Tasteful Home Furnishings and a (not so) Brief History of Seedy Effects

I have the cutest furniture models out there

Today as I was ripping cardboard and sending a veritable blizzard of styrofoam dust flying across my living room, I realized I have never owned a new couch before. Ever. And the feeling was what I imagine getting a new car with zero miles on it would be.  I'm sure we will love this new furniture into the ground until some day I send it, sagging, soiled and pathetic, to live with one of the girls in their first college apartment.  I honestly feel like I've reached some milestone here--Like giving birth to two kids and moving to a foreign country with my own family weren't enough to clue me in--You guys, I think I'm now officially grown up.
 
I know, out of context, this probably sounds ridiculous. Especially to people who have purchased more than one new couch in their lifetime.  But, let me lead you down my unsavory historical path of hand-me-down furniture.

First of all, it's important to understand that my senior year of high school I basically lived on the futon in my parents' basement.  My brother and sister were away at college, no one else used the downstairs but me; the world was my oyster.  So, I chose to camp out in the living room, watching wheel of fortune and endless episodes of Tool Time (back in the day when those things were freely accessible by rabbit ear antennas) while doing homework, eating grapefruits and eventually passing out in my clothes with my contacts glued overnight to my eyeballs.

I was kind of a big deal.

But, really, I just wanted to illustrate that my standards at that time in my life were on-par with a grapefruit-eating frat boy.  And so, my subsequent living arrangements reflected that.  I lived in the dorms with NO furniture to speak of for a few years before getting my own apartment in a house that I seriously was worried would collapse during a mild hail storm; the floors in this place all sloped towards one end. None of the doors (including the one leading to the main hallway of the house) matched up with the door frames, forming some sweet gaps that were good for getting to know your neighbors. And the only piece of furniture I could get to fit in my outdoor-patio-turned-living-room was a love seat my parents had from God-knows-when with a really tasteful Native American geogram print on it.

In between my sweet solo apartment and dorm life, I spent the summer in a friend's townhouse sleeping on something I don't even know how to describe.  The thing was red...orangish red, meaning, I have no idea whether it's original color was red or orange, but now it was neither. This glorified hunk of foam with obscure-colored fabric covering it was supposed to perform as both a couch and a mattress.  And, unsurprising to anyone who knew me at the time, I owned it.  I covered it with silk throw pillows in a grand attempt to make people think I had chosen to sleep on the floor like some kind of destitute maharaja.  At the time, my best friends in the world--good people, one and all--were living in a house with a trash heap in the garage.  So, you can see how a girls standards weren't the highest. 

Klassy...with a K.  That's the word you're searching for.

When John and I moved in together, he brought with him a gigantic, fluffy seven-foot monstrosity of a couch that made my stylin' love seat and questionably-colored bed/sofa look like they belonged in cousin Eddie's camper.   And John's trusty old boy stuck with us through the years until we left the states.  There's just something about a man's relationship with his couch that runs deep.

So, there you have it.  Do you feel the need to take a shower?  Because I sure do.  I might still try to fall asleep in my clothes, but for the most part--grapefruit eating aside--my frat boy days are over. (Please, for the love of Pete, don't take that sentence out of context)  Which is all the more reason to be ecstatic about the arrival of our new furniture.  Normally I don't get terribly excited about physical possessions...and I certainly wouldn't lose sleep over it if we had to return these for some reason, but I find I'm more enamored of what they represent--I'm growing up.  A few graduations, a marriage, two kids and an international move later, I'm finally getting it.

And, for the record, this couch is really comfy.  Now, come sleep on it, would ya?

I promise to get rid of the garbage heap by then.  (I kid, Mom!  I kid!)

La Vie En Three-Year-Old

Last Christmas my mom gave Audrey a little journal with Disney Princesses on the front which we have been using ever since as her nightly journal.  Before bed, we always recount what we did that day--for my routine oriented girl, it's comforting to wrap up the day and I see it as good practice with sequencing (which she does better than I do, by the way)  We usually talk about what her favorite thing that day was, what she wants to pray for and what she is thankful for.  I think in the end it brings comfort to both of us.  Recently, Audrey has wanted Bailey to get in on the journaling action too and I figured you all might like to hear the perspective of a three and two year old on life in Vienna.  I'll start with a few throw-backs:

April 10th (the night before we moved):
Favorite thing: Calvin and Jackie coming over. Prayer: for Bailey to be healthy and strong. Thankful about Jesus and God and I love God a whole bunch; I cannot stop loving him, because I love him so much. He's in my heart and that makes me happy and that makes him happy too.

April 12th (the day we arrived in Vienna):
Favorite thing: VIENNA!!  About getting our bags and the car seats. Prayer: for Doo Doo and Grandma to be healthy and strong...Bailey wants to pray for Jesus (this is still Audrey talking). Thankful for Bailey being healthy.

April 18th (after a week living in Vienna):
Favorite thing: going to the playground--going up those stairs.  Prayer: for everyone to be healthy and strong. Thankful for you, Mama.  I'm going to dream about Vienna--a lot of ice cream, ponies, lollipops and dolphins and Bailey and Mama and Audrey...and my Prince Bailey.

May 25th (Bailey's first entry):
Bailey's favorite thing: watchin' Tinkerbell and watchin' those trolls! I see Elephant, Mama! See sheeps comin' down and through the tunnel! (I love this kid)
Audrey's favorite thing: Going to see our friends at the zoo--going to see the koalas...seeing them eating.

May 30th (tonight):
Bailey's favorite: Watchin' a-Tinkerbell...watchin' together, yeah. Playin' my Papa--Audee playin' him too!
Audrey's favorite: giving my Papa smooches when he came home.

I love these girls and I feel so blessed to see what is most important in their little eyes.  This move might have been a transition and a fantastic opportunity for John and myself, but for the girls, it's an entirely different experience.  Journaling about it with them might be just as much for me as it is for them. 

Finding a Church Family

A handful of people have steadily been inquiring whether we have found a church home here yet. The comforting thing is that I know all of these individual questions have been based in love and genuine curiosity, not judgement, as my younger self would've inferred. The answer is no. And we're also not looking.

