This is Home

It's just over a year since we returned from Denmark. After a months of diligent research, it seemed the only things that changed while we were gone were the sudden appearance of Wal-Mart Marketplaces and the sprouting of RedBox.

Many of my European habits are fading away - I don't walk nearly as much, I don't feel quite as weird about driving everywhere, I've become accustom to living in a county that doesn't sell alcohol and I've slid easily back into the "hurry up" American culture. Though some habits die hard: I still prefer good beer over cheap beer, I light candles around the house and I really like drinking sparkling water even though it's an incredibly pretentious habit here.

This spring, instead of going to see the baby swans, we saw the wobbly legged colts chasing their mothers in wide green fields of bluegrass. We went to the zoo instead of Tivoli. And to the pool instead of the beach.

But this is home.

And now I have a new blog home over here. I hope you'll join me.

Retrospective: On Stay-at-Home Motherhood

The conclusion of our adventures in Denmark marked the “equality point” of Michael’s and my ventures as primary caregivers of our children. Michael was home with John for ten months after my maternity leave and I was the stay-at-home parent for our ten-month stint in Copenhagen. I thought of our trip as a chance to “try on” being a stay-at-home parent and, as you’ve read, its had it’s ups and downs.

I very clearly remember the moment when the glow of staying home wore off. On this particular day I tripped and fell quite ungracefully on the bus, experienced a heavy dose of ‘Mom guilt’ from a well-meaning acquaintance, locked John and myself out of the apartment, thought I'd lost our digital camera, cried openly for a whole city block over it until I realized the camera was in the back pocket of the stroller, and then was pooped on by a rather large bird. At dinner that night every time John would accidentally drop food on the floor, I felt like crying. Later I consoled myself by going to the mall, child and stroller-free, to ride up and down the escalator, and it was then I knew the honeymoon was over.

I spent the majority of this year trying to negotiate a new identity of sorts for myself. So much had to change – even down to things like my "personal fashion concept" – business casual is great for the professional world but not so much for Mother World. The success of my day was measured in the cleanliness of my apartment, the number of tantrums my toddler had and if I managed to get both children to nap at the same time when it was once measured in things more tangible and permanent. I discovered to my chagrin that new acquaintance’s initial impression of me was that I was "just a mom" when I still thought of myself as a working professional. And I came to hate how trivial and dismissive the word "mom" or especially "mommy" seemed when applied as a label. But I’ve slowly been learning how to find my way through all of this; allowing myself a little time away to exercise some of the skill sets I particularly enjoyed in my professional life, getting enough sleep at night, and learning to be as confident in myself as a primary caregiver as I was as a professional.

At the core though I’m both surprised and not surprised to find that I genuinely like my children and actually enjoy seeing their small selves grow and blossom up close on a daily basis. I get lots of little comments about how close they are in age and how energetic John is, all with an undercurrent of "how-in-the-world-do-you-survive-I-would-never-want-to-live-your-life." But I am not sorry and I don’t pity myself. I love that John already doesn’t remember a time when there wasn’t James, and even now you can see a bond of brotherhood between them. They’re both energetic but it’s a focused energy that is full of infectious enthusiasm.

This coming year I’ll be back for another round of staying at home. There are many reasons why this makes sense – lack of affordable quality childcare on short notice and possibly only being in our new home for one year among other reasons. And while I have persistent internal questions about whether I’m being a good model of womanhood for my sons and as we face certain negative financial implications of my not working full time, I’m rather looking forward to it.

Six

We've been staying with my parents since returning to the States. Saturday we left for Texas to visit Michael's family for most the month of July. We strategically planned it so the first leg of the journey was nap time, and the last half of the journey would be during the kid's bedtime. And for the most part everything went according to plan. We were delayed a bit when John got car sick about an hour after dinner, and another delay when we had to stop to assuage James who is cutting his first tooth. Early Sunday morning - our 6th anniversary - found us at a Shell station somewhere in Arkansas; nursing a baby in the car, air smelling like sulfur, my teeth with that gross road trip fuzziness, splitting a pint of Blue Bell ice cream with the man who is so much a part of me that I can barely remember what life was like before there was us.

