Christmas is on Like Donkey Kong

Concerning most things in our little family, I am usually the staunch voice of reason.  No, we cannot travel to Bern, Switzerland to adopt a Bernese Mountain Dog.  No, we are not eating peanut butter and jelly for breakfast, lunch and dinner…and almost always I am the one poo-pooing Christmas excess.  Every year, like Charlie Brown, I spout off about the true joy in giving, keeping Christ in Christmas and the ever-present need to keep striving to live simply.  This year, though, feel free to tell me I’m full of crap, because I’m not holding back on our first Viennese Christmas.  Which means my Clark W. Griswold-esque husband has also been given free reign.  You should feel fortunate you’re likely separated from us by an ocean at this point because our Christmas is going to be magically nauseating to the casual observer.  And how can we help it?!?  We live in Vienna.  When the gorgeous days of Summer are gone and the last of the Autumn Sturm has been drunk, there’s nothing left to do but Celebrate Christmas for the next two months.  

Now, you know in the states how everybody has an opinion about the proper time to decorate the tree and start listening to Christmas music?  (Or how my husband regulates my egg nog consumption...) It usually has something to do with respecting the Turkey—saving some celebration for our nation’s tradition of giving thanks for the harvest…or for a day off from work and the opportunity to watch football.  Either way, most people are quick to point out to anyone exhibiting early Christmas cheer that Thanksgiving comes first.  

But not here.  Obviously.  The Austrians could care less about our ‘interesting’ relationship with the Natives and how happy those pilgrims were to have a chance of survival in a foreign land.  Forget the turkey.  Christmas here starts in November and no one is going to give you a hard time about it. 

The city that I have come to know and love is starting to change.  Most outdoor cafes have finally called it quits.  Green garlands, twinkle lights, Saint Nicholas and the devilish Krampus have all been out in full force since the end of October.  And now, those delightful wooden booths are starting to crowd together all over the city in preparation for what Vienna does best:  Christmas.  There are nineteen Christmas markets in the city that are all opening within the last two weeks of November and I’m determined to visit them all.  Luckily, I also have a good friend here of the same mindset, who is crazy enough to accompany me.  Sometimes being a stay-at-home mom has perks…like getting to drink Glühwein while perusing the stalls of Viennese Christmas Markets.  

I’ve been to three markets so far this weekend and I’m absolutely charmed.  By far the largest and most well-known market is at the Rathaus (city hall) and we joined the masses Saturday night to celebrate the opening ceremony.  Our group was made up of three families with six kids all-together and it was an absolute madhouse.   I am glad we got to see the impressive display of lights (each enormous tree in the park had it’s own themed lights; hot air balloons, hearts, traditional lights as big as my head) not to mention the plumed ponies and the 120 year-old spruce Christmas tree that was finally lit after an hour-long ceremony.  Obviously, this was a big affair…and a fair bit of Vienna turned out for it.  In an effort to escape the smothering crowds, our group wound up in a back alley (behind the booths) eating wurst, drinking punsch and letting the kids run circles before we found a patch of grass to let them loose in.  Despite the crush, it was honestly an absolutely lovely evening.  All those people we jostled against on our way to find punsch were there to see something that was just legitimately good and to join in the festive spirit of Christmas.  For our part, we got our fill of holiday cheer and a chance to spend time with good people and kids the girls love—Christmas Market season started out as well as one could hope.

And this is just the start of the magic, folks.  Not only are there a ridiculous number of markets left to visit, but I have plans to turn our home into a disgusting display of Holiday cheer.  Sneaky schemes for Saint Nicholas Day are coming together and we’ve already gotten the girls a disturbing number of presents (to my taste—for all I know this could be how normal parents do Christmas)…and it’s not even Thanksgiving yet.  

So, I'm sorry, my fellow Americans.  I'm not just disrespecting the turkey this year, I'm throwing him under the ever-loving bus. If you were here, you'd do it too...it's worth it for the punsch.  

Jolly Old...Saint...Martin?

We've become accustomed to quite a few cultural differences since moving abroad, but now that we are coming into the holiday season, I'm beginning to realize that we Americans have got nothing on the way things are celebrated over here.  In the States, I've become used to the sudden and brief hubbub that is Halloween, then come lots of people grumbling about respecting the Turkey and once our Thanksgiving feasts are over, as a whole, we seem to leap wholeheartedly into Christmas or *insert appropriate December holiday here* in a fit of consumerism and holiday parties.

Now that we are in Europe, and more importantly, are close to people from a wealth of different cultures, there seems to be a new holiday we're nearly missing every day.  I attribute much of this to Austria's primarily Catholic population and the simple fact that the history here is older and richer than our comparably young nation.