To be honest, originally we avoided looking for a place of worship because we were not ready to dive into the social whirl that can entail. We are solitary people. And in some ways this is a vacation from focusing our attention outward. Our most treasured times are spent as a family of four, aimlessly wandering the streets and paths of Vienna, or those snuggles and snippets of conversation that happen in the precious few minutes before conceding it is time to roll out of bed and start the day.

We have no desire, no inclination and no God-lead draw to seek Him in a body of believers here. And if He's cool with that, then I am too.

Instead my challenge, at least, seems to find how to be still and know He is God--to store up my treasures in heaven and to place absolute trust in Him.

Most days, I look forward to nap time, which for me is a time of rest and meditation...many days accompanied by some tea and the comfort of my Bible. But this week I was not on my A-game; I felt lost, like my grip on the little slice of normal I had carved out was slipping. My thoughts were scattered. My house was a mess and my girls pulled through it with me with incredible grace.

So, Monday as I slipped out of the apartment,  leaving my dears all slumbering peacefully, and with no particular destination in mind, I decided my path would be divinely chosen (like it isn't already, but throw me a bone). Unsurprisingly, as I do every week, I started my journey at Stephansdom--it just seems the height of rudeness not to give the old girl the time of day when I'm already out and about.  I walked until I found unfamiliar streets and moved wherever the spirit led me...to an area of town I haven't yet graced with my presence...and eventually there sat Cafe Prückel,  beckoning me to it's worn and tattered seats.

If my mother were to see this place, she'd describe it as looking well loved,  which was how she also described our most treasured stuffed animals with matted hair, missing eyeballs and lumpy stuffing; this is how I view Prückel. A place worn down with the affection of devoted guests and regulars alike.

And this is where I discover I find my church family; sitting next to students pouring over textbooks, a man who looks like he has taken up residence, typing on his computer and the rest of the smoking, coffee drinking folk with worn lines of life marking their faces. Here I can be still and know that He is God. Here, I sit in true solitude in His presence...and pray that He will keep me there when I feel restless, when I am overwhelmed, when I am in the throws of rapture or simply content deep within every fiber of my being.

No, when I have Him and have faith in walking His path, I know it's not time to devote ourselves to a new church here yet. We are finding a place to worship in our hearts, in the moments of chaos and the occasional breath of relaxation...He is faithful. He provides. And He is always in my cup of coffee.

Five Years

Dear World, You're welcome.

I've discussed before the sordid tale of how I stalked John until he agreed to marry me and let me have his babies, but I think we can all agree that it was an excellent plan.  Five years later, I'm still calling that one a win.

Obviously, John and I are not wild for the normal song and dance of schmoopily expressing our affection on public forums, purchasing each other greeting cards and presenting gifts to each other that are meant to represent our collective five years of marital bliss. Nope.  Instead, John rolled over in bed Saturday morning and elbowed me in the head.

Then he told me he loved me.

That's the real deal, folks.

After recovering from my head injury and realizing I had forgotten to thaw the bacon (the horror!! But seriously, it's imported Hormel Black Label bacon from the states), I announced that we were going out for breakfast--something we haven't done since we moved here.  We got dressed and walked to the Naschmarkt to Caffe del Doge, which is becoming one of my regular haunts. John and I both got the bagel breakfast, which is not at all what an American would expect; it involves a bagel, split in half--one side has fluffy green lettuce, creamed goat cheese and sun dried tomatoes and the other scrambled eggs with pesto and pumpkin seeds--it's eaten with a fork and knife, which can be fairly hilarious if you're a novice.  John and I sawed and savored our bagels while the girls ate their croissants and hard boiled eggs (served in a cup with a tiny silver spoon, of course)...it was a great start to a wonderful day.

We poked about the Naschmarkt and visited our Strudel lady...whom I love because she always gives us at least four extra treats and also the Austrian equivalent of: "Y'all come back now, y'hear?" John picked up a Doener Kebab for lunch and we all snacked away the afternoon at the park before heading home so John and I could get ready for our swanky date that evening.

I feel the urge to poke fun at it, but our date honestly was swanky, meaning we ate somewhere that required reservations, with no children--I wore a dress and makeup, accessories and heels.  It was an entirely foreign feeling, but oh, so wonderful.

John and I dropped the girls off at Steve and Megan's house and rode the U-Bahn together without our kids for the first time...all the way to Schwedenplatz--an area of Vienna near the Donau Canal.  We strolled along the edge of the canal, watching passengers board and depart from the plethora of boats and ferries that line it's banks.  We people-watched and made up stories about Chad, the shirtless frat boy at the sand bar, and Regina, who always wanted to travel, but was thwarted by her luggage-covered-in-saranwrap husband. (if you were curious, he finally gave in for their 40th wedding anniversary, but would not budge on the safety of his rolling suitcase)

Still unwilling to relenquish our fuddy-duddy status, we hit the restaurant at 6pm sharp (many restaurants here don't open for dinner until then) and were one of the first tables seated.  We had excellent service--especially since we clarified that we were English speakers from the get-go. In most areas, I try to afford people the respect of attempting to speak their native language, until through pity they eventually switch to English, but there are some things you just don't mess with; like medical appointments, bank transactions and fine dining (in that order).

We split a bottle of Austrian Riesling and dove into our crusty bread and creamed brown butter--The following two hours were the best food and conversation I've had since we got here.  And even though we thoroughly enjoyed our time spent as adults in grown up la-la land, picking up our girls from a night of friend and pizza-filled fun was almost the best.  The girls were so worn out they both fell asleep on the train ride home.  And the moment that will live in my memory from that night is not the hours I spent having uninterrupted conversation over divine food with my best friend, but the ten minutes we spent walking home from the train in our wilted formal wear with our babies breathing sweet dreamy breaths against our chests.  We put them to bed (something that is usually at least a 20 minute procedure) and felt a deep peace as we tucked them in, watching them nestle into their pillows.

After five years of marriage, this is what I have.

Dear Lord, let my heart be big enough for anything more.