I chiseled out a bite of ice cream with my flimsy plastic spork, James nursing away, smiling at the memory of the two young kids that we were that day.

"Here's to us."

Retrospective: On Repatriating

We returned to the Homeland three weeks ago today. We were only gone for 10 months but those months were packed with Large Life Events, let alone the challenges of learning to navigate a new country and culture. I prepped myself for our return to our old community by reminding myself that it wouldn’t be the same as when we left.

It feels exactly the same. Down to the same songs playing on the radio.

I feel a little like a time traveler who had spent a year away on a crazy adventure, returning to the day after she left and is shocked to find things haven’t changed as much as she has changed.

Don’t get me wrong. There is something profoundly comfortable in the familiarity of coming home. After a year of feeling mildly off balance and somewhat self-conscious every time I stepped onto the Copenhagen streets, it’s amazing being able to read a menu with ease and not have to start every conversation with an apology for only speaking English.

But I’m also been walloped over the head by certain aspects of America that never really noticed before. Like we drive everywhere. And I get that we’re a vast, VAST country that had never had the need to consider space issues – there is little stopping us from continuing to build out. But while we’re at it, can’t we put in a few sidewalks? While in Copenhagen I got in the habit of walking and I since arriving home I get the itch to take a long walk each day. This weekend I was out doing some shopping at one of our sprawling American strip malls and since I had some time to kill I decided to save a little of my $3.93 per gallon gas and walk across the better part of Hamburg to another store. That’s when I realized there were no sidewalks or cross walks. To be fair, this particular location is the most poorly conceived strip mall ever. I will never forget getting stuck in that parking lot for 45 long minutes one December weekend, slowly feeling the Christmas spirit ooze out of me. But still.

In setting myself up to expect everything to be different I believe that I somehow expected that “America” a nation/culture/people at large would have changed as much as I have over this past year. As if it somehow would have taken steps to put in significant bike lanes and produce a truly affordable hybrid SUV. That it would have given up Coke and chips and ice cream because it’s too expensive to buy, and hang it’s laundry outside because it was just ridiculous to pay $4 to dry one load too.

We’re home. It’s really, really great. But it feels profoundly different. And the same.

Keys

Poor John. In Denmark we would let him play with our keys when we returned from a trip out. All the doors in our little flat had key holes and he could entertain himself for about a half hour pretending to unlock doors.

And then we arrived in America and suddenly key rings included rubbery buttons that were just perfect for chubby little toddler fingers – as John discovered early one morning when he climbed silently out of his Pack ‘n’ Play at 6:00am.

A loud car alarm went off. My Dad got up to investigate a minute or so later and found John standing at the door, keys in hand, brow furrowed with concern.

“HONK,” John said imitating this new noise that was just introducing itself into his Toddler World. “HONK. HONK.”

Now his old fun toy is off limits. Poor John.

An Ode to Apple

Our laptop is taking a week-long vacation at a nearby Apple Store for a few hardware and cosmetic concerns. This is all being done for free since my beloved MacBook is still under warranty. I love Apple - especially their great service.

I've been stewing over a few retrospectives that I hope to post here when MacBook is safely home again. (Look out. She's going to get all "deep" and "philosophical.")

Until then.

Photo Friday

At the Lock and Key
Originally uploaded by TilleyShots

Snakes on a Plane

From the moment we found out Michael had the Fulbright I was dreading the flight back to the States knowing John would be almost two. It's just not the best age for flying. Bless their hearts and all that. But I became more hopeful when we got a flight that left Copenhagen at 3:30pm rather than the normal crack-of-dawn flight. This way John's bedtime would fall right in the middle of the nine-hour transatlantic flight. I wasn't worried about James since it's super easy to fly with kids who aren't yet mobile and who are still breastfed. Nurse them during take off and landing to protect their ears, and then the hum of the plane puts them to sleep. Easy-peasy.