Take for instance today; the 11th of November is Martinstag, or the feast day of  St. Martin--a Christian, when such a thing went against the grain of common society, and a Roman soldier stationed in Gaul, this saint is most notorious for one legend in which he came upon a beggar freezing in the cold and cut his military cloak in two to share with the man, thus saving him from death.  Later St. Martin dreamed the beggar was, in reality, Jesus who said of him: "Here is Martin, the Roman soldier who is not baptized; he has clad me."  Saint Martin's Day is typically celebrated with a feast, as it is meant to mark the beginning of the original 40 days of fasting for the advent period (which was later shortened to begin the fourth Sunday before Christmas). Dizzying isn't it?  Many festivities begin at the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour--complete with bonfires, a lantern procession and the singing of songs for St. Martin.

Queen of the lanterns...or something like it

Now, we haven't seen masses parading down the street with paper lanterns here, but there has been a lot of subtle celebration going on.  All week we've seen school kids around the city carrying their lanterns and a few of the shops on our street have been leaving lanterns outside their doors.  At Audrey's school they hosted a lantern celebration--a full-on show by the kids, touting their own lanterns...with real candles.  Just for the record, handing flaming lanterns to sixty kids is fairly brave in my book.  Luckily, everyone made it through with their eyebrows intact and poor Audrey survived what was, I'm sure, a future therapy session in the making.  Afterwards, all the kids met together in the garden and shared bread and oranges to commemorate St. Martin sharing his cloak.  That part at least could be categorized as fun.  Audrey shared her food with her friend, Coen, an absolutely charming little boy from Australia, and they even held hands all the way home on the train.  While we won't be making any bonfires or feasting on anything but leftovers tonight, we still had fun celebrating in our little way.    I'll keep you posted on the next holiday to pop up and bite me.  The advent season is chock-a-block full of them.  

Hallo-What, Now?

John and I have never really done a stand-up job of celebrating Halloween with the girls.  If anything, the holiday tends to pop up and smack us in the face.  We are usually ill-prepared and really only go through the motions so the girls will have some thread of a memory to recall when they're grown.  So, imagine how hard it is for us to get in the festive spirit when Austrians really don't even celebrate Halloween.  I spent four hours out of the house on the 31st. The only people I saw in costume were kids and teachers at Audrey's English preschool and the only jack-o-lanterns I spied were on signs at the grocery store announcing a one-day sale.  Boo! Austria!

In their defense, the pumpkin is indigenous to North America...the original Halloween festivities celebrated in Great Britain used carved turnips as lanterns...so I can understand not wanting to hop on that bandwagon.  Add in a healthy dose of disdain for American consumerism and I'm starting to nod my head--yes.  Of course these people don't celebrate Halloween.  But, that doesn't mean our family bowed out of the festivities.

First things first; Audrey's preschool was hosting a costume party...or as the Brits say a 'fancy dress' party.  Luckily, Audrey was both in costume and a fancy dress.  After much deliberation between Tinkerbell and Sleeping Beauty, the Princess won out.  Both Bailey and John were sick on Halloween (not that it stopped The Bear from running about the apartment in her Rapunzel dress for the bulk of the day) so I had the honor of dropping off Audrey at preschool.  As soon as we walked into her classroom, she was mobbed--MOBBED by little girls dressed as witches.  There had to be at least six of them and they all wanted to hold Audrey's hand.  She looked mortified, poor girl.  I knew she was making friends, but I had no idea she was inadvertently becoming popular.  This must be painful for her.  Apparently there was a big party and then lots of dancing in the gym.  Audrey said she danced with a boy named Kimo (don't tell John) and the teachers said she actually had a lot of fun and even smiled for some pictures.  So, being popular can't be all bad.

Our day was fairly tame after I picked Audrey up from school.  She was excited to be home where she could take care of the resident sickies and we eventually got around to carving some small 'pumpkins'. (they're really just squash, but they turned out lovely)  Luckily, John was on the ball with making sure the girls had some halloween candy (he is chief head in charge of purchasing sweets) and we all indulged a bit after dinner.  I think the only way we could've had a more tame Halloween would've been if we were all wearing sweater vests and discussing the weather.

I have to say one of the rare moments when I absolutely love the internets, though, was the next morning when I got to scroll through pictures of all the kids I wish were ringing my doorbell in their fantastic costumes.  I'm sure their mothers put more than 20 minutes into 'em at least. Happy (late/lame) Halloween! Eat some of your kids' candy for me, eh?

