You guys, I have been throwing a pity party of epic proportions for the last two weeks. It is not the Willian way, this feeling sorry for myself. Sure, in the normal course of life I exclaim at random intervals that I feel horrible (because God knows, most of the time I’m not feeling on top of my game), but it ain’t all bad. I’ve got a pretty good system worked out for making sure I’m feeling well enough to take care of my kids and just generally love my life. But the two weeks I spent throwing that all to the wind? The aftermath has been brutal in my little happy Willian world. So, I’ve been moaning and complaining a lot.
A LOT.
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| This was the most pathetic-looking picture I could find |
I’ve had the same quote from the movie Joe Versus the Volcano going through my head all week…as only Mr. Waturi could deliver: “ So what! Do you think I feel good? Nobody feels good. After childhood, it's a fact of life... I feel rotten!” And you know what? It’s not pessimism, but I really do believe that. I think if I ever put in the herculean effort it would take to make sure my body felt like it was operating at it's peak on a daily basis…my life would be wasted. For some reason, though, it seems that's exactly what I’ve been trying to attempt. I'm done, though. For the moment, good enough shall be good enough.
I’m not going to bore you with my unending list of complaints (John could list them by memory), but I did find it charming that all of this bellyaching led to a really interesting discovery. Something I’m now referring to as acute culture shock or: the build-up of emotion caused by the subtle underlying feeling that one does not belong where they are living. I may be able to change a lot of my lifestyle choices, but the kicker with this one is: it’s totally unavoidable. We live in a foreign country. Most days we can make it around the corner on the street before the fact hits home, but sometimes it’s staring at me from the bowels of my dishwasher: what the hell is the “special salt” compartment for and what will happen if I keep forgetting to google it? The concept of assimilating to the culture right now is laughable. Absolutely obscene. I’ve heard some people say that after seven years it starts to feel normal. (And yes, they’ve all independently said: seven.) But until then it’s all acute culture shock…like figuring out which side of your dirndl to tie the bow on.
So, I have declared: I'm done! I'm done feeling rotten, which means I'm going to choose to be happy whether I wish I were lying on the floor moaning like a beached whale or not (preferably not)...and I'm done with the subtitles of culture shock--done caring whether the people I encounter accept me into their culture. I'm here and it's where I'm supposed to be. I'll find peace in that.
In the mean time, I've discovered a newfound appreciation for the beauty around me. The funk is gone--the Willian is back! And it's a good thing too, because while I was busy being an absolute mope my Audrey girl was turning out some rockstar behavior.
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| So proud of this big girl |
For some reason the transition back to school for Audrey after our family visit just went phenomenally. She has come. out. of. her. shell. She's talking with other kids--making FRIENDS!! She's been pushing kids on the swings and going down enormous slides, holding hands and stroking other people's hair. She's being a kid at school--something I doubted would ever really happen. Her teachers have been so animated every day when I pick her up to go home. They know my Audrey and they know what an enormous breakthrough this is. But you should've felt the joy on Friday afternoon when I found out Audrey had been declared Super Star of the Week. (This is actually merit based, so I'm counting it as a big deal). Audrey was just beaming, her teachers were cheering her on and I could feel my heart trying to leap out of my chest.
She's doing it! Four years--FOUR YEARS we have been trying to find some balance of social activity in which this girl will feel empowered enough to be herself. WOW. Parenting high. Consider my melancholy attitude adjusted.
Even though she'd been doing really well in school, we knew the Audrey girl was starting to feel a bit under the weather, so we took it fairly easy this weekend. That doesn't mean we didn't have fun, though. John's coworker, Carrie, hosted an absolutely fantastic Oktoberfest party that we went all-out for, suiting up in some traditional Trachtenware. The girls were heart-meltingly cute. Considering the combination of their little European faces and the frequency with which the Do-Re-Mi song is belted out around here, I think they'll experience much less trouble assimilating to the culture than their mother.
After all our merrymaking Saturday night, the rest of the weekend was gloriously lazy--snuggles and tea parties and coffee breaks abounded.
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