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.

Tapas, tapas, and more tapas....

We have just returned from our most recent Mjaanes family adventure to Espana! (That's Spain to those of you who don't feel the need to sound cooler than you actually are.) One thing that became very clear on this trip is that the kids are really becoming great travelers. I think they have finally taken pity on us and realized that we don't have a clue how to travel with little kids. They seem to have given up the hope that things will go smoothly and now just suffer through our ridiculous traveling escapades with a look on their faces that says "I can't wait until I'm 18 and can ditch these dorks". I don't have high hopes that we'll end up in the nicest of nursing homes....

Like any intelligent parents of young children, we booked an early morning flight and woke the kids up at 4:30 to head to the airport. We were shocked when they all woke up excited for the adventure and treated each other with kindness and respect throughout our morning of traveling. I kept waiting for the arguing and fighting to break out, but they honestly acted as if they liked each other. They must have been delirious from lack of sleep. It was a beautiful thing.

When we arrived in Madrid we realized that packing 2 giant suitcases and a stroller was traveling mistake #1. Apparently Spain doesn't much like their disabled citizens to ride their Metro system so they keep them out by not installing elevators in many of their stations. So while I carried the backpack and the stroller up God knows how many flights of stairs while holding E's hand, Bryan dragged our giant suitcases up them while we both tried to keep an eye on the boys. After an hour of riding and lugging suitcases through the subway, we arrived at our stop in the middle of Madrid and headed to our rental apartment for the next 5 days. It was at this point that I realized that Madrid in June is about 12 degrees hotter than hell. We looked like we were on a death march with our red faces and sweat soaked hair. But fortunately our apartment was only a block from the station. As we approached the building, Bryan mentioned that we were on the 5th floor and as I began to mutter, "It better have a freakin' elevator" he opened the door to a building that clearly had no elevator. Exactly 103 steps later we arrived at our rental apartment.



Some might call our apartment the penthouse, as it was located on the top floor. However, attic would be the appropriate term in this situation. We walked in to find the ceiling sloped so severely that we had to hunch over just to stand at the kitchen sink. It was pretty hysterical. There was about a 5 foot wide area the length of the apartment in which Bryan and I could stand up straight and a small dormer that led to a balcony. The owner showed us how to work the air conditioner and kindly asked us to just make sure we turned it off when we weren't in the unit. From this point on, the air conditioner was cranked to 16 degrees celcius for the next 5 days. I'm sure she'll be cursing the sweat soaked American renters when she receives her electric bill.



The best part of the trip was that we got to spend time with Bryan's brother's family. His wife Mercedes is from Madrid and was our personal tour guide for the next 4 days. The kids LOVED spending time with their cousins Gabriela and Lucia and I don't think they cared what we did as long as they were with them. Bryan and I loved that they were entertained and happy and we got quality time with our tour guides Jeff and Mercedes. It doesn't get much better than that.



On Friday night we began the process of eating our way through Madrid. Seriously, it was kind of disgusting. If you can think of a Spanish dish, I can pretty much promise you one of us ate it. Z walked around with a chorizo stained face for a large portion of the trip, and E spit out more olive pits in one weekend than most people do in a lifetime. We had Churros and chocolate for breakfast, paella for lunch, and cerveza and sangria in the afternoon before indulging in tapas for dinner. We're hoping that between the pounds we sweat off while walking the city and the suitcase lifting workout we endured at the beginning of the trip, we didn't come home too many pounds heavier than we left.






On Sunday, Bryan and his brother decided they wanted to take a day trip to Segovia Spain for Father's day. We took a bullet train that traveled almost 200 mph and the boys, including Bryan, were pretty excited. We visited the beautiful cathedral in Segovia and although there wasn't a service taking place, I'm still taking credit for getting the family to church on a Sunday. We should be good until Easter Sunday now unless we shock the good Lord with a visit on Christmas Eve. Anything's possible.




We also visited the castle in Segovia and all 5 kids made it to the lookout point by climbing up a winding staircase of 164 steps. After the castle it was time to (surprise, surprise) eat again. I watched in quiet horror as my brother in law enjoyed the local specialty of roast suckling pig. Although they didn't serve it with the head on, we had great fun taking pictures of him gnawing on the pig hoof. I'll never look at Winnie the Pooh's piglet in quite the same way again. As we left the restaurant we passed table after table of people stuffing their face with roasted piglet. Very disturbing....





Probably my favorite part of our trip was when we sat at a cafe in Madrid's Plaza Mayor and drank sangria while the kids played in the plaza. It was one of those moments when you suddenly remember what it feels like to be relaxed. We sat there for 2 hours watching the kids play and get absolutely filthy. We laughed as we ordered another pitcher of sangria and hoped the waiters would continue to take care of the kids for us. By the time we finally left, E was so filthy she looked like an orphan child who had just crawled out of the sewer. And I'm ashamed to say she had been sitting in a dirty diaper longer than I'd like to admit. But in my defense, she was having a great time and the pigeons she was playing with didn't seem to mind her stink.





After a couple pitchers of sangria, we chanced upon Z's childhood idol as we left the plaza. It was such a special moment for my superhero loving son. There, in the flesh (and there was a LOT of flesh) was spider man. He stood in the plaza with a box to collect change, and happily let us take a picture of him with the kids. At the time, I laughed so hard I cried. Later in the evening, I wondered if Z would need therapy after seeing such a disgusting display of anti-superheroism. Sadly, he later told me he thought it was the real spider man. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Sangria may not bring out the best of our parenting skills...



