Hausfrau

I should feel guilty, right? And feel some sense of inadequacy that my life's work isn't contributing to the greater good. I am not earning a paycheck so I don't contribute financially to my household budget. I'm not strenously volunteering to offset the working void in the universe. I'm not at home spending my days molding the minds of my young offspring. In fact, I don't do much so it's only right that that should produce a healthy amount of guilt in response. I mean, I should be beating myself up. Shouldn't I?

But I don't and I'm not. I don't feel even an ounce of guilt. I thought I would. I thought I would be climbing the walls questioning the meaning of my existence without a routine; a hard earned paycheck; bubbling, brutal work stress, but I don't. Apart from some occasional "I am women where's my roar?" moments, I'm adjusting quite well to my role as hausfrau. I'm just your run of the mill trailing spouse and for the time being that. is. okay.

It is not lost on me how fortunate I am to be in a situation where money isn't a stress and a packed calendar aren't the foundation of my happiness. It's funny that I am learning that I need much fewer things in my day or even week or even my life to be satisfied. Plenty of sleep. An activity strewn throughout my week's calendar. A good bowl of soup and a handmade pastry. Some trashy, mindless television. A loving husband and supportive family. Some laughs with my long distance girlfriends. And a good book. That's it really. I can be content in the small joys of life. I can find solace in my solitude.

There will come a time, I am sure, when I will eat my words and ache for the personal satification of working outside of the home. But time has not yet come, so nowI choose to be content. And to be Guilt.Less.

Where's my Qi at?

My Qi is weak. And my Yang is too high. And I need to eat more warm foods to replenish my ying. This is all according to my acupuncturist. (spelled AKUPUNKTUR--gotta love German, so utilitarian)

Yes, folks, I am paying someone to stick needles in me. This and to listen to my woes for two hours every week. She's feels very bad for me. What with the poor German skills, life of leisure, and inability to embrace the gray weather. "We must make you happy," she says....but first we need to stick little pins in your head, ears, back, and ankle.

The surprise for me is that I think it's actually helping. Apart from the "speen," "kidney," and "heart 6" needle, they really don't hurt much. Although that's a bad thing I am told. Hurting means your energy is becoming unblocked. So, I now find myself saying, "Wait. I didn't feel anything. That's bad, right." Then she proceeds to move the tiny needle around until it does. That's right. Hurt me like you love.

Then she leaves the room and trail blissfully off to sleep. Not a deep sleep but a meditative yoga type of sleep where you dream in the first 5 minutes and then wake to find only 10 minutes have passed but it feels like an hour. It's amazing. I love it.

And I love my sweet acupuncturist. She's always so warm and welcoming--explaining every little stick and telling me that she has given thought to new points every session. It's like therapy--except there's a massage and warm tea waiting for you after you've cried your eyes out.

So, there's my plug for eastern medicine. My neck pain is practically non-existent. My sleep is less restless and I feel more relaxed. More Zen-ner. Is that a word?

So that's what it's there for

Leave it to a cat to demonstrate the proper use for a bidet. Now we know.....

Tube, Glorious Tube

Am I the only one whose reaaaalllly annoyed that the writer's strike is still going strong? I mean, I am what feels like one gazillion miles away in the land of Krauts, watching American t.v. from a box in NYC that shoots a fuzzy, delayed signal to a US laptop linked to a Berlin television and even I am at my wits end. Don't they know how much a little (or alot) of American programming brightens my day?

And could this have come at a worse time? Kitty and Robert finally got married, just as Tommy and Julia's marriage was falling apart. Pam and Jim started dating while Michael and Jan's relationship continued to plummet further into dysfunction. Gaby and Carlos are trying to grapple with their new financial predictament but how long until she finds out he's blind? Not mention the back and forth between Rose, Meredith, and Derek. Will there be a resolution? Or will I actually have to find something meaningful to do at night?

I know, it's pathetic that this little Hollywood blip would mean so much but I have to admit that television was a guilty pleasure of mine even before moving to Berlin. I just love it and I'm not afraid to mention it (so there). That is why we went to such lenghths when we moved here to make sure that I could watch current American television. It was on the list of non-negotiables when choosing a city along with having access to running water and reliable electricity. And I have to say it has been blissful. Nothing excites me like watching Ina Gartner push food stuffs down her garage disposal (ahh, I used to have one of those) or seeing the ease at which characters converse with one another (or likewise, I understand them).

But never could we have expected that this would happen. That we would have the ability to watch television but have nothing to watch.

