Hypothetical, let’s assume we tried to find out yesterday. This is the evening’s story how it could be. Hypothetical, remember.

On the late afternoon our beloved Aunt Anna arrived, we talked about this and that because it has been a little while since we met last. Then, around half past 5pm I was in a hurry to approach the city because I, of course, needed to make a beeline to the library (which closes at 7pm) to get an important book for my final paper. (No time to put on some make up or even to dress properly. Why, sir, don’t you like my sweatpants? They’re comfortable, at least…) Meanwhile the weather changed from scorching heat to really hot and stormy so I had to pick up everything of value lying around in the garden plus to protect everything that shouldn’t get wet. A little while later I could finally lean back in our car, turn the key in the ignition and … don’t worry, of course the engine did run. But the car was nearly out of fuel and I had to stop at the next gas station. There I struggled with the fuel dispenser because the driver in front of me though it’s common to park as convenient as possible (not for me, of course, and so I was a bit out of reach), but everything was successful finished soon and I, of course, did find the tank cup (blown away by the mild storm) just in time before it could get stuck anywhere. Also, my credit card was accepted. This could be my lucky day, mate!

A little time later, still on my way towards the city, I remembered the emptiness in my purse that usually goes very bad with an evening out and had to take another stop at a cash point.

‘Hurray, the city is near, just get your husband’s little ass right beside you in the car and off we go!’, might have been the thoughts trespassing my capable brain. But then, approximately 100 meters away from that man’s working place, I found the largest construction site possible, no driving through possible. So I had to park the car further away, call him by phone to help him find me and prayed there wouldn’t be a meter maid approaching while I had to wait. Hey, this would actually be my lucky day because the only person approaching was my husband and with a good mood, too! How very rare…

I, smart as I am, decided to park my car in a garage next to the library I had to get to just in time before they were closing. I made it, snapped my book and went for a big walk down to the university where 2 further books were waiting for me. Always accompanied by my dear husband. No need to hurry, here, the university is open 24hrs a day. After checking out there the stormy weather had increased a lot, so that I couldn’t see one single thing because every time I took a glimpse of the surrounding area there were things landing in my eyes. Things of every size and shape possible. My husband, on the other hand, got problems to use his voice because all the dust stuck in his throat. To escape the advancing rainstorm we hopped onto the next train and went straight for a nice bar. There we had a nice meal, talked about iCarly (that is the one TV series our 7yo watches that we like both and apparently we’re not really able to watch a lot of adult TV, because that was the ONLY series we talked about – well, maybe we’re just a bit weird) and drink something. In fact, I drank a lot, because my circulation is rather low, especially in summer and it helps a lot to drink a lot. Easy Peasy.

A little while later, the female heroine of this story decided to call it an evening early because she was very tired (keeping guard for a class of 7yo while they are floundering about in the water of the local swimming pool the whole morning will do that to you) and so we left around half past 8pm. Not before going to the bathroom once more (just me, of course) because drinking lemonade is absolutely not the best idea before leaving for a longer time without restroom available.

On the way to our car we looked at the different shop windows, because the shops all are already closed at 8pm. There is no danger to actually buy the delicious displayed chocolate that makes you drooling. Meanwhile, we were in no hurry and walking slow, I felt the need to pee. Again. So, we had to walk a little bit faster because it’s a long way home and there’s no possibility for a woman to find relief in the next park like all the mighty men can do so easily.

We reached the shopping mall where we parked our car earlier. Of course the first door we were approaching was locked, because the mall also closes at 8pm. But there probably should be an extra entry to get to the garage because all the garages in the city are open late. All garages? Rounding one corner and another and still feeling this growing need to find a bathroom (usually you can find a toilet inside a garage) our hearts dropped a little and sank down the rest as soon as we could see the sign announcing that the garage was closed. ‘Wait. Our car is in there.’ or ‘What the fuck, why is this damned garage already closed?’ might have been our thoughts. Then we discovered that, although the doors were all locked down, the driveway for the cars was still open. Hey, what a chance. 100% sure that there would be no oncoming car (and after reading the sign displaying the opening times – until 8:30pm only) we started to climb up the damned driveway with the intention to try and get our car out of there. If you could get in, there has to be a way out, too, hasn’t it? At least the neon lights were still on and our car was parked on the first level so the walk wouldn’t be too long. But the pay machines. Aren’t they all inside the mall in this garage? Inside the securely closed up mall? Not all! Thank you, Mr. architect, there was one in reach and it worked, too, although the allowed parking time officially was over by then. But would the machine at the exit accept it and open up the barrier blocking our way towards freedom? It did! Hallelujah and praise the Lord! So, off we went and cried out ‘Fortune favors fools!’.

Huh. That big garage door. Wasn’t that open just a few minutes ago?

Where there would have been free passage just some time ago, now we looked at a big, solid garage door. Sound and safe locked. My husband killed the car’s engine, we both stopped the praising abruptly. I felt the uncomfortable stretch of my bladder. And we were stuck. Nowhere a phone number to call. What use are mobiles of when you don’t know who to call? My really stressed brain remembered the one number you can always use for emergency calls. And then I suggested my husband to call the police and explain our very, very, very distressing situation.

