The Y Chromosome

The missing Y

There must be something about it. That it creates more jumping, running, wrestling, messiness, distraction, unhappiness, crying, and craziness.

I say that because I'm missing one this week- he's in the US with Dad. So here we have one XX and one XY. And a sudden, drastic change in family dynamic. No wrestling, no fighting, no "I hate him!s" There is actually nothing but odd pleasantness. This is what I've been hearing from my children so far this week:

"Can you please pass the tape, Evelyn?"
"Oh, sure; just give it back when you're done because I'm not finished with it."
"Ok. Here. I'm done. Thanks."

"Do you have a green crayon? Can you share? I don't have one."

"Evelyn, do you want the last Tagalong cookie?" (*like, the last one in the house. THIS is generosity.)
"Sure, thanks."

In our house when someone says, "Hey, let's play grown-up monopoly!" it's really code for "this game will be set up and divvied out fairly nicely but in about 6 turns someone will yell, scream, and flip the board over in a hysterical tizzy due to some small slight."
... and yet, as I type, the grown-up monopoly game that has been going on for the last 6 hours is still going. and polite. No yelling, no unfairness, no board-flipping.

Homeschool has been quick, painless, and minimally complained about. The bedtime usher lacks nine repetitions. Life is eerily smooth around here.

Hm.

I could wonder about the cause, the effect, the deeper meaning of conflict, the inner child in the child. But I think I'd better just enjoy the week of 2. And, secretly, deep down, I do miss my little jumping bean.

Spleen-Boy

That's what we've been calling him. Aren't we a sweet family for that? A 2 day ski trip in Oberammergau, Germany wound up week-long when Alex took a tumble at the "Fun Park." (Not so much fun for him.) He ruptured his spleen and had to be in ICU for four days with round-the-clock monitoring to make sure it didn't completely bleed into his belly, requiring emergency surgery.

As it turned out, the language barrier worked in our favor this time. We weren't able to convey our usual, ** oh, I think he'll be fine, Dad's a doctor, we'll take care of him** lax parental attitude. We could merely stand by while the German doctor on the slope examined Alex, called an ambulance, and they whisked him away.

Fortunately no belly-bleeding, so after 4 days of strict in bed, back-lying, he was transferred to the children's ward of the hospital and released on day 7. No skiing, no sports for the rest of the season and no wrestling with Ethan for 6 months. Bad news for our trip to Chamonix, France this week; but good news for Mom. I could get used to NOT hearing myself, "STOP WRESTLING ON THE COUCH."

But I think where Alex left off, Evelyn has stepped right in. Nuts.

Yes, There are Snow Days

The morning I finished my Christmas letter and mailed it to everyone we know I was feeling a little *under the weather*. And when it's a homeschool day and the kids are well but mom is sick, it's not the best time to write the cheery "all is awesome" Christmas letter. So... maybe I was a little out of sorts that day. Anyway, in the letter, I plainly state that homeschoolers have NO SNOW DAYS and NO SICK DAYS. Which, essentially is true - the schools here have had 5 days of weather delays and we've had none. And even when mom is sick, kids can still work independently.



Finally, after stopping myself (yet again) from being a slave to the schedule, I declared last Friday a snow day. We read books, watched movies, and went sledding.


And the kids spent a lot of Monday creating this snowman village in our backyard. They were in the lounge chairs, in the sleds, in the pool, and even peeking in the window.





Happy to be enjoying the snow finally, despite that slave-driver mom. ;)

The Non-Traditional Thanksgiving

Spent in that great Renaissance town, Florence. With Michelangelo, da Vinci, and Galileo, we amazed at David that true Renaissance Man, dropped objects off a bridge to test velocity, and pondered the rotation of the earth around the sun.

We also side-stepped to Pisa and found ourselves in the middle of a large student protest - one of many around Italy that day, apparently. Something about budget cuts.


And a side-trip to a Tuscan vineyard. See how much the kids liked it? Never mind them. The boys have decided they want to be just.like.Ric. So they don't smile anymore. They're smiling on the inside. I'm pretty sure.


With an abundance of pasta, way too much gelato, and a capuccino a day. Add in Italy when it's not hot, there are no lines or crowds, and a family together and joyful; there's a lot to be thankful for.

Oh, the Benefit of Good (I mean, Awesome) Friends

Here I sit, in my girlfriend's house on Ramstein AFB near Frankfurt. I thought I would be on a plane, happily dreaming of my (almost certain) upcoming visit back home for a couple weeks. I was just so sure I would be on that plane! They said it would be easy; they said that I would just *slip right on*; they said, "just be flexible and it'll be fine." Those people.