All in all, the whole family had a great time in Madrid and I was so proud of what troopers the kids were. When we were offered the opportunity to spend 2 years in Switzerland, the idea that we could show our kids parts of the world that they wouldn't otherwise see, was too enticing to pass up. We've frequently asked ourselves whether the kids will remember any of our travels, and I'm not sure if they will or not. But I can already see that our adventures are opening their minds to trying new things, whether it be new foods or interacting with new people. They are becoming more independent, adventurous, and confident. And whether they remember our trips or not, I feel like they will walk away from this adventure with a broader perspective on life that will hopefully carry with them as they grow older. Now let's just hope they don't carry with them the memory of the creepy Spanish Spiderman for too long...

English as a first AND second language

I've come to a disturbing realization since moving to Switzerland. I'm kind of shocked it took me this long to discover that I have not one, but TWO learning disabilities. I always did pretty well in school and managed to muddle my way through a graduate degree and although a member of Mensa, I am not, I've always considered myself a reasonably bright individual. But my recent self diagnosis is quite a problem and really starting to effect my social life here. I may be the only individual to ever suffer from these 2 disabilities simultaneously. I'm also the one who named them and decided they truly ARE disabilities. Some day I'll get the recognition I deserve in the medical journals.

I first realized I suffer from the total inability to understand someone who is speaking English if they have even the slightest bit of an accent. Also known as, "What Freakin' Language are you Speaking?" Syndrome. Since arriving here, I have met lots of really friendly, outgoing, and fun women that have really gone out of there way to make me feel welcome and at ease here in Switzerland. I have met most of them through the boys school and from several playgroups that I attend with E. Seriously, these women are SO nice. However, these women are also SO British, Australian, Scottish, Irish, and South African. And half the time, I feel like they are speaking Swahili. They are all English speaking, and obviously so am I. So why the hell can't I understand 70% of what these women are saying?!?!?!? To make matters worse, I have been introduced to about 197 people in the past 8 weeks and I remember about 12 of their names. Out of the 12 moms whose names I remember, I can remember 2 of their kids names. I'm pretty sure I've asked most of these women the same questions about 6 dozen times because I can't keep most of them straight. It's very embarrassing. The other day a really sweet mom was sitting with me at a birthday party when I asked her what class her son was in. She looked at me with a "How sad for your kids that you so obviously drink during the day" look. She then told me for probably the 10th time that her son was in C's class. I only wish I had an excuse like "vodka in my water bottle" to explain my stupidity. Very embarrassing.




The other night there was a mom's dinner out with about 15 ENGLISH SPEAKING moms. They are really extremely friendly and welcoming, however I'm pretty sure they now think I am either partially brain damaged or into some hard core drugs. For the first hour I focused really hard on what they were saying and frequently asked them to repeat themselves with a polite, "I'm sorry, what was that again?" By the next hour I just smiled and tried to laugh at the appropriate times. At one point a woman was telling some of us that she was heading back home to Ireland for the weekend. This sounded like exciting news, but just as I was about to comment about how much fun it sounded, I realized everyone else in on the conversation looked less than enthused. This would be because I only understood the second half of her story and missed the part about how she would be attending her aunt's funeral. I quickly wiped the "Have a pint of Guinness for me!" look off my face before anyone labelled me the cold-hearted American. I spent the 3rd hour enjoying my wine and pondering whether it would be strange for me to take an ESL course with a British instructor.

Despite the fact the I don't know what they are saying half the time, I have to say that they sound incredibly smart, regardless of the content. Seriously, I think a British accent could make even Paris Hilton sound intelligent. "That's Hot" said with an English accent doesn't sound so ridiculous, does it? The fact that speaking with an accent gives anyone an instant 10 point increase in their perceived IQ, may be partially to blame for my second affliction. I've named this next affliction of mine, the "Madonna" disorder. This would be my bizarre and uncontrollable tendency to speak with a slight British accent after spending time with my new UK friends. I may not know what the hell they are saying part of the time, but that doesn't stop me from copying their speech patterns. I swear to you it's unintentional and if I could personally apologize to Madonna for all of the times I slammed her due to her sudden British ways, I would. And Madonna and I are not the only American expats who suffer from this disorder. A friend who moved here from the West Coast will suddenly throw a British accent into a conversation out of nowhere. It's hysterical and fortunately she has a great sense of humor or she probably would not appreciate the fact that I point it out and laugh every time she does it. Their vocabulary is equally as addicting and I've caught myself saying things are "lovely" on a regular basis. At home this would age me by about 25 years, but here I fit right in! I drive on the "motorway", feed my kids "biscuits" instead of cookies, and tell them to get their shoes on "straight away". My cell phone has become my "mobile", E poops in her "nappies", I hold my kids hands in the "carpark", and "queue" at the "market" while waiting to pay for my groceries. Extremely annoying to those of you at home, but remember it's an illness. Take pity.

So as the Mjaanes clan heads back to the states at the end of the month, we look forward to enjoying easy conversations with our American friends and family. You may all sound a bit less intelligent back in the ole U.S. of A, but you're all so "lovely" is doesn't bother us a bit.