Meanwhile, of course, I found out, that this special garage, only opened when the mall is, has no toilets integrated. Why should it? You could always use the ones inside the mall. If you wouldn’t be caged with the mall closed up, that is. So. Worst scenario possible. We were waiting for some help while in a really awkward situation. We had no idea how long everything could take and I had to pee. Like PEE. Immediately. Did I already mention that there are of course a lot of cameras installed inside this garage? ‘God, please give me a dick so I can stand discreetly by the side!’, was a prayer that remained unanswered. So started to march around, up and down the driveway, to find a spot without a camera and to find the boldness to pull down my sweatpants in the middle of a goddamn driveway of a parking garage! Finally I was brave enough to settle down, my buttocks probably shining like the full moon under the illumination of bright neon glow lamps.

You know what a girl needs to pee? To relax the compressor. There’s no way any woman or girl on earth could pee without relaxing. You think you could relax in that situation? That, I must repeat urgently, HYPOTHETICAL situation? Yeah, I think I couldn’t either.

The Garage Incident

But then I tried out every relaxing breathing method I ever heard of and somehow managed to relax enough and felt the first drop fall down. That is the instant in our hypothetical story when my husband urgently called me. So I thought of a sh!tload of police officers just a few metres down the driveway and … so much about relaxing any muscles. Immediately I did not drop but hoist my pants in a frantic moment of panic and started running downwards (me and my shamefully colored cheeks, the facial ones, I mean).

There was no single police officer. But an open garage door. And a proud husband, on his way to call the police off. He found a sensor down on the floor that opens up the garage door as soon as your car hits it. A smart man. Unfortunately a little bit too smart. He really could’ve taken some seconds more because, honestly, dropping your trousers and squatting down in such a placement and than not even being able to feel the relief of an empty bladder, that is rich.

Anyway, still feeling that pressure, reminding me of torture right then, did change the view of the city as I knew it before. Everywhere I scanned for a place hidden enough to, yes you know what I’m talking about. Also, my ability of doing small talk and to feel relief about the solved problems did lack a bit. But then I remembered the big cinema center right around the corner, where you can use the bathroom without being questioned. The relief of that thought almost broke the concentrating hold on my bladder but finally, after waiting at the most extended red traffic light of the whole wide world I found heaven inside a public bathroom.

And then I laughed. And laughed. And laughed. All the way home. And ever after.

Remember: this whole story is hypothetical. So there’s really no need to search YouTube for a video of a woman and her buttocks in the middle of a driveway…

Raised in a formal catholic parents’ house I was christened under the Catholic church and, at the age of 9 (when one of course already knows everything about life and therefor is able to make rational decisions as far as faith is concerned) I went to my first holy Communion, wearing one of those nice white dresses and propped up like a little bride. Well, it was a great festivity and I got a lot of presents. Also, I managed to eat approx. 5 pieces of cream gateau. And lots of yummy stuff I usually couldn’t lay my fingers on. But that deep connection with God – honestly that isn’t a thing I can remember right now.

This belly contains a f* lot of cream gateau!

As every christened (and due to a lack of teachers a lot of atheistic) kid I took religious classes at school. Well, it was sometimes interesting, sometimes not. As everything at school. When I above mentioned a ‘formal’ catholic parents’ house I meant we were never practising any Christian rituals. We celebrated Christmas, of course and never ate meat on Good Friday. We also never went to church. Or prayed. But all formal things would’ve been fulfilled and we knew to pray the Lord’s Prayer (although I maybe learned that at school).

When I grew older I had a Protestant friend. Slowly I found out that the Protestants discussed very interesting themes at school while I often listened to rather boring stuff. Well, that was my insight then. Sometimes I went to Protestant church with my friend and I liked it very much. It was a rather small commune, kind of familiar and there weren’t so many stiff rituals that had to be celebrated. On the other hand the songs there were rather modern. Well, I liked it but never had the strength to convert (you know, to be ‘correct’ in the formal way has been of high value for my parents and we lived in a community where the majority was Catholic)… until I finally got a proposal from my will-be-and-now-is-husband who is a Protestant. Soon the decision was made that the nice Protestant priest should perform the wedding and also I decided to convert to the Protestants because I liked the idea of one faith within my little family. My daughter was automatically allocated with me, though christened by a Catholic priest.

Well, seems like everything turned out the good way. Everything? Hmm… until we moved and are now living in another community. Guess what. I don’t like the Protestant priest here. At all. It’s really unfortunate. Of all communities around here we HAD to move to the only one where the Protestant priest is more conservative than every other clerical person I met before.

I’m not sure why my dislike of this man has grown so large. Call it a hunch. My stomach definitely says ‘no’ whenever I’m considering something, anything at all where this man should be included. So my second daughter, Johanna, was christened in the neighbourhood where I was born. A really nice celebration, there. The service was arranged in teamwork with the local protestant kindergarten. There was laughter and cute tiny voices whispering some unknown words into a micro. Nobody would feel disturbed by a crying toddler under such welcoming circumstances. It’s not that I did not try to involve our local priest first. I think I didn’t dislike him before we talked about Johanna’s christening. Honestly, that man suggested for me to leave the service should the child begin to cry because the community could feel disturbed. Huh. What a lovely way for a community to welcome new members. Yeah, well, come and join us, whatever. As long as you stay put and keep your mouth shut. No crying allowed here. No giggling either. That was the message I got and since then I’m collecting evidence to support my first impression.