The Morning Blergs...and Lots of Sarcasm

I woke up this morning at 6am to Bailey screaming "No! no. no. NOOOOOO!!!!" from her room and like any responsible parent, I laid in bed until I figured she wasn't talking herself down alone.  Of course, the moment my foot hit the floor, she stopped screaming like she was under attack and went back to sleep. I, on the other hand, was now firmly awake.

If I had a nickel for every time my offspring was able to psychically wake me at an indecent hour (ten cents for weekends), I'd have this retirement thing all planned out.  But, as it is, I paused to lament my lack of millions funded by the imaginary Irony Foundation for Disabused Parents, and instead, looked to my morning with thankfulness that I now had plenty of time to wonder why everyone posts on Facebook while I'm asleep and whether the kids would wake up if I creaked across the floor to go grind coffee beans.

In the end I took advantage of my early morning by blogging about our week...and then ten hours later, when I went to apply photos to the aforementioned post, I learned the importance of never assuming you have saved something while in a did-I-really-forget-to-wash-off-my-eye-makeup-the-one-time-I've-worn-it-this-year daze.  It wasn't pretty.

On many levels.

And considering I can't remember to bring extra pull-ups with me when I leave the house (for my children...), you can bet I can't recall any details of that original post except that I did a lot of complaining about using plastic forks, however earth friendly and fabulous mine may be.

And of course I tied it together with a really nice add-in about how it's all symbolism for how meaningless our physical possessions are.

I'll pause for you to grasp the genius in that original thought.
 
I'll be back later with a little less sarcasm and a little more sentiment.  In the mean time, enjoy this photo of my eldest displaying her obsessive compulsions via cherry dissection. 

That's right...everyone get in line.

Cheers!

Our Joyful Weekend and Clouds in My Coffee

I would like to think we always live with thankful hearts; hearts full of gratitude for the path God has set us on.  But, never before has it been so easy to come by joy in my heart...it's almost unnerving to tell the truth.

Our weeks are full; John loves his job and is enjoying the work he has been assigned.  As a result, he's usually out of the house by 8am and comes home to dinner close to 6:30 at night.  We're getting used to Papa's longer hours, to our new apartment, our new neighborhood...and now we're working on getting used to a new schedule.  The past month has been rather chaotic, to say the least, and my poor, schedule-oriented Audrey girl has really been a champ through it all, but it has been wearing on her.  The need for some consistency in her daily life has become more pressing, so we've started implementing a regular schedule where we try to get all our outings done for the day in the morning, we eat lunch and settle down for some rest, if not a full-on nap in the afternoon. By the time the girls are up, they get some independent time to play (meaning, Mama referees while we all learn how to share and play contentedly again) in between all this, I clean up the house and attempt to get dinner ready when Papa comes home. Most days are hit and miss, but the shadow of consistency is there.

Now, having said all that, we pretty much fling the schedule out the window on weekends--and for a good reason: we live in Vienna and we get to spend time as a family.  It's my favorite.  Doesn't matter what we're doing--just that we do it together.  Our lazy weekends are the stuff of my dreams.  We linger over breakfast (which is how breakfast should be properly eaten, by the way) and discuss what we should do for the day. This Saturday, we needed to focus on John and his wardrobe, or lack thereof. We brought enough clothes for him to wear to work, but it was by no means a complete wardrobe, and since most shops are closed on Sundays, we set off to find Papa some new duds.

We made it through one store--ONE--and I haven't uttered so many what-please's or how-do-you-say-blank's since I got here.  I knew in advance that my department store vocabulary was rusty, but Gads!  I didn't realize how many different ways the same individual could ask you if you need help.  By the time we found John a few new things, the girls had already eaten all the snacks and were starting to turn into hyper-hypo lumps of goo.  We booked it out of there, found some snacks and hoofed it to the nearest park, where we literally had the girls run lines after they ate some lunch.   

The girls hadn't been to Stadtpark before, so John took them on a walk to see the duck pond while I laid on the grass in the sweet sunshine.  I have no idea how long they were gone, but that was the most relaxed I've been since we came to Vienna. I peeled off my layers to soak up some Vitamin D and laid in the grass meditating.  When the girls came back to rouse me from my stupor, I felt like Rip Van Wynkle...it could've been a hundred years I laid there; I was as rested as an individual could be.

It was a good day. And to top it off, that night, John got to go out with some friends from work to watch a Fussball match at an Irish pub.  They had imported Guinness on tap and there was standing room only. I can't remember the last time that man was out until nearly midnight, but it was a good thing too.

Sunday, we had absolutely no plans, but those usually end up being the best days.  We had noticed some cryptically empty booths in Stephansplatz the day before and decided to pop in to see if anything was going on.  The mystery booths were still there and still very much deserted, but there was plenty going on in the form of traditionally-garbed folks dancing around a May pole.  Ah, Vienna, how I love you.  You just don't quit. 

From there, we trod a familiar path down Kohlmarkt and past The Hofburg.  We visited the Volksgarten, which we hadn't yet explored, and the girls had a romping good time.  They were fascinated by the rows upon rows of rose bushes...and also by the tiny daisies and dandelions growing beneath them.  My girls love flowers, great or small.  

When the littles started threatening to turn into pumpkins, we high-tailed it back home for some lunch and then it was time for them to get some spoilage in the form of movies while Mama headed out on the town for her solo adventure. 

And for the record, this is the amount of stuff I can remove from my bag to leave the house by myself.  If I were wearing pants with bigger pockets, the bag wouldn't have even come with me. It is worth it to leave the house not feeling like a pack mule.

Significantly lighter, I left the girls glued to their borrowed copy of Tinkerbell (aka "The one with the silly cat, Mama") in pursuit of nothing in particular.  I hadn't given too much thought to my outing for the day, so by default, I headed back to Stephansdom.  I will never get tired of that massive cathedral as seen while rising from the underground station; it does me in every time.  And although I was rather keen for a walk, I decided to take a turn inside to give the old girl a bit more appreciation.  I slowly walked the perimeter of the sanctuary, as I have countless times before, and imagine my surprise as I discovered a tour for the catacombs was beginning in fifteen minutes.  It looked as if my loose plans were starting to take form.