We get our four carry-ons, car seat and stroller on the plane in record time, switch seats with a Very Kind Guy so we can all sit together in back middle row of the plane, and start to breath easy. And then discover the one thing John wants to do more than anything is kick the seat of the Very Kind Guy who is now front of us. We pulled out all the new toys we had saved to entertain John on the flight. We plugged him into Horton Hears A Who. We tried distracting him and threatening him. We each took a foot and held it. Four hours later, Very Kind Guy was into his sixth glass of wine and John finally fell asleep. I hope he knew we were doing everything we could think of.

To every person who has had a small child kick the back of their seat on a long international flight, I apologize.

The rest of the journey was physically taxing, but uneventful. We made it through customs in O'Hare at what felt like midnight to all four of us without incident. My first order of business after getting our ridiculous amount of baggage through customs, finding our way to the domestic gate and calling my mother was to buy a super-sized, corn syrup filled, icy cup of McDonalds Coke.

It tasted like America.

Doctor Who

Almost six years ago Michael started his doctoral journey and it all cumulated today with the defense of his dissertation. In between the beginning and the end were two masters degrees (one for each of us), two children, three moves – one of them abroad, one Fulbright, rich times, poor times and the better part of our 20-something life. And Michael celebrated, as only he can, with a bucket of chicken and Blue Bell ice cream.

Photo Friday

Cities & Knights, originally uploaded by TilleyShots.

We did make it home in one piece. Posting will recommence once I get my fill of Cities & Knights.

The Long "Hej Hej" (Goodbye)

I've reached that point - less than 48 hours from our departure - where I remember once again why I dislike moving so much. The constant disarray, trying not to openly sob when your toddler's first little friend gives you a hug goodbye and strategizing about how to pack all your most essential earthly possessions into seven checked bags and four carry-ons. And trying not to think too creatively about all the possible horrors of hauling those 11 bags, two small children, one stroller, one carseat and one Snugli from one continent to another between the hours of what will feel like 3:30pm-6:00am.

I'm excited about going home. Early Wednesday morning when we first plant our feet back in the Homeland will be a very happy time. But for now it's just one last goodbye to Copenhagen and the wonderful people we met here. And lots of Shawarma for dinner.

Photo Friday

"Why are you putting my toys in those containers?", originally uploaded by TilleyShots.

"Well, in Denmark..."

One thing I've noticed about people who live abroad is their tendency to compare everything back to their time overseas. I have the feeling that I could be particularly obnoxious about this so I'm going to try to get it out of my system now.

Well, in Denmark gas is about $9.00 per gallon. In Denmark you pay a car tax that is 110 percent of the value of the car. They had great public transportation in Copenhagen. In Copenhagen you didn't feel like you were taking your life in your hands each time to decided to bike in traffic because there are dedicated bike lanes.

In Denmark we fit four people into a 527 square foot, one-bedroom apartment and it wasn't so bad. In Denmark we didn't have a big refrigerator, an oven, a dishwasher, or a dryer but it was doable for 10 months (though I will be happier than a 1950s housewife to have those things again).

In Denmark we had about five bakeries within a three block radius and would buy the most delicious breads and danishes.

In Denmark the sun would go down at 3:30pm in the winter and 10:30pm in the summer. Just before we left Michael would wear my black out eye goggles that I bought for the plane, and each night I would make some crack about them ("To the batcave, Batman!").

In Denmark they have universal health care and I had really great experiences with their maternity care system.

In Denmark they don't have a word in Danish that translates "please."

In Denmark beer costs less than bottled water and Coke.

Gingered Fresh Lemonade

The weather is sunny and warm here in Copenhagen, we've been doing a lot of picnic-ing lately and even grilled out with friends a few weekends back, all of which puts me in the mood for lemonade. I've been dreaming about the best homemade lemonade I ever had and managed to dig up the recipe.