As this priest is also teaching Johanna in elementary school there has been much evidence to collect. He never had a chance to make a second impression. I couldn’t convince myself so far to anything but to avoid him. That’s what my stomach demands me to do. When our youngest, Emily, had to be christened, I never even had to consider if I should give the local man a try. That was completely out of question. We had a good enough reason to choose another place also, because my husband’s father was very ill then so we wanted the service to be held in the village where he lived. Otherwise he and his wife couldn’t have been members of the party.

So far, my strategy of avoiding did work out. But I’m not satisfied. Because I’d like to give my kids the opportunity to build their own relationship with God. Everyone needs something he or she can believe in. And it’s for sure no bad thing if your kids can grow up with the knowledge of where the local traditions come frome. Why do we celebrate Christmas? And why should I work for free when the money is meant to support social projects? Also, I think it’s only fair for them if they roughly know what’s the core of Christianity. One day it’s confirmation day. And I would like them to know until then if they would like to give it a try. But as my connection to God is something deep inside my mind and we’re not displaying religious rituals within our allday routine I for sure am not able to show them the essentials. I’d like to introduce them a community where they are included and welcome. Where they can loose some of their fears and trust each other. Yeah, right. I’ll tell you if I someday find such an utopia in real life. But, hey, the church is supposed to be so. And at least you can sing loud there without hitting the right notes and nobody’s gaze will smash your confidence.

What shall I do? My eldest one has confirmation the day after tomorrow. We’re preparing like hell. Ah. Heaven. She went to church nearly every Sunday almost a complete year long. You can count the times I accompanied her using your thumbs. And you would have one hand free. She’s doing a great job but she’s not very happy with our priest neither. On Christmas we had a really strange situation. She had to go to (Protestant) church. I wanted to go to (nice) church. I considered visiting the service of the neighboring village. But driving by car while surrounded by ice and snow and when several churches can be reached by foot? Not likely. So I went to the Catholics. They have a nice play on Christmas Eve, including kids and a lot of noise. My husband stayed at home and prepared the meal. He has no affinity to church. Neither Protestant nor Catholic. The lucky one.

'Hey there, daddy. Just teach me how to prepare a decent meal and I'll stay home with you on Christmas Eve.' 'Give me five and we have a deal, cutey.'

Yet on this year’s Easter, I attended a local Protestant service especially designed for families. It wasn’t that bad. Maybe I can finally find my peace with our priest. Step by step. Slooooow. Maybe he will get transferred some day…

Why, you’re wondering? Actually there’s that problem with accessing the web. Naturally it’s not of very much comfort when the WLAN zone stops shortly before the door to your room and you have to go down to the lobby (where a splendid amount of toys is present to keep your kids occupied – IN YOUR DREAMS!) whenever you have to look up some English vocabulary or do some uploads. BTW I’ve a rather limited data rate included here, so I cannot provide the nice movies starring my beautiful kids I’ve produced for you. Maybe some pics will be allowed, though. Just don’t send me any email-attachments *LOL*

So, where’s the problem about that lobby-thing you may feel encouraged to ask. Not really a problem one might think because there’s a baby phone system installed in the whole resort so here we go. Right? Of course. And you can go to the in-house cafeteria. That’s the only location where you can receive signals of your crying kids. Did I mention that the lobby is approx. 100mtrs and several heavy doors and massive walls away from the cafeteria?

You see, another German organization has been predestined to gain the price for best service and elaborate interior.

Anyway. This week has not been THAT bad, after all. After I was allowed to vomit last week, Johanna could accomplish that task just 2 nights ago. Meanwhile Emily is the winner of the bad-cough-contest. By far. She’s probably the only one in the competition who is able to throw up a little bit into her mouth (including some gross gurgling noises) at almost every cough attack (and they are not very rare). Also, she’s winner of the fever contest. Absolutely resistant to ibuprofen AND paracetamol. I’m really appreciating her abilities. Her will is steely. So, we’re having a nice sleep-in in mommy’s bed for the 3rd night in a row, now. That is a challenge of its own because the manager of this resort obviously was of the opinion that a bed should not measure more than 1.00mtrs x 2.00mtrs. I probably would fall out of it, if I would actually fall asleep. But as Emily is coughing the whole night long I’m rather drowsing than sleeping, always prepared to help her up into a sitting position because she’s always on the edge of throwing up, as I mentioned before.

I really enjoyed some of the time here though. I could do some sports and met other mothers on the playground or by the sea (or wherever). Then there was this Osho-Kundalini(or what)-Meditation on Wednesday night. The psychologist I talked to advised me to go there to work on my phobias. So, although I’m not into meditation of any kind, I went there, always in fear of my children intruding because they have a rather light sleeping behavior and would seek me out in the (quiet) meditation room (noisily).

Boah, that was a thing of its own, this meditation. The whole evening was structured by a CD that played different sorts of music. Every quarter of an hour there was a gong so you knew the next chapter was to begin. Don’t laugh. The first quarter all we did was to shake our bodies while the feet should remain on the spot. Nothing but shaking. Freestyle. Man, was I shaking. I was actually sweating. The moment the music began I suddenly felt 15 years younger because the sounds reminded me strongly of the techno wave of the 90s. And then I just did the same as I did then in the disco. Shake it, baby.