I think it merits explanation that this is truly one tour we simply cannot take the girls on; I'm cool with subjecting them to art or countless hours in the stroller while Mama and Papa pursue what are surely, to their minds, boring cultural experiences, but I'm not about to introduce my impressionable girls to the sight of mass graves.  I, on the other hand, was giddy.

The tour guide led us downstairs to the oldest part of the catacombs...these were renovated fifty years ago, and so, look nothing like I imagine the original had.  The walls were all bright white plaster and rigged with efficient lighting.  We did get to see the bishops' coffins and the tomb of the catacomb's founder: Rudolf IV, his wife and many members of his family.  There were also some thrilling urns containing the internal organs of the royal Habsburgs. But as we were led through exhibits of original stone sculptures from the cathedral and tombs of some lesser religious officials, my giddiness was starting to take a turn towards the doldrums. I was salivating for thrilling Gothic horror, not this plastered-over, renovated crypt stuff. 

...And I was not disappointed when we finally got to the new catacombs. You see, I failed to realize that by "new", Austrians mean: They were used until the 1700's.  That's relatively new considering the founder of this modern cathedral started reconstructing in the 1300's.

I keep forgetting.

My mood began to lift as the walls turned to brick and the floors to dirt; the temperature dropped as we walked down on unsteady, ill-lit ground to the new catacombs...where there are tens of thousands of people buried, most in mass graves.  We viewed rooms that formerly held caskets from floor to ceiling, rooms with long-decayed bodies jumbled together like so many dropped toothpicks and others where painstaking care had been taken to clean bones and assemble them like stacks of firewood, to make more room for the countless number of plague victims in the city.  It was grotesque and Gothic and fabulous. And that alone would've been enough.  But you know what?  After having struggled with bits and pieces of conversation with countless flaky sales people in a department store the day before, I understood every word our tour guide relayed about dead bodies, mummification, death, decay and plague.

Now you know where the money really is in those college courses.   

All too soon, we were shown our exit up 'secret' stairs that led out the side of the cathedral.  I found myself looking a pair of horses in the face, who could've easily been at home in this place when those people were being lumped in together like sardines in the catacombs.  The tour was worth every penny.

After all that excitement, I hooked a corner and found myself a seat in nearby Cafe Diglas, which was pleasantly deserted for the time of day.  I ordered a Melange and told Herr Ober I wanted a tart with berries on top.  I wasn't disappointed; my Melange was perfection and the berry tart divine.  My waiter also didn't even dare breath in my direction once he had delivered my requested items.  I sat there at a tiny corner table next to an open window and simply existed.  I let my mind wander while sipping coffee and savoring my sweet tart.

As always, recently, when I find a moment of clarity, I began to ponder how nearly unsettling the amount of joy I've felt in this past month has been.

I have spent so much of my life struggling-- struggling through most of my adolescence and early adulthood trying to fill a God-sized hole with anything I could find...never finding fulfillment until I let Him back in my heart.  But as any God-loving servant will tell you, the road is not easy; it is paved with tests of faith and struggles and moments of failure and weakness.  God has pressed on my heart so much, how to find joy in seeming problems, that this easy contentment sits ill when I have time to turn my thoughts to it.  Will I rely on Him less if I am always happy?  And even more so, have I made my struggles and my ability to hold my faith through them into a crutch?  Is it not harder to cling to the Lord and give Him credit for all the goodness when it flows in overwhelming abundance?

All of this internal conflict, in a cup of coffee.

Even with ample solitary time to turn these things over in my mind, nothing from that internal query was really answered in my heart today, except the resounding fact that all good things flow from Him...and my heart would be most truly thankful by spending time in His presence, focused on His goodness and how it can shine through me.

As my time out of the house neared an end, I signaled Herr Ober from across the cafe'...and on a lark asked if it might be possible to purchase one of the beautiful vibrant-colored coffee cups that are one of Cafe Diglas' signatures.  He acquiesced and brought me a bright orange cup and saucer ready to travel with me.  Back home, as I placed it on the shelf next to my cup from Cafe' Hawelka, I realized how much really can be found in a cup of coffee.  Mine holds joy and faith, rest and thanks.

What do you find in yours?          

Once Upon a Passion Fruit

Once upon a time...we bought a passion fruit.  Unaware that it's innards looked like snot.

I fed it to my children anyway.

 

  My Bear was skeptical, but game for some adventure.

 It was sour.  We didn't expect that.

 Slimy, yet satisfying!

 The best part was playing with the squishy, gooey guts.

 Sometimes these new experiences require some time for mental processing.

 In the end, this is what a naked passion fruit looks like; this guy was full of surprises

 

...and Audrey wanted nothing to do with them; she sat there looking cute while the rest of us squirmed and puckered, poked and prodded.

These are our everyday adventures, folks.  Most days involve something new...something that makes us uncomfortable or makes us squirm.  We tend to chalk it all up to experience and then try to find a playground or some ice cream.  It's the simple things. 

Tuesday at The Demel...and My Own Personal Heart of Darkeness

Nothing sweeter than chubby hands on a cup of cocoa

Don't ask me about the weather.  It's depressing.  A week ago, I was exposing as much skin as is considered decent in an attempt to soak up as much vitamin D as possible...and its a good thing.  Because this week, I've been donning wool and wishing I would've remembered to wear a scarf.  After spending my Monday traditionally getting the house back in working order for the week; shopping at the market and purchasing a vaccuum, (because I refuse to sweep 170 square meters of apartment for one more day.) We met up with the Walsh clan on Tuesday to indulge in some brunch and hot chocolate at The Demel with the girls.

It was an experience.  But I'm so glad we did it.  Our kids my be in love with the beach and the playground...the gelato stands that grace every corner, but I want them to have this too.  They might still be littles, but there is something precious about taking them on these grown-up outings.  We contained them in the cafe for as long as possible and then let them loose in Heldenplatz and the Burggarten.  After letting them run laps, we thought a trip to the butterfly house might be a perfect cap to our day...until the winged creatures started dive-bombing my girls...or at least, that's what their story would be. 

B is walking with her eyes covered...poor, traumatized girl!