Well, it's not so fine. Here I sit so, so thankful that there are old friends who move to Germany just in time to live 2 minutes from where I am stranded with 3 kids, 3 backpacks, a large suitcase, and no place to store our stuff for the day.

If you were in the military, you might guess that I was trying to fly Space -A. And you'd be right on.

Set the alarm at 2:00am this morning to drive 2 1/2 hours away to Ramstein to get on a military HOP (makes it sound so fun) to Baltimore at 05:00. I was actually so deluded into thinking that I'd be on that plane, that I made domestic flight reservations on Southwest. I was so sure. That'll teach me. Cancel the Southwest tickets and mentally prepare myself for a complete change of plans. Ok, flight to Charleston, roll call at 7:10pm. We have all day here in this place, 2 1/2 hours from home, no where to store bags, 3 tired and hungry kids.

In steps my *awesome* friend from 10 years ago when we lived on Ft. Bragg. She and I used to walk almost daily with our first born babies in the stroller. We parted that long ago and have only seen each other one other time in the past 10 years. But when I send an email: "Hey-ey! (I say so cheerily) I'm in town with the kids and happen to have all day-ay... (act nonchalant). If you're not bu-sy, we'd LOVE to see you-ou-ou." (smile, smile, smile)

And does she not show up within 30 minutes to recue me and the kids?? She DOES. She is the. bomb. And so we are here in her lovely, warm, cozy house full of movies for the kids and cumfy couches, and fruit and stuff. (*sigh*)

Now, once I settle down and figure out my next move after *most probably* arriving in Charleston, SC in the middle of the night- the hotel, the train in the morning, the pick up by my brother at the train station - I'm almost feeling settled in, sure of pulling off this inconvenience. Yea, that flight was pushed back a little. To 03:40 am. Seriously. 3. a.m. If I decide to show up at that roll call at 3:40 am, we ALL have to be present to be accepted to fly. Which means another day of getting us all up at 2:15 to *maybe,* *perhaps,* *if you're super-lucky,* get the awesome opportunity to fly for free on a military HOP. (cue maniacal laughter) If that flight doesn't go, or we don't get on, it's another FULL day to maybe get on another possible flight to Charleston, or maybe Baltimore. Either one. It's a crap shoot.

Ask me if I'm happy. Ask me if I'm glad that we saved $3000 by taking this military benefit. Well, I recognize that this is merely an inconvenience, not a tragedy. I'm being flexible and open-minded, along with very, very hopeful. And, I'm so, so, very thankful to those old friends that pop back into our lives at the most opportune times. They are what turn lemons into lemonade. From the bottom of my sleep-deprived, coffee-jittered heart,

Thank you Anja. You're the best.

Now, if I could just get over the dreadful feeling that I'm some ridiculous 20-something with no money trying to hitchhike home for Christmas.

What I Learned in School

The longer we homeschool, the more I wonder how I've gotten by with such little knowledge of history?! Reading historical fiction last month, I had to turn to Ric for a quick lesson on the Japanese involvement in WWII, the internment camps, what happened during which years. It's actually downright embarrassing to be learning history along with your elementary aged children; fortunately for me, it's way more interesting the second time around.

Last week we got a visit from this lady, Mercedes Wild:



She was a child during WWII and was personally affected by the amazingly giving spirit of the Americans to their German enemies in a time of dire need. Americans donated thousands of tons of candy to the children of Berlin, along with food, coal, and supplies, while they were blockaded in by the Russians. We had just fought Germany to the death (literally) and then turned around and helped them from the threat of starvation during what was the Berlin Airlift.

I quickly ordered the children's book about her story, "Mercedes and the Chocolate Pilot" and read it with the kids. Then realizing it was so compelling a story, started reading the adult version of "The Candy Bombers." Finally, after moving half way around the world to get interested in history, I'm getting my re-education of WWII!

Visiting these historic sites, standing on the shore, imagining the sea filled with American and British ships, having come to liberate Europe from Germany; it's literally breathe-taking. All the soldiers and seamen who gave their lives here; the eyes of the world were truly upon them. And they were courageous beyond measure.

I am so thankful for this awesome opportunity to witness history, learn it again, and see it in a context that makes sense now.

Evelyn, making a replica of a candy parachute, like those dropped by American pilots during the Berlin Airlift.

Normandy, France

We got our fill of WWII education last weekend, visiting the beaches at Normandy. The kids liked playing around in the old German bunkers.


The American cemetery. More than 9,000 servicemen are buried here; only about 2/3 of the total who died. The other 1/3 were sent back to the US to be buried. Not to mention the German cemetery, the British cemetery, and the Canadian cemetery.



Mont St. Michel.

At the farm B&B where we stayed. Eggs collected from the chicken house in the mornings were still warm... now that's a fresh egg!