The next part was all about dancing. Freestyle, of course. Accompanied by a theme that could be directly used in a movie production like Tiger&Dragon. Although I’m not feeling nearly as gracious as some Asian mortal arts dancer, I managed (after a short glance at the other women who probably also felt not at all like that) to pass that quarter by making any movements that crossed my mind. (You know if everyone is making a clown out of herself it’s not the worst to blend in

The following video is NOT showing me, I found it on youtube. It describes another form of Osho’s meditations but the first 2 of our parts you can find here, too. Watch it, it’s pure fun

Afterwards there was a quarter of sit-in meditation accompanied by exactly the kind of music you’re thinking it would be. And then, while lying on the floor, snuggled in our covers we had a quarter full of – nothing. No sound. (Except for the squeaking of some doors, distant voices, some coughing and other disturbing things.) I managed to stay awake. Barely. Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. But I assure you, doing some other kind of ’sports’ late in the evening and a relaxing period afterwards would probably have the same effect. It was a funny (and somehow weird) experience though. You should try it. Really. Shake it, baby!

Of course there are many, many other things passing here. Due to the technical problems mentioned above I’m not able to write as much as I wanted to. It’s just to hard to organize. But as today we’ve reached the top of the mountain (as one of the mommies I found as a friend here, just mentioned) what means that we’re halfway through this cure, I will try to finally attach some pics for you all.

My resume so far: it’s not everything been up so far, y’know, mountain or not. It’s rather a roller-coasting experience. Today I’m fed up. In the moment I wanna go home. I’m hoping there will be another high, soon. A night’s sleep would be sufficient for the moment

Thank God I moved her to the lower bed BEFORE she barfed

She just looks ill and that is what she is

While watching TV everything's alright

It's in there, the brandnew Heffalump DVD

J crafted frogs in various sizes. A whole bunch of a family

A snow-slime-cake. I ate plenty of'em

Kindergarten can be used at the week-ends as playground

Hopefully not J's job in the future: hairstylist

That would be the sea and two charming ladies

But let’s not start in the middle of my story. This is already day 5 of our journey. I’m still waiting for the benefits to kick in. True story: I don’t have to cook within this health resort and the tidying up as the washing is rather reduced.
What I already gained are the following impressions.

1. A 10hour ride by train with two little kids, a stroller and some bags is an experience of its own. It’s unbelievable how anyone can maneuver when there’s so little space available. I’m for sure glad that I’m not that oversized. Then it’s completely senseless to pack a variety of things for your kids to be occupied during the journey. They won’t like the things you chose anyway. Wait, please don’t ever have the funny idea to trust the online booking system of your friendly train provider. They will plan your connections rather within a very short time interval. No need to mention that I nearly missed the next train and was nervous like hell during my ride. Couldn’t eat anything the whole day.

2. You can travel for days by train without your kid falling asleep. But as soon as your butt makes connection with the seat of that bus that will take you the last few meters you’ll have a snoring extra package to carry (not a very light one, too).

3. It’s great to be your own chief and lead a life most self-determined. That’s probably the most important discovery I’ve made so far. To be the one who sets the schedules. To decide whether it’s time for a meal or not. Whether you will do this or that or not. That, my dear ones, I will hold deep inside my heart for the future to come.

4. Just listening to the ocean makes you calmer as a stone. It’s not important when you’re surrounded by crying kids, that will not shock you in that moment. Of course the kids are also very calm and content when facing the ocean. I love it. And as I don’t like swimming very much it’s absolutely okay for me to be here in winter.

5. You’re absolutely fucked when you’re seriously ill within a health resort. They’ll bring the meals to your room as in hospital, what’s a good idea. But they put you in quarantine, so you’re practically locked into your room WITH THE KIDS! I’m glad, you can imagine, that I was only sick at night with that stomach flu and that I had a really great 7yo who was the perfect nanny on the next morning. I’m blessed with a child who can sense the gravity of a situation and will help out there. Johanna, you’re just great!

6. To go on a walk with approx. 70 other mothers plus all the kids is not that much fun.

7. No need to give up hope but it’s rather not likely that your kids transform into late risers just because breakfast isn’t prepared before 7:30. So every morning can start with a lovely longer or shorter repetition of the “I want” sentences. And you’ll probably want something, too….

So far the whole treatment thing didn’t start off and I’m really hoping next week will bring some improvements. Johanna is not very happy here, so far. I think Emily will be okay with kindergarten in a while and I’m sure that some of the treatments will be rather pleasant. Still, my sorrows are concentrating on Johanna. She has not found a friend yet and school lessons will start tomorrow. Furthermore I didn’t find any activity her and me could do together but without Emily. So we’re stuck with trying our best on our own. Nevertheless I’m looking for tomorrow when some kind of routine will finally kick in (hopefully). Be prepared for onfollowing reports of disaster. Ah, and the bulky selection of pics and maybe films I didn’t produce yet but promised y’all

P.S. It’s so great that amazon delivers within days to every address… just orderer some movies for my little ones. Call me an Internet addict.

2010 so far seems not to be in favour of my family anyway. I’ll give you a short but hurting review that may also explain why I didn’t blog that much things or rather any things at all during the last weeks. Don’t get me wrong. I still have no time to write blogs now. But as writing somehow seems to be kind of therapeutic to me I decided to do rather that than go around with a big fly swat (or worse things), slapping every single person passing. Something to calm down, that’s exactly what I need now, I assure you.