Audrey and Bailey both fed off of each other, shrieking in terror every time a butterfly would come within a yard of them until they dissolved into blubbering messes.  In my defense, I did try sitting down with them on my lap, explaining the beauty behind a butterfly's design, their grace and potential tickle-factor if they were to land on a person.  NOPE.  They were not buying it.  Butterflies are evil.  Take note.

The horror!

So, our Tuesday funday kind of turned into a flop, but we had the rest of the week ahead of us!  I had been steadily checking off the list I had assigned myself at the beginning of the week and one large task was staring me in the face...looming in the shadows and whispering my name when I woke in the morning. 

IKEA...

Oh, what a love/hate relationship! I have been ironing out a shopping list since we got into our apartment and I knew it was time...time to face the monster.

Wednesday morning I woke up, girding my loins for what was to come.  I got ready for the day and attempted to keep the girls as happy as possible while I packed our bags and felt the deep seed of dread take root in my heart. 

Shopping at IKEA with two small children?  I might come out a different person--a darker person--for having to lug around enormous area rugs while herding cats kids.

Just as I was about to step out the door, relief came via my friend Megan...or Saint Megan as I now refer to her as.  She lives minutes from IKEA...MINUTES! And told me to bring the girls over to watch movies with her kids while I tackled the home-furnishing beast. 

And suddenly the world was a brighter place.

We rode the train out to Megan's house; she fed us lunch and made sure I had my bus schedule, shopping list, and maps of the surrounding area.  I was set.

I spent the next two hours of my life power-walking through IKEA, lugging an ungodly amount of furnishings with me, sweating like a pig.  When I got to the check-out, the cashier asked me if I had more than one card to put my purchase on, since most debit cards here only allow a thousand euros in purchases in one day...so I put one gargantuan rug back, paid for the rest of my stuff and then booked it to the transportation desk, where I had to inquire about an ATM, since I had just spent every penny of my daily allotment and also every euro in my wallet.  I returned, cash in hand, and arranged for it all to be delivered to our apartment that night.  And I did everything in German.

I'm not often boastful of my speaking abilities...but, goodnight! Those three conversations alone were worth the money I paid for my German Minor...and I can tell you, they only touch briefly on home furnishing vocabulary in college courses.

I returned to pick up my children who were now euphoric and sleepy from their afternoon spent watching movies, eating strawberries and devouring popcorn. 

If it weren't for Meg, I probably wouldn't have made it out alive.  I'd still be curled in the fetal position on the floor of the children's section of the IKEA showrooms while my children demolished the place and then raided the cafeteria. 

I was so close to my own heart of darkness.


Going to IKEA is like childbirth...I think I need some time to forget the excruciating pain before I'll brave that again. 

A tasteful area rug...paid for with sweat and anxiety

Mother's Day Weekend

Steps at the Albertina painted in honor of the Monet exhibit

I'm sure it is obvious by the number of outdoor play dates last week that the weather had been gorgeous.  None of this take-your-umbrella-with-you stuff.  But, it couldn't last forever.  Saturday was supposed to be rainy, so we took the opportunity to check out the first art museum on our list.  Vienna is awash in museums and art galleries, but we haven't had the cajones to drag our girls to them yet.  Great art might be of interest to mom and dad, but not especially to one particular kid who prefers trouble to culture. 
We savored our lazy Saturday morning before heading out to The Albertina, a former palace that rubs elbows with the Staatsoper and now is host to thousands of great works of art.  We spent almost two hours meandering through the galleries, admiring works by Monet, Edgar Degas, Paul Cézanne, Pablo Picasso (John's favorite), and Toulouse Lautrec (which I enjoyed the most).  Audrey stoically studied paintings from the stroller and I carried Bailey on my front in the ergo carrier.  From there, we whispered about every painting on the wall--and I can tell you, there is no art critic that can do justice to Bailey's interpretation of these great works.  I laughed so much at her exclamations over different artists. 

Outside the Albertina

I was really very proud of my girls; they did wonderfully and I'm glad I feel we can let them tag along on these little excursions.  We let them pick out gifts in the museum shop for being so good--a little dog named Piet and a bunny who was immediately named 'sparkles'.  They played with them as we sat down in a cafe on Annagasse Strasse, coincidentally directly across the apartment we loved in the first district.  The waiter doted on us, referred to the girls as princesses and brought them cushions to sit on.  The girls had schnitzel and I had my first spatzle since I've gotten here.  (how did I miss that!?) We had a lovely lunch with our sweet sleepy girls and stopped to chit chat with an older woman who admired the girls on the way out.  We walked down Kartnerstrasse and popped in a few stores; John bought me a dress for our swanky anniversary dinner we're planning in a few weeks.

I could get used to this.

We let the girls watch a movie when we got home (something they haven't been allowed to do in nearly a week) and then met up with John's friend from work, Carrie for dinner at the brewery across the street.  It was a fantastic, laid-back end to a fantastic, laid-back Saturday.

Hello, Parliament! Nice to finally see you!

The next day was, of course, mother's day...a scant month after moving to a foreign country.  John probably gave himself the biggest guilt trip for not preparing anything 'special', but, c'mon...we live in Vienna...something as simple as taking a walk qualifies as 'special', so that's what we did.  My man washed all the dishes and made me coffee...then after breakfast, we headed out to explore some of Vienna's first district that we (still) hadn't seen.  I took a hundred pictures that morning--no lie.  And I won't even begin to name off the stuff that we saw, but it was breathtaking and beautiful...and oh, so Vienna.  After walking for quite a while and stopping for some Wurstel for lunch, John and Audrey split from us to go look inside the Stephansdom while Bailey and I went on our own little adventure.  I was really supposed to be scouting out the tea house I would be stopping by that afternoon, but it took me all of one minute, so The Bear and I poked around the alleyways off Stephansplatz and discovered the rooms Mozart rented while living in Vienna, the Jesuiten Kirche and many intriguing passageways and alleys that I had no idea existed.

Oh, Stephansdom, no words or pictures can do you justice

When we met back up again, John decided to take the girls home so I could have my traditional Sunday afternoon break.  This week, I was told to really take my time since it was mother's day and all...and did I ever.  It was my favorite Sunday yet.  I started by popping in to the Stephansdom by myself and basked in the ability to stand and just look; I could spend years studying this church.  As John often says: Stephansdom is worth the price of admission alone. Meaning, if Vienna were a desolate wasteland with only this amazing place at its center, we'd still feel privileged to live here.  If you don't believe me, I welcome you to come see it and judge for yourself.  I'll even let you sleep on the couch. 