Ok. Nothing to watch is an exageration. There are still shows on...and even new ones at that but come on. Who wants to watch the "New American Gladiators?" That show was awful when it was the old American Gladiators in the 80's. And where do they find these she-men? There is not enough money in all the world for me to consider going on national television wearing an outfit reminiscent of a 1920's shot-put. And how many times must I watch commercials for Dance Wars or Clash of the Choirs? We all know these were convenient placeholders for when the real shows begin again. Why can't we recruit the daytime writers to write for nightime shows in the interim? Surely, they could do a better job.

Sigh. So I guess we'll just wait, then. I'll tivo Jon and Kate Plus 8 and The Hills marathon until they come to some sort of resolution to this mess. I've heard ITunes is going to start to offer 24 video downloads in a few weeks and thank GOD for Lost. Let's just hope in short order I'll have a choice as to whether I watch videos or t.v. during 60 CC's of mindless entertainment.

Maybe, too by then , I'll have gotten a life. Extra medium, please.

Expat Stumping

You can take the man out of Washington, but you can't take the Washington.....well, you know the rest.

You can see the bumper sticker that my husband so brazingly put on the back of our car the other day. Just slightly embarrassing, I tell you. Who says you can't participate in the US elections as an expat?

Proof

Since everyone has been concerned about how Josie and Ramsey fared while we were gone, I decided to post some pictures. It's clear that they have both suffered tremendous psychological trauma in our absence.

Josie has reverted to sleeping 16 hours a day--one up from her usually fiesty 15. Instead of hollering at 7am when she's ready to be walked, she has resigned herself to waking us at 7:30am. In the ultimate fit of discontent, as a night cap for her dinner tonight, she proceeded to eat Ramsey's rollable scratching toy. She has scratched the floors and sniffed Ramsey's butt and rubbed her wet nose in between every nook and cranny she can find (and I mean EVERY.)

Likewise, Ramsey is also showing signs of distress. She has jumped on the kitchen counter, the bathtub, our dresser, and every other surface on which she is forbidden. She has scratched and hissed when I cut her nails. She bit me when I tried to pet her longer than she preferred. She pawed Josie for undermining her dignity by sticking her nose where it didn't belong. She has hidden when we've called her name and taken up residence in every open suitcase and drawer that she can squeeze her poofy body into...

Oh, wait. Maybe it's been a while but aren't those the same things they did before we left for Atlanta? Right. Uh-huh. I thought so.

Ready, Set, No

I'm not ready. I thought I was but I'm not.

I'm not ready to go back home...or rather, I'm not ready to leave home.

Or rather, I'm not ready to leave or go back home because I'm not sure which place is home and which place is not.

I'm not sure which place is home and which place is not because I've not spent more than 3 months in either place before going to the other place since we arrived in Berlin.

Maybe I should stay put in Berlin for a while. I'd be more stable then, at least physically. That would make perfect sense, right?

The confusion and discomfort I feel in my homeland and my Deutschland is perfectly normal I'm told. It's my mind's way of making sense of my new life. It's my minds way of preparing me to establish a new home, a new comfort zone, a new normal.

I am reminded of the phrase "codeswitching" which is loosely defined as the one's ability to adjust one's diction/language/attitude/personage based on one's setting. You codeswitch at work, for instance, when you in one moment speak comfortably with your friends in slang on one phone line and on the next, speak the king's english with a business client without so much as a second thought. As much as codeswitching relies on the users ability to judge when and whether it's appropriate to assume the role of casual friend or respectable colleague, it also requires the user to be able to switch between those roles effortlessly. I'm not doing such a good job of this as an expat. I haven't figured out how to integrate the confident, articulate American in Georgia with the shy, neurotic foreigner in Berlin. Two parts of myself are trying to fight it out and over the course of the next 6 months I hope the former self emerges.

Being back in Atlanta has reminded me that she is still there, she wants to join me in Germany. She has friends here in the states--really amazing ones, in fact--so who's to say she can't make them overseas. She was a darn good employee on this side of the pond so why can't she be, at least a part-time one, in Berlin. But hey, she's tired of getting bested by the foreigners sidekicks--Fear, Second-guessing, and Self-consciousness. She's ready to protect me from the what-ifs by taking the risks necessary to become comfortable in my own skin again. She's ready even if I'm not so sure I am.

So, here's my plan. I'm going to continue to remind myself that this is a journey, not a destination. It's just a moment in time. I'm going to give myself permission to make mistakes. I'm going to fight the temptation to prematurely judge people and accept more invitations to interact with people, even if I think I have nothing in common with them. I'm going to savor every minute of book club and bible study. I'm going to go to yoga (alot). I'm going to pray (even more). And I am going to resolve to be happy. I am going to be happy. Damnit, I'm going to be happy. happy. Happy.

Shoot, that sounded like a resolution, didn't it? No turning back now.