Actually, 2010 seems to be a real bitch. Like B*I*T*C*H*! I must admit it hadn’t that much chance to start off on the right foot. There was that really nasty flu back in 2009 that came on time to save us from celebrating Christmas. Holy Night was rather feverish for our 2yo and that lasted for over a week. Lucky we were to skip the oncoming pneumonia with a large dose of antibiotics. But of course our little daughter wouldn’t be herself if she couldn’t find a way to pass along that nice little flu to other family members and so I myself greeted 2010 on New Years Eve with a casual snore while lying in bed. I would call 2010 a really bad timer. It could’ve come earlier or later (MUCH later) so we could’ve appreciated it more. As it went I think 2010 is personally insulted and has the goal to badger our little family now. Or could you find some other reasons why, after the first night without fever, Emily should burn both her lower legs with boiling water in a stupid and tragic and somehow so quick-that-you-could-not-really-watch accident caused by some hasty and unexpected movements?

Since Jan 3rd life is not as it has been before. All we were doing is driving to the doctor’s, praying that the little cute legs my heal without any inflammation and trying to keep Emily occupied without her hurting the wounded legs. Nice try. I bet it’s easier to *whatever impossible thing you can imagine*. Kindergarten was and still is a no-go, of course. I never would have thought that it takes from Jan 3rd to today for these wounds to close with a new layer of skin. And still, the healing process is not finished. We have to be very cautious so the thin and raw new skin will not be hurt before it had the chance to thicken. And that will probably take another couple of weeks.

Anyway, to add some spice to that rather stressing time I also had my last final exam in the beginning of Feb and yeah, there was not that much free time to study stuff. How I did pass that one I’m still not sure. Meanwhile there had some remodelling been necessary so that our household was (and is) rather restricted. Stuff is not where it belongs to, there’s well, the second toilet missing etc etc. AND our community decided to put the one and only street under construction that leads from our house into the village. So I had to drive everyday twice to bring my 7yo to school (she usually walks on her own, but the redirection route is too far a way).

During that whole time there always was and has been one little light at the end of the tunnel: the treatment at the health resort. After weeks without sports and many stressing situations I’m really looking forward to have a little free time. To read a book. To skip preparing meals and cleaning and driving to school and playing with my 2yo. Because that’s what they do for you. Plus the treatments. I need it. And 2010 is not sure if it should bring it on.

Last week, Emily suddenly got the runs. Uh. But as yesterday she ate again after a couple of days where she didn’t take much more than water, I was hopeful that we would actually make that trip. Me is stupid little woman. Have you ever seen someone barfing from the top part of a bunk bed? It’s really gross. Really, really gross. It seems to be a natural instinct to lean over the rail when s.o. is sick. That’s ok when there’s a bowl parked right next to you AND when there are not 2mtrs for the vomit to splatter down until it hits the carpet. And it hits the carpet hard. I hardly managed to reach the 2yo sleeping in the lower bed without crossing the various puddles. EVERYTHING has been hit. I’m running the washer for 3 times but there’s barely a possibility to get rid of the smell that has sunk deep into the carpet. Of course my husband spent an hour to clean it off tonight but it’s still ugly. I’m not sure what to do but in the moment we’re one room short. And we already have just one bedroom for 2 kids. The rest of the night (if you can call a couple of hours of fitful sleep so) has been not too bad. Johanna hasn’t been sick for more than 5 times and will probably be well again tomorrow (if she won’t get the runs, of course).

BUT that little monster of 2yo Emily couldn’t stand that much attention being focused on her sister so she started to scream at 6:00am for various things. Every single sentence crossing her yelling little mouth starting with the words “I want…” constantly increasing in volume and intensity. Was too tired to look for the tape, but I really wanted to shut her mouth… But that ringing ears you’ll have when someone is shrieking into them with the intensity of an starting airplane won’t help you to orient yourself, so there was absolutely no way for me to find a bottle of chloroform neither.

So I had enough opportunity (as I am absolutely awake now for several hours) to mourn. I’m grieving for that journey that should help me to find some balance within my life again. That should give me a break from my daily routine. That should give me some time for myself to make sports, read a book or just hang around. Well, I’m grieving in advance, of course. There still is the chance for us to make it to the train tomorrow. That’s one possibility. My nice and cute kids an me catching the train at 8:00 in the morning. Riding it all day long until we reach our destination in the evening. Me desperately clutching one of those little plastic bags usually used to clean up dog poop to have something handy to catch some vomit should it occur during the ride. The second possibility is me clutching desperately one of our plastic bowls around 8:00 in the morning. Reflecting about how Hiob could stand all the testing by god and in what I should belief to give me some strength (God, the future, fate, Murphy’s law or the organized distinction of families as cosmic plan).

Tomorrow will bring it on. Good side or scratched side. Flip your coin, Two-Face.

P.S. The “I want”-hitlist of this morning:

I want milk

I want to read books

I want hot chocolate

I want to watch Winnie Pooh on TV

I want to eat something

Guess she’s really interested in food and media, isn’t she?

There actually is my last post (that I abandoned when we all fell in love with some really adorable kind of flu for several long and exhausting days – *Christmas* days, btw) knocking on my door again and although it’s a little bit early in the year to write about a topic the strong waves of believe you can find in Christian areas around Christmas inspired me to, I will probably finish it. Or bring it on Easter.

