting hurt when trying new activities. I've gone skydiving, parasailing, mountain biking, and even hosted a birthday party for 10 kindergarten boys in our little apartment. I'm no chicken. But my one true fear in life, is looking like a complete ass by myself. I've had LOTS of experience facing this fear since moving to Switzerland, but this embarrassing moment may require some inpatient therapy. Patrick led us to the magic carpet which was filled with kids. I stepped onto the magic carpet and gracefully began my 10 second ascent up the hill. I felt a little silly being a grown woman on the magic carpet, but Patrick and Stacey were ahead of me and I'm not opposed to looking like an ass, so long as I'm in good company. About 1/2 way up the little incline, the magic carpet stops. No big deal. As one of the ski instructors hops off to get it going, I figured this would be a good time to adjust my footing. (Insert cringe here) Yes, this is when my own little personal horror takes place. My close friends reading this can now prepare to pee themselves. As I adjusted my right ski, the magic carpet started up again with a slight jerk. The rest is kind of a slow motion nightmare. You know that moment when you begin to fall and realize there's no stopping? That moment seemed to take about 3 minutes. I don't think I actually screamed out, but in my own little off balance head I was screaming, "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!" The rest was just a flurry of skis and limbs. Picture a giraffe on skis falling off an escalator. Yup. That's pretty close to what it felt like. Since Stacey and Patrick were ahead of me, they didn't see my display of anti-athleticism. Another ski instructor stood over me with a look that said, "THANK GOD you don't belong to me today" and hollered for Patrick. This is when Patrick and Stacey looked down to see me lying in a heap next to the magic carpet. I have to admit, as I write this, it was hysterical. At the time? Not so much. You might think that was enough embarrassment for me. But if you recall, getting up is not a skill I have mastered. So after a few flailing attempts to stand up, poor Patrick had to claim me and help me up. Good times.

Fortunately, for the next hour, I managed not to humiliate myself further. We stayed on the bunny hill and I finally got the hang of snowplowing. This is when Patrick decided we were ready for the T-bar. I don't know a lot about skiing, but you don't hear a lot of people talking about the challenges of riding the magic carpet. You do, however, hear people mention that the T-bar can be a bit tricky for a new skier. Seriously, did this guy already forget the heap of alpine disaster he had to retrieve off the bunny hill? He must be a glutton for punishment.



To my amazement, I made it up the hill on the t-bar without (further) embarrassing myself or my family name. Coming down the bigger hill even went pretty well, until I was about 10 feet from the bottom and suddenly lost all control. Rather than careen into the line of children waiting for t-bar, I opted to fall in such a graceful manner that the sound of my helmet cracking against the ground was heard by a friend standing about 100 feet away. Thank God I hadn't opted for fashion first and worn my cute ski hat with the ear flaps. I probably wouldn't have looked so cute when I was being dragged unconscious on a sled past the skiers who had business being on the slopes.




So my initial entry into the world of skiing left much to be desired. I started to think I should just embrace my "freak of nature" status and learn the finer points of drinking hot totties in the lodge all winter. But after a couple post-skiing cocktails, the public humiliation didn't seem so bad and my throbbing head had been numbed to a dull ache. I may have humiliated myself beyond comprehension at one ski area, but dammit, there are hundreds of ski areas that haven't yet had the pleasure. And if the Swiss are going to stare, well, I might as well give them something to really stare at.

We wish you a Frohe Weihnachte!

Fall quickly turned into Winter here in Switzerland and with it comes new experiences and lots of grey skies. I had been told that from November to February, it is pretty grey and dreary here in the land of sausage and cheese. It has been suggested that we take plenty of trips up into the mountains to find some sunshine or we run the risk of succumbing to a bout of seasonal depression. Ahh...nothing says the holidays like mommy staying in her pajamas for a week straight with a collection of empty wine bottles by her side. So far we are all smiling our way through the season, but this may have more to do with our excitment over a trip back to Chicago than our ability to go without sun for weeks on end. We were all counting the days until we returned "home" to see our friends and family. Even Bryan who has missed home less than the rest of us, admitted that he really needed a trip home. The Christmas season here is beautiful and interesting in a lot of ways, but the Mjaanes family was ready for a little Christmas American style.