My melange at Haas & Haas

After I got my fill of lovely gothic cathedral gawking, I headed across the courtyard to a place I have only very recently discovered; Haas & Haas is not a Viennese coffee house, nor has it been in place for decades--it is primarily a tea room with a reputation for serving excellent everything.  I walked through a small labyrinth to locate the one room open for serving on Sunday and ordered a Melange with whipped cream.  It was heavenly.  I think I can honestly say this place has been the one I have felt most comfortable in; it was not busy enough to justify my usual level of people watching, but I did feel myself sinking into the cushions of my bench, and really lingering as I haven't yet at any of the busier coffee houses.  Once I felt significantly rested, I headed out with no real destination in mind; I hadn't been to the Stadtpark on the southeastern side of the first district and decided to reconnoiter.  On my way, I discovered charming courtyards, stairs that led who-knows-where and of course, the ever-present palaces that seem to peek around every other corner here.  I eventually found myself across from Stadpark and from the sheer number of port-a-potties lining the hedges, I knew something was afoot.  As I neared the entrance, I saw a sea of tiny tents and running through them a river of people, with wine glasses and plates of food in hand. 

Visiting Stadtpark was a good choice.

mmm...cake and crowds.  Delish.

I trolled through the masses and soon found myself sitting under a tree, glass of wine in hand and a belly full of schwartzwälder kirschtorte.  This was were the real people watching was at.  After taking in my fill of the scene I set out to see the rest of the park and found myself at yet another palace-converted-hotel where a wedding was taking place...no bride and groom yet, but a bevy of women in incredibly sparkly and poofy dresses.  Continuing on, I started to hear music...and I was confused.  Was it for the wedding?  It was awful.  I started to feel bad for the happy couple--bad DJ's are one thing, but Lord, this was something else.  As I came around the corner, what should I see, but two native american men, playing wooden flutes...to a karaoke version of Simon and Garfunkel's El Condor Pasa...and yards away from them, the bride and groom posing for pictures.  It was magically hysterical.  I knew I wouldn't be able to top that moment for the day, so I turned heel and walked with a grin I couldn't wipe from my face to the U-Bahn station and back home where my sweet babies waited for me.

It was a wonderful mother's day.

These gents have no idea how much I love them.

    

 

Living the Dream: Friends, Fits and Good Food

To say this week has flown by would be an understatement.  Our week was spent with friends excepting brief pauses to do laundry and and a 24-hour lock-down for Audrey, who suddenly decided it was time to show us she has not transitioned so smoothly as we had thought.  My little velociraptor...at it again. 

Eating strawberries while perched in a swing

Most weekends I make a half-hearted attempt to stock up our refrigerator with enough food to last through Sunday, when all the markets are closed.  Needless to say, a Monday morning trip to the Naschmarkt is becoming a tradition. Since we're so close to Vienna's largest outdoor market, I've also become snooty enough to only purchase milk, butter and eggs from our neighborhood supermarket.  Everything else comes from my beloved purveyors, pushing free samples of falafel at you at 9am.  I've tried out quite a few sellers and have settled on at least one favorite--the man who gives the most generous dollops of hummus on his falafel is where I purchase my olives, hummus, tzatziki, and pita that are all becoming daily snack staples.

B bit holes on both sides of her cone...she's squinting through it.

lunch with friends

This week we took 'our friends' (as Audrey and Bailey now call Sarah and Bridget) to the Naschmarkt. We breezed through the stalls, buying snack food for our day at the park...and stopped back by on the way home for ice cream...and perhaps a few items with which to make dinner.  (we do sit down for the occasional meal at home here).

The next day we met up again with our friends at Donau Park, a large, sprawling green space just north of the UN Complex.  The girls had a picnic lunch at a table sandwiched between riotously blooming flower beds before going on the hunt for the best playground spot in the park.  They settled for a gigantic sand pit with two separate clusters of play houses...I tell you man, the Viennese might know coffee, but they've got this playground thing down solid too.  Our days tend to end with the girls racking out in the stroller or attached to my body...and this day was no different.  We don't have a key to the lift in our building since we're only one flight up; I physically can carry a sleeping child in our umbrella stroller up the stairs, but why would I when I could stop for ice cream instead on the way home?  Bailey, lucky dog that she is, woke up before sister and got in on the action.  Poor sister.  She has to have something to tell her therapist. 

This one's for Grandpa G--they stopped to smell some purple irises

Thursday was a long day; The previous two nights, Audrey had thrown screaming fits that sounded like we were trying to murder her; no amount of talking was getting that girl off her ledge.  And most of the screaming fits (that's right--there were plenty more, just not quite so loud) were connected to her not getting her way on something...like being able to eat ice cream or stay at the playground.  I was legitimately worried we had a Veruca Salt in the making.  So, Thursday was our lock-down day.  Since then, I've heard a lot more "Ok, Mama" around here.  It's a good thing.

look at those pig tails fly

By Friday I was stir-crazy and tired of being a nag...it's exhausting work.  So, we met up with 'our friends' again at the Bundes Bad, where the only instructions I had to give were: "Don't put sand on your sister's head" and "Stop throwing rocks".  It was a beautiful thing to be able to spend the day beach-side with good people.  Not to mention all the Vitamin D I've been absorbing has sent my mood to soaring.

too much fun...gotta recharge with a power nap

After a full day at the beach, including slumbering naps under the cottonwood trees, we attempted to put ourselves back in order to meet the Papas for dinner at an elaborate Chinese restaurant.  This place had a wandering garden with pools and pergolas...not to mention the outdoor seating area where we sipped local wine and ate while our kiddos ran circles in the garden paths.  We ate ice cream and baked bananas for dessert before taking our sticky, exhausted girls home.  It was a full week and a good week. 

We are not chasing a dream here, but living it. 