Anyway, surf by soon, if you want to know how much recovery one can find while being on a special cure far away from home for 3 weeks, where only exhausted mommys or daddys are stopping by AND (that’s the part I’m sure will be a real killer for every recovery methods) they are bringing all their *lovely* kids ages 12 and down. OF COURSE I’m bringing my 2yo who approx. 2 weeks ago hit the terrible twos not nearly as hard as No1 once did, but harder than any other child I’ve ever known AND my 7yo (where I can only complain about too little enthusiasm concerning her homework, but I’m sure there will rather be NO homework to do while on a cure, so I’m lacking of my ususal negative descriptions here). To make the whole ceremony worthwhile we will start out with riding by train in a threesome (full of love and joy) for some snappy 9 (and a half) hours. I’m sure I’ll be ready for some healthy procedures after that. And so will all the other passengers poor or stupid enough to cross our way during this hell of a ride.

You see, there is something to come, so surf by and watch: will Susanne cope with a 3week treatment far away from home or will there be a massacker reported soon? The later one you could always find in the news, though. Watch out for any strange activities on the German island Rügen.

Apparently, the (absolutely superficial and non-reflective) person demanding such an incredible thing probably is not very acquainted with SAHMs, one of those rampant made-up terms, that describes a Stay-At-Home-Mom or, as our aforesaid person would say, a Not-Working-Mom. Ha!

Never ever could I think of such a labor condition out there in the big world of capitalism. Oh no, don’t get me wrong. Though there may be some points to criticize in a capitalistic world, that’s not my point for THIS post.

Come on and stretch your imagination a bit (yes, I know, it’s a hard task…) and follow my thoughts to this hypothetical situation:

You’re applying for a job, let’s say in the field of care (for persons). This job is supposed to fulfill your life. You wish to find new energy, a lot of fun, you’re absolutely convinced that you’ll love it AND did I already mention, it is to fulfill your life. It’s a rather stressing job, but you could manage it. If you push yourself a bit. A bit more, wimp! Well, you’re discussing further terms of this employment and discover this:

-working time: 7days a week (wait, there ARE just 7 days in EVERY week, right?), 24hours a day (I hope your maths skills would help you to evaluate your weekly free time at this point)
-vacation/holiday/break/breather: sorry, old chap, sold out here. Nothing to get. Finished. Take a number and put your little ass in the row. Oh, no row there?
-salary: none (wait, there are approx. 150,– Euros per month and person you care for, but these are not nearly enough to pay your travel + entertainment expenses)
-approval (by society, friends, state, other people): hmm, difficult. Not THAT much. A little bit. Maybe. Depends.

Sounds great? Well, welcome to my world. I’m working day and night (and don’t believe the nights are off duty) AND I’m even working while using the bathroom. Hey, I said USING not cleaning. But that would be also true. There are never days off and when my never-ending whining and begging helped me to convince the grandparents to have the kids for a weekend they WILL BE ABSOLUTELY ICKY for at least a week after their returning. Never in my life before (and I had some jobs I can compare with) did I work so hard and gain so little approval.

Why is working just working for money? There are million of people working for low money or doing stuff voluntary. Would it ever occur to above mentioned person to pose such a question to them? I don’t think so.

So, dear stranger, friend or person sitting next to me in the bus. Please try and think a little bit before you’re posing questions that will the average SAHM get mad.

You may, on the other hand, truly believe that a mother is absolutely to blame herself about her position. Listen, dumbass (I’m so sorry for my repetitions, but as English is NOT my mother tongue it’s rather difficult to find a variety of nasty expressions, well I meant something like $*##’&%* nevertheless.), I’m not whining about the work I have to do because I wanted to have children (well, actually, I AM whining, but let’s just pretend I wasn’t). I’m complaining about too little encouragement, be it state, be it mundane. Yes, these are my children. But I cannot let them grow up outside society. They are a part of it the moment they’re born. So my work is not just a private amusement. I’m also working for preservation, alteration and development of the human society. I’m pretty much convinced that a child that once grown-up maybe will wipe your ass (job-related, I mean) when you’re bedridden and old should be of your interest already today. Also, the kid I should care for alone because it’s MY kid could someday be responsible for another banking crisis. Or (that’s the thought I’m more in love with) prevent one.

So. Whenever you’re itching to place this absolutely non-acceptable sentence I used to entitle this post, stop, think, take a deep breath and say: ‘You for sure must have a load of work to do, managing your daily routine.’ I will love you when you’re then saying something nice about my kids although they’re maybe picking their noses or doing stuff like that.

I’m really glad that you all didn’t speak out loud any potential worries concerning the validity of this (oh-so-innocent-it-seems-to-be) sentence. Well, probably you do believe that I gained this official status as  student. Paying fees, getting an ID, listening to some profs from time to time.  But did you really believe all this horrible stories of exams, papers, final papers etc etc?

I decided to influence your opinion about my abilities and will publish some of the papers I’ve written so far, written mostly in agony and under meticulous abuse of some decent literature. Often I was not really sure if I had gotten the right impression of some (oh-so-docile) text passages, living in the permanent fear to have produced a totally fail text. Luckily, the papers I present have almost all been rated, so I can blame a variety of profs for any nonsense you could find in there.