Gingered Fresh Lemonade
(from Sunkist.com)
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
¼ cup crystallized ginger cut into thin strips
2 strips (about 3 inches) fresh lemon peel (removed with vegetable peeler)
3 ½ cups cold water
1 ¼ cups freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 lemon, cut into cartwheel slices for garnish

In a saucepan, bring 1 cup water, sugar, ginger and lemon peel to a boil. Reduce heat and briskly simmer for 15 minutes. Remove and discard lemon peel. Add 3½ cups cold water and lemon juice. Chill several hours or overnight in a covered container. Serve in tall glasses over ice cubes and a few lemon slices.

Makes 6 servings

Photo Friday

Dyrehave (Deer Park), originally uploaded by TilleyShots.

And now that I'm finally getting it, it's time to leave

I am a little surprised by how profoundly sad I am at the prospect of leaving Copenhagen. We're going back to a wonderful community near my family in a few weeks, but we're also leaving a wonderful community with people who became our family. Copenhagen and I were finally getting to know each other too. I've figured out how to most economically shop in her stores. I know how to signal with the bus driver to figure out if there is room for the stroller on the bus. I can get anywhere on public transportation with ease and (almost) don't flinch at the prospect of a 18 mile bike ride. I've gotten over seeing 16-year-olds buying beer, people sunbathing in their underwear and children left in their prams to nap on the sidewalk. I've come to have a feel for the rhythms of the city; the church bells that peal out the hours, the scores of religious holidays in a largely secular nation, the harsh darkness of winter and the piercing rays of the summer sun. And I roll my eyes along with the rest of the Danes at the tourist who take pictures of me out with the kids in the Christiania bike.

Oh crap. There is a cartoon character on my blog.

James is at that great age where he is beginning to find his voice. Lots of "ahgoo" and "looo" and something else that I can only describe as talking whale, which is strikingly like the character Dory in Finding Nemo.

"Maaaamaaaa.... Iiiieeeee aaammmmmmmmmm a-waaaaaaK.... feeeeeeeeeed meeeeeeeee???? oooooooohhhhh....... iiiieeee poooooooood......."

Assistens Kirkegård

Early Saturday morning we hopped on the bikes and went off in search of the grave of the Danish philosopher Kierkegaard's one-time fiancée, Regina Olsen. The Danish cemeteries are absolutely beautiful. They are popular public green spaces - we saw a number of people jogging around the gravel paths, walking their dogs, and laying out reading books. They are so full of life that it's hard to remember they are a memorial to the dead. We picked up danishes and coffee on the way, and had a picnic breakfast. And also managed to take our first halfway decent family picture.

Photo Friday Saturday

Regina Olsen, originally uploaded by TilleyShots.

Regina was Kierkegaard's fiancée at one point in his life until he decided he didn't want to (basically) subject her to a life with him. Kierkegaard wrote The Seducer's Diary to help Regina recover from the affair in hopes that it would prompt her to despise him. Just some more good ol' nineteenth century drama.

These Choices

This generally tends to be a transitional time of year for our family since we seem to be forever wed to the academic calendar. I've been thinking a lot about choices lately; choosing to support a partner through grad school, choosing to have a child, choosing the hope of future successes doing what you love over short term security, choosing to leave a wonderful job to run off and live in Europe, choosing to have another child and, oh, have him in another country. I've often thought we never seem to do life the easy way but I honestly wouldn't change anything if I had it to do over again (other than leaving for the hospital about 23 minutes earlier).

The Big Fear about coming here to Denmark was that the philosophy job market would fail Michael and we'd be stuck on the exit end of the Fulbright without anything to go home to. Looking for work in academe is a cold, soul-crushing process that defies all other norms in real world job searches. Suffice it to say that it hasn't been an easy year in that respect. But there is a job waiting for us when we go back and it just so happens that we somehow managed to end up one small town over from the city we left last August in a job market were you go where the job is and hope you don't end up in the one place you swore you'd never live.

We have a plane ticket home and a place to go. Our adventure here ends June 10.