Lazy Sunday and a Coffee Break

After all the animal-filled excitement this Saturday and a gloriously good night's sleep that followed, we decided to keep our Sunday lazy; the girls slept in and we lingered over our french toast until deciding to take a walk.  We meandered down past the eerily deserted stalls of the Naschmarkt to a park we hadn't yet visited.  The morning was beautiful--cool enough, at first, for sweaters and soon warm enough to pull off the layers and saok up the sun.  By now, the girls have got their playground act down pat--they surveyed the lay of the land before hitting the sand box.  (I've gotten over my horror at finding sand in their every bodily crevice and have learned to just let them go to town now.) In between scooping and dumping sand, climbing ladders and pumping on the swings, they inhaled some peanut butter and jelly..John and I on the other hand mostly sat in the sweet sunshine nasching on olives, cheese and salami. It was a perfect morning.

Until the tantrums set in.

All too soon, Bailey was sprinkling sand in her hair and becoming increasingly irrational.  Audrey lost it when I told her she couldn't put the COAT she had picked out that morning back on and refused to listen to my subsequent lecture about heat stroke. Nap time was upon us.  And after getting the girls settled down, it was Mama's turn to relax...just in a much different setting.       

I was headed to the second coffee house on my list: Cafe Leopold Hawelka, which is located in the first district, not too far from my last week's adventure, The Demel.  Residing in the same district is where the similarities between these two coffee houses end; what Cafe Hawelka lacks in grandeur and decades of history, it more than makes up for with old school charm.  What initially intrigued me about this small cafe was it's reputation for being a hip hang-out for up-and-coming writers and artists during the 60's and 70's, but as I looked further into it's history, I was absolutely charmed.  Cafe Hawelka is, at it's heart, a family owned and operated business.  It was opened by Leopold Hawelka in 1939 and closed as World War II broke out, only to be reopened in 1945.  Leopold was known to be seen sitting in the doorway, greeting guests until his death in 2011.  I also already knew I dig their coffee beans; I've been brewing them in my french press since I unwittingly picked some up on our first visit to the Naschmarkt.  The Josephine blend that I so flippantly purchased was named for Leopold's wife, who along with managing the cafe, also happened to bake the cafe's house cakes.  Since her death in 2005, her son has taken over the duty, so you can see how my heart was turned towards this seemingly family-run 'small business'.

In the same route I took to the Demel last week, I took the train to Stephansplatz, nodded to my old favorite cathedral and waltzed around the corner to join the surging masses of tourists.  Instead of following the tide down the massive pedestrian street, however, I hooked a corner down a side street, full of restaurants and cafes with tables spilling out into the walkway.  Here, Cafe Hawelka sits, unprepossessingly, beckoning one to come sit at it's shaded tables or join the crowd in it's dark interior.  I know this is somewhere I will be visiting again, so I took advantage of the glorious weather, spotted a free table and plopped down next to a potted tree, where I also attempted to look like one.  Don't mind me, I'm just here to bemusedly observe your silly human interactions.  I was soon greeted by an effusively polite man in a tuxedo, Herr Ober, as they are addressed here, was to be my server.  He brought me a melange and two pieces of house cake toot-sweet and I settled back into my role of pseudo-tree.

Soon, however, I was unavoidably distracted by what was on my plate--this totally unremarkable-looking house cake tasted like something my Grandmother would make: a little crispy on the outside, crumbly on the inside and littered with sweet cherries.  Top that off with some powdered sugar and I was transported back home, across the ocean to my grandparents house; to nights spent playing cards and getting my rump kicked in a competitive game of scrabble. 

Perhaps that is why Cafe Hawelka has absolutely charmed me to the core; and that's with only managing a peek inside.  I'm sold.  I spent the rest of my time in sweet solitude, savoring an entire cup of coffee before it grew cold and basking in the warmth of good memories as I savored my crumbly cake.  A feeling of contentment washed over me and I rode on that high on a walk through downtown Vienna, past palaces and exquisite gardens that have now become familiar to me.

When I got home, I was just in time to wake up my little Bear; when she's not screaming, she's one of the sweetest kids around.  I am overwhelmed by my blessings; by what has transpired to bring me here and also by the clarity of mind that comes from these little solo jots around town.  Life here is not all roses; we still have tantrums and bickering and bumbling confusion, but the blessings we have been given grossly outweigh any of the difficulties.  God is so very good.  And it's important to remember that we are not here to enjoy ourselves (although we seem to be managing just fine in that department).  Ultimately, God is the one who has sent us here and I'd appreciate any prayers you could send our way that we would be open to doing whatever it is He has planned for us, to see these amazing sights as His creations and the time He gives me to find peace as a gift from heaven. 

 Now, I just wish you were here.  Work on that, will ya?

It's All Hapening at the Zoo

Since the weather this week has been pretty mercurial, we put off our decision for what to do this Saturday until the morning-of, so's to have the most up-to-date hourly weather report.  That's right, Tri-City folk, they have weather here--not just "sunny" or "partly cloudy with a chance of 2 inches of rainfall a year".  A beautiful morning here can very rapidly turn into a thunderstorm and vice versa.  So, seeing we were in for a gorgeous morning with some thunderstorms hitting in the late afternoon, we took our friends, The Walsh's, up on an invitation to the zoo at Schonbrunn Palace.

Now, a few important things to know about this zoo is that not only is it Europe's oldest zoo, but it is situated on a portion of the property at Schonbrunn Palace--let me emphasize PORTION.  I could live in Schonbrunn and walk it's paths and gardens and halls for a year and probably still have more to discover. Am I emphasizing it's grand stature enough yet? Vienna may be home to many majestic, enormous monstrosities, but Schonbrunn, hands-down, takes the cake.

I'm prefacing this all so you'll understand why I wouldn't consider our trip to the zoo remotely all-encompassing and even though I saw the palace and walked through some of it's gardens, I, by no means, am competent to describe them accurately to you.

Never you worry--Schonbrunn begs for hours of time spent discovering its every nook and cranny...if only we could get past the children's play areas.

I want to be able to sleep like that!

Here, cheetah, cheetah!