If you don’t know it by now, I’m studying the science of education, which is formerly (and actual also) known by the term of pedagogy. But it’s not all about teaching kids, so I will not be a teacher after all. Actually I didn’t listen to many sessions concentrating on kids at all. Also, I’m not studying ’social pedagogy’. So you’ll hardly find me someday sitting opposite of yourself inside a, hm, let’s say, drug advice center. And I for sure will never be a counselor for pregnant teenagers (at least if they’re not among my own children). Or whatever. But what will I be? Never mind. Plenty of time left to think about any career. As I’m officially focusing in ‘media education’ I’ll hopefully gain any position in any context, bringing together media and any purpose relating to education.

Anyway, education is a broad field and therefore I can present a wide variety of different thematics within my papers. So there could be one among them that would be interesting for you.

However, I want to proof that I’m acutally writing… things… about… well, things. So here is the link, but you’ll find it on top of the page, too.

To the glorious papers just click here.

At 5:30am, I suddenly woke up, probably because the cat stomped over my face. These days she prefers sleeping in our bed. Not much of doggy stink up there, ’cause he’s not allowed to come upstairs. Anyway, there she stood, scratching at the door and I decided it to be a minor evil to find a way for her to get outside than to stay snuggling in my warm bed. Why. That’s just logic when you’re considering the dog downstairs. As many houses go, also ours has exit points just downstairs. Cat and dog meeting is never a good idea when you want the kids to sleep some minutes more. The tantrum Fred, the dumb dog, throws when seeing, smelling, hearing Luna is beyond your imagination.
Where was I. Yes, downstairs. Letting the cat out. On my way downstairs (that I forgot to mention) I met a little girl, wearing a cup full of water and a pacifier. She seemed to be on her way to my bed. A ghostly appearance probably.
Wait. Why was my bed suddenly so small? I must’ve experienced some kind of sudden increase of my body mass. Shit. I should NOT have eaten that 2 pieces of cake late in the evening. Also, my blanket was way too small to cover the large mass of my body. Finally absolutely awake (as in 3 cups of coffee) I recognized, accompanied by a feeling of sudden relief, that of course there was a person in my bed that had not been there some minutes before.
To my great wonder about god’s kindliness this little person continued to sleep although it already started to develop a faint glow of morning far away at the horizon. So I snuggled as comfortable as I could into the remaining 20cm of my bed and tugged the fifth of my pillow not under siege under my cheek. Then I closed my eyes and. There he was. My. Dentist. Can you imagine my shock? I had the best case scenario for reducing my permanent lack of sleep: sleeping toddler, not snoring man, banished cat, silent dog, still dark outside. And every part of my brain full awake and full of thoughts about my: DENTIST! How can any sane person on earth deal with a dentist in the middle of the night? (Laids excepted)
I’ve not been to the dentist lately and I’m not planning to let him stuck his instruments into my mouth for another while. But as I’m living with a bunch of people around me (you may remember) I’m also included in cases not concerning myself. Not that there had been an incident within last week. I just reflected about our dentist and suddenly a flame of anger was incinerated, spreading slowly until I had the feeling something had to be done. The rest of the time until at last the alarm went off I spent with planning various strategies. Still, I’m not sure about what to do and therefor will tell you a little bit about our dear dentist and the problems he’s causing.

As you probably are aware of, it’s common to have a state health insurance in Germany. They will pay the bills you’re producing while visiting a doctor. Then there’s the possibility to enlarge the insurance protection in buying an additional private contract. What we have not. Because we’re a little bit short on money. You remember. Studies, kids and things. Economy recession. Dog castrations. And other stuff.
So, when I’m heading at the doc’s (what I really do not that much) I want exactly the kind of treatment my insurance will pay for. Alternatives can be presented, so I can think about’em. This works just fine. For me. And for my family. Often it’s also possible to substitute treatments so you can, e.g., get medicine based on plants instead of chemical ones. So far as “normal” docs are concerned. Not so when you’re developing problems concerning your teeth.
Something broke within my hubby’s mouth. Something essential for his ability of consuming meals containing pieces. So he went to the dentist. MY dentist, i.e. the one mentioned above, it was not. It was his partner though, because they’re sharing their rooms. I will assume similar treatments though, because my hubby’s experiences are similar to the ones I’ve made myself. He came home and told me, the dentist had advised him to put a crown onto his damaged 2 teeth. Therefor he sent a cost schedule of EUR1000,–. Wait. EUR1000,–? Not to be payed by our insurance? There has to be a cheaper way, hasn’t it? I was a “little” bit enraged. My husband told me about a common way to restore his own teeth. It is a possibility. But the dentist explained such a thing could only hold for about 5 years and maybe a crown would be necessary afterwards anyway, so he dismissed this alternative. Yuck. I mean, in 5 years I hopefully am bringing home some bucks. I won’t be a student forever. And for sure not staying at home forever. But as a lot of people, my husband is easy to manipulate in such a case. Who would want to have an “incident” within his mouth including various sessions full of torture at the dentist’s? A somehow planned incident that will show up in approx. 5 years? Well, my husband does not. And of course there are multiple decisions in planning that crown. But, hell, we’re seeing a TOP DENTIST. Will he perform some procedures that are actually so not up-to-date? Sure you can combine that the best is just good enough. Who cares about costs. It’s your health that counts.