Before we headed back to Chicago to celebrate Christmas and New Years with our families, we experienced some of the Swiss traditions of the holidays. Not everything about Christmas is so different. They don't have Santa Claus, but they do have Samichlaus. He looks a lot like Santa. Red suit, funny hat, white beard. He's not fat like our American Santa. But the Swiss don't tend to appreciate obesity quite like our Big Mac loving culture. The kids get to visit with Samichlaus at school and in general it seems very similar to our ho ho ho version. EXCEPT, the Swiss like to shake things up a bit and scare the living crap out of their children. Samichlaus has an evil twin named Schmutzli. Seriously people, I couldn't make this stuff up if I wanted to. Schmutzli looks very similar to Samichlaus, except his outfit is black instead of red, he has black charcoal on his face and he carries a switch and a burlap bag. Why the switch and the burlap sack, you ask? Well, for the naughty little Swiss brats, of course. Legend has it that the naughty little ones get whipped by psycho Schmutzli and then thrown in his burlap sack, never to see their mummy and daddy again. I find it amusing that they don't celebrate Halloween, but they incorporate beatings and kidnappings into celebrating the birth of baby Jesus. Now, I'm not opposed to terrifying my children on occasion. (Ask me about taking the boys to a haunted house when they were 3 and 4. Some therapist is going to be very wealthy some day.) But this takes it a little far for me. Z's class took a field trip to search for Samichlaus's little shack in the woods. Keep in mind, these kids are 4 years old and are searching the woods for Samichlaus and a scary dude that may or may not want to whip them and drag them off into the woods in a sack. And I know a couple of these kids to be prime candidates for some face time with Schmutzli. Fortunately, Schmutzli's bag remained empty that day and all the kids received a bag of "sweets" from Samichlaus.



In addition to Samiclaus, the kids' school also incorporates a Swiss baking tradition into their curriculum. In all the markets this time of year, you will find little bread people called Grittibanz. They are puffy white bread men with raisin eyes and are usually sprinkled with sugar. I didn't notice them much until Z's teacher let me know the class would be making them in class. It was while helping the kids make their little bread people, that the teachers offered a little history on the meaning of the word Grittibanz. Although no one seems to know why they are a part of Christmas, someone figured out where the word came from. And once I heard the meaning of "Grittibanz", I would have much preferred being lied to and told they were just cute little Christmas elves made out of dough. But the word “Grittibanz” means old man with his legs spread. Nothing takes the pleasure out of eating a delicious sweet bread around the holidays than being told what I'm eating depicts an old man with his legs spread. The origins of some words are really best left undeciphered. Fortunately the kids were too busy wolfing down their old men with spread legs to care about his origins.



My favorite part about the holidays in Switzerland are the Christmas markets that pop up in almost every town. Most of the Swiss towns feel very old and quaint on your average day, but when they throw up some white lights and line the streets with cute wooden huts decorated with garland, I'm all over it. Since this was my first holiday season in Switzerland, I was somewhat of a Xmas market junkie and picked a new one to visit almost every weekend between Thanksgiving and mid December. The biggest draw is the ambiance and the Gluewein. I'm yet to find an American here that likes gluewein, but I'm sure you'll be shocked to hear that it is yet another type of wine on the list of wines I enjoy. It's kind of a spiced red wine that is served warm and in some weird way, it smells like Christmas. There is also a lot of Raclette cheese served at the markets, and while the gluhwein smells like Christmas, my friend Crystal describes the smell of raclette cheese as "smelling exactly like dirty feet".



The rest of the little Christmas huts are filled with handmade Christmas ornaments, wooden toys, spices, scarves and hats, and just about anything else you can imagine. There are a few booths that resemble infomercials with guys slicing and dicing vegetables with the "Amaaaaaaaazing Veggie Chopper and Shredder!" Even in German, the cheesy sales guy sounds, well, cheesy. They tend to jolt you out of the fairytale that is a Swiss Christmas Market. But for the most part, it feels like you have gone back in time when you see alphorn players and processions of people dressed in traditional Swiss garb ringing giant cowbells as they walk through the cobblestone streets. I didn't buy much at the markets, although I was tempted by the Amazing Veggie chopper. But it just didn't feel right buying it without spreading it out over just 3 easy payments.



So our pre-holiday festivites in Switzerland were magical in a lot of ways, but we were really excited to get home to enjoy some of our American traditions. Usually I get all excited to set my radio to the "all Christmas carol" station from end of November until Christmas. But this year I can probably count the number of Christmas carols I heard on one hand, with the exception of the 839 performances of Jingle Bells performed by my two year old while riding in the back seat. And there are no obnoxious displays of Christmas lights in Switzerland, just white lights tastefully decorating the downtowns. I never really cared for giant blow up Christmas decorations or flashy colored lights, but you'd be surprised how much you miss them after seeing nothing but white lights for a month. I can only imagine the anxiety attacks I could cause my pleasant but reserved Swiss neighbors by inflating a giant blow up santa outside our building.



The best Christmas gift our family received this year was being able to spend time with our family and friends here in Chicago. Being away has made us appreciate the time we have with them more than we ever have before. It will be hard to leave them knowing we won't be back until July, but we feel very blessed to have made some really wonderful friends in Zurich that make our adventure more enjoyable during the fun times, and less lonely during the "what the hell have we done?" times. We're looking forward to a 2010 full of friendship, excitement, and as always, lots of laughs as we fumble our way through our Swiss adventure. Happy New Year!

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.