We met Steve, Meg and their girls around noon, but we got to the zoo early enough to purchase our year passes first and to sneak a peak at the koalas snoozing in their trees before meeting up.  Koalas are one of my favorites and Audrey's too; she was so excited when she realized what that furry creature rolled up in a snuggly ball was...but honestly, nothing compares to how happy she is to see her new little friends, Sarah and Bridget.  These four girls are so well suited as play mates; from the moment they laid eyes on each other, they were out of their strollers, laughing, running, chasing each other and following whoever was the momentary ring leader to the giraffes, the flamingos, the deer...Bailey even made friends with a cheetah.  They gave the monkeys a run for their money and yelled at the rest of the sleeping big cats before it was declared lunch time.  And you know what I do feel qualified to describe in detail? The excellent level of service we received...in a beer garden...at the Schonbrunn zoo.  It was unreal.

The master face-maker and her Papa, dining al fresco

Coach B: Living the drea

We ate in a small courtyard surrounded by flowering trees, sitting under giant yellow umbrellas, and still, when the wind blew, tiny white flowers would float down around us.  The girls all had schnitzel and apple juice with extra long straws.  We had beer and wine, schnitzel and potato pancakes and plenty of good conversation.  Our waiter offered the best service I've had so far and I was comfortable enough to ask him some questions that have been lingering in my mind about Austrian restaurant protocol and etiquette. We left with happy bellies and followed our kids wherever they wandered; to the elephants, to pick fluffy dandelions and collect pine cones.  In between, we stopped for coffee and ice cream and eventually headed to the seal enclosure to watch their feeding.

These two are out looking for lions

The viewing area was packed--and for a reason.  The show they put on wouldn't rival any at Shed Aquarium, but what it lacked in pizazz, it more than made up for in audience enthusiasm.  One seal in particular,unsurprisingly, the fattest one, would leap from the highest ledge of rocks to catch a fish in his mouth before splashing into the water and drenching the nearest viewers below.  We had been warned beforehand and thought we were out of the splash zone, but Bailey and I got hosed when the zoo keeper unexpectedly lobbed a fish in our direction.  B loved it, but Audrey, who caught a surprise splash right in the kisser, suddenly decided that perhaps she didn't like seals so much after all.

 All of the excitement of the morning seemed to crash down on Bailey after that. I pushed her sad, crying self up an impressive hill (on a bark path, no less) past the wolves and an incredibly cute replica of an alpine farm, trying to get her to fall asleep. Eventually, after lots of screaming and "Me back hurting!", sleep won out.  Since it was obviously getting late and those forecasted storm clouds were beginning to roll in, we headed out the zoo exit near The Glorietta  (a seemingly ornamental crowning glory for the main park at Schonbrunn).  As we realized how far our U-Bahn station was in relation to the looming clouds (which are incidentally not pictured below, but right behind us), Megan and I decided to book it down the hill, mostly being dragged by the inertia of our strollers, and ended up cooling our heels, waiting for Steve, John and Audrey, who had the good sense to discover that the wind was now blowing those dismal clouds away from us.

The Glorietta, as seen briefly while trying to decipher exactly how far away we were from public transit

 As it was, we made it all the way home without encountering a drop of rain.  Instead, we whiled away the evening, listening to the rain pitter pattering out our open windows.  It might take me a while to adapt to this whole changing weather thing again, but our day couldn't have gone better.  It seems I am unable to let a day pass without being overwhelmed by how blessed we are.  

Living Simply, Loving Deeply and Simply Celebrating

Much of the past week flowed as I assume many from here on out will; a few days of glorious sunshine spent entirely out of the house--in the sun, the sand and digging in the dirt.  On the few rainy days, we did some necessary shopping at the mall and re-learned how to play contentedly at home (sans movies).

A lot of stuff is starting to come together here--we haven't existed on our own as a family before and this move has proved an opportunity to implement several ideals we've sought to obtain in the past; I've expressed my desires to live simply and love deeply before, but this is truly an opportunity to have a fesh start.  There are no meetings, no preschool, no regular commitments.  We are free to live in whatever fashion we desire.  It is more freeing than you can imagine.

For example, I've surprisingly embraced the habit of shopping for a day or two of meals at a time--and the results are incredibly simple: meat + starch + vegetables = dinner.  Occasionally we shake things up and go meatless, but no matter how simply we do things, we've decided Friday nights will be celebratory.  John puts in a full, long week at work and knowing the following days will be spent as a family is cause for genuine celebration.

This week we did it up right and headed to the pub across the street for some beers and schnitzel...or apple juice and chicken if you're under the legal drinking age.  After dinner, we set out on a meandering walk; the entire morning had been rainy and dismal, so the girls were excited to be out in the fresh air.  We walked down Wiedener Haupstrasse, past Karlsplatz to the Staatsoper, where we paused to enjoy the end of the opera performance that was also being broadcast outside the opera house on the big screen. When the stars of the show came out to take their bows, we continued on towards the Stephansdom...where all roads here seem to lead (as far as we're concerned).  We passed street performers playing the accordion or singing opera, a string quartet playing Handel's Passacaille from Suite No. 7, even break dancers pumping out mad jams that Bailey busted out some moves for.  We bought the girls some ice cream and sat, taking in one of our favorite Viennese sights as the sun went down.  The girls were content to eat their ice creams and twirl in their flippy skirts, making passers-by crack a smile or even do a little dance of their own.

In a community that is now mostly full of strangers, as life in any big city is bound to be, I find this is my favorite way to shine a little light in the world--by letting my girls do their thing.  I let them wear their shiny shoes and flippy skirts, eat ice cream and sing in the train station or dance in a public square.  The Viennese, as a people, tend to have a reputation for being a bit uppity--aloof--unwilling to make eye contact or smile at strangers, but I've happily found my girls seem to be the antidote to those behaviors.  Aside from our grouch of a neighbor in our old apartment building, we've really only had people comment on how sweet our girls are and I've caught more than a handful of people sneaking a smile at them on the U-Bahn.

As always, I'm just floored by how God can use children to shine light into the darkness.  I might be their mother, but really, He was the one who brought them into this world and He has brought them to this place where, for the moment, I feel one of our main purposes in life is to be out in the world spreading joy...one flippy skirt and reluctant smile at a time.