These are the dentists suggestions as far as my dear husband reported’em. Later on, as I dared to question the necessity of really the best of all alternatives, he mused:”Well, actually, I’m always feeling a little like being with a car salesman while speaking with the dentist. I cannot be sure he’s just offering help. Finally it’s HIS purse our money will fill.” So true these sentences are, they brought our dentist the wicked chance to steal an hour of my sleep. Just this morning I remembered our little talk. And I remembered having several cost schedules stuffed in various desks. One for my eldest daughter, e.g. She never ever had so much as the littlest sign of caries so far. But the dentist recommends a preventive activity though. On the other hand he missed to protect Johanna’s teeth, who are already fallen for caries. (This would be payed by our insurance.) And he wants me to have a treatment my insurance will not pay for, because it’s too early to do anything common. I shall endure a procedure that’s rolling my toe nails up when I’m thinking of it, just to prevent further damage.

Hey, look over there! He looks like my dentist! Just the white coat ist missing.

I don’t know any longer: what is purposeful? Where should we spend our money? How much stories do docs in general and my dentist in special tell their customers just to earn extra money? There’s not that much trust left.

This morning I was thinking and thinking. I don’t know what to do. I like my dentist. He’s a nice man. And I’ve tried multiple others before I finally settled with him. I’ve been there for several years and also the kids are acquainted with the rooms and procedures there. Should I go on searching? Should I accept everything like it is? If so, should I trust him or call for a second opinion? Should I frankly say no to everything the insurance won’t pay for, and so also exclude things that might be purposeful? I thought about talking to him. Telling him about our stressed financial situation and the feeling to be pressed like a citron. Pressed for money wherever I go. But I’m not that great at whining (although my husband would tell otherwise) and I’m absolutely crap in staying businesslike. So what would you do?

As I think about it, this may not be a dentist-problem after all. A lot of doctors recently have begun to praise additional tasks you have to pay for. I assume they’re also suffering due to economical recession. Maybe one or another is being threatened to have to leave the golf club if there won’t be some signs of growing wealth. Anyway, I’m fed up of informing myself BEFORE visiting a doc. If I’m surfing the Internet and consulting several guidebooks to decide which treatments could be reasonable to be able to decide whether a doc really tries to help me or just tries to earn some extra money IT SOMEHOW MAKES A DOC SUPERFLUOUS. I don’t like this development.

It may be a dentist-problem, though. Please consider yourself warned. You should ALWAYS visualize your doc laughing mad while swinging a chainsaw. Also if that picture feels absolutely ridiculous to you, won’t you dare to visit a doc of ever kind without having at least one person you’re trusting in knowing every detail about your appointment.

By all means, it is absolutely right to mourn about some things in this world!

This is how we proceeded.

1. I’d recommend you to check out your children’s’ hair on a regular basis. It’s a good thing to discover lice before they’ve build up a whole city.
2. You’ll rarely actually see a louse sitting between some hair. They will never be sitting still so you’d rather find out about their existence by glancing at nits. Nits are the lice’s eggs. They look rather similar to dandruff, but may be grayish/silvery. Also, a nit’s shape reminds you more off a very little pearl where dandruff is rather flat. To be sure you can try to wipe the particle away, using your finger (you won’t die doing that . Everything that can be wiped away is NO NIT. Nits stuck. And that’s exactly why nits suck so much.
3. Well, you apparently found nits. Or even living lice. Then you should run to the next drugstore and buy a liquid against lice. There are liquids based on pesticide. They’re not very nice to your hair but effective. I’d rather not apply them on little children’s heads. Also, there’s a variety of oil-based mixtures. They will kill the lice by suffocation. Some of these liquids can be even applied on baby’s head. I made the experience that oil-based mixtures seem to be efficient enough to kill all lice. Furthermore they’re resulting in smooth hair. So I’d recommend them. But you should always ask a chemist or doctor to be sure.
4. The lice host has to endure the whole procedure in any case. I did check out every single head in my family and when I found a single nit or the person was complaining about itching I also put the liquid on their heads. But I didn’t choose the pesticide version for that.
5. While the liquid is soaking in (between 10min and 8hours, depends on the product you chose) you replace every single sheet, bedclothes etc the louse head contacted. You should also replace the sheets etc. of all family members.
6. Remove stuffed animals and things like that. Everything soft and cuddly that could’ve been contaminated.
7. Pick up all brushes, hair ties and things like that.
8. Don’t forget caps, pullovers (especially hooded ones), jackets and scarfs.
9. EVERYTHING has to endure one of the 3 following procedures:
a) Wash with a min. temperature of 60degrees celsius for at least 10 min
b) Put into a plastic sac, really good closed for 4-6 weeks
c) Put into a plastic sac and into the freezer for 2days
d) For clothes that require cold washing you can buy a special liquid that is added to the soap.
10. You think you already had fun? Now, that will make your day:
You’ll need a special comb for nits. Then you have to examine every single wisp of hair and remove the nits. They won’t be loosened by the liquid you applied and they maybe won’t be dead inside. So you have to remove them. All of them. You’ll usually find them approx. 3 cm away from the scalp. You have to peel’em off using your fingernails, ’cause the comb will only be able to catch grown up lice. That’s much fun and can last on for hours.
11. Afterwards you’re clean. All of you. You can immediately start to join social groups again.
But
12. You have to redo everything 7 days later. So you can catch surviving baby lice before they’re old enough to make their own little nits.
13. Afterwards you’re done. In every way possible.

Good luck.