Saving Salzburg Just for Me

So cold! And we hadn't even left Vienna yet!

I've had a few posts written about our trip to Salzburg for a few days now.  I was determined to keep up with my resolution not to let these things get glossed over...but, honestly, no one wants to read that story in detail.  From the outside, our trip does not look pretty.  The weather in Salzburg was cold (frigid!) and rainy. Our hotel room, for lack of a better word, sucked.  John and I did a pretty terrible job of managing our days with the girls in mind and, as a consequence, we ended up carrying them a lot...too much...to the point that my body gave up and served me a cold-sweat, vomit-inducing migraine one night.  Audrey was getting over a pretty wicked cold and there were several points when we legitimately asked each other if we should just go home early.

See how that could start to sound ugly? I can't just lay that all out there in real time, because it makes our trip sound hellishly awful.  Don't get me wrong, this trip was challenging, but there were so many great things we got to see and do (even if it was through serendipitous circumstances...or muscle spasms from carrying 40 lb. babies)

So, let's leave the 'stinky poo poo circus' (as John has titled it) behind.

The hills are alive!!

It's probably important to note that the main reason we decided to travel to Salzburg was straight-up curiosity.  We are by nature country mice, so traveling to another city is really not terribly exciting for us...even if it is the birth place of Mozart and the filming location for The Sound of Music.  We were happily surprised to find that despite it's status as a tourist-fueled cheesy destination, at least the Old Town of Salzburg is charming in a way that surpasses criticism.  This is my kind of town--full of meandering alleyways, cobbled streets and charming old facades.  We spent probably close to two days doing nothing but wandering the streets, stopping occasionally for big pretzels, roasted chestnuts and punsch.  We even made it up the hill to the HohenSalzburg Fortress, which offers amazing views of this picturesque town and it's surrounding glorious hills. (They really do call to you--Audrey and Bailey stopped to frolic on the first hill we passed).

...it's what she does.

A trip into the Mirabell Gardens was also on the list.  On the outskirts of the Old Town area, these gorgeous manicured gardens gracing the lawn of the Mirabell Palace are where part of Maria and the Von Trapp kids' musical romp through Salzburg was filmed.  I'll admit to a little giddy satisfaction at being somewhere Julie Andrews had been. 

Other than that, it was really all playgrounds.  When traveling with kids, it is inevitable that things will take a little longer. (particularly when you're praying to God they will just keep walking and not ask to be picked up)  Kids stop to smell the roses...or yell at pigeons...or face down every swing like it's a challenge.  We did a lot of swinging in Salzburg.  If I were going to write a travel book, it'd be titled: Traveling the Schweighardt Way: A Tour of Europe's Playgrounds.

two words: Pack. Mules.

Since we were in Salzburg for four days, we did venture out of the city a bit...on a quest to visit the Hohenwerfen Castle...which also turned into a disaster involving wrong stops on the train and forced road marches for the girls...in the incredibly beautiful (and cold) countryside around Werfen...where we did not actually make it to the castle, but instead, stopped to count our losses at yet another playground. At least there was some most excellent swinging before we boarded a train back to Salzburg.

See!? We had fun!!

Overall, the trip was a bit of a dud, but there was some amazing food and some even more amazing train rides.  John got to sample wild boar filets for the first time and I got my fill of traditional Austrian home-cooking.  The girls are actually really well behaved when we go out to eat, so spending a few hours lingering over food and coffee is not uncommon for us.  Those evenings spent in cozy, boisterous restaurants were priceless.  As were the train rides to/from Salzburg and into the surrounding area.

When we originally left home, we witnessed the dramatic changes Fall can bring to the Vienna Woods.  The gold, orange and red hues were just lovely and the patchwork quilt of green, brown and earthy black fields along the route to Salzburg were breathtaking.  And despite missing out on a falcon show from the grounds of the Hohenwerfen Castle, the train rides there and back were beautiful and so enjoyable.  Despite everything--even though we had already seen some amazing scenery, nothing could possibly top our ride home to Vienna.

One of the worst photos ever taken from a train

Salzburg's first snowfall of the year had come the night before, bringing several inches of fluffy, white, perfect-for-packing snow.  The girls might have been ecstatic to be able to romp around in the stuff before we boarded our train home, but John and I were the giddy ones as we rolled through the snow-covered countryside on our ride back to Vienna.  It was the kind of thing neither eloquent words or a string of pictures could possibly do justice.  And while I am, by nature, a story teller full of too many words, John summed it up best in a line from Saving Private Ryan: when Captain Miller was asked to tell the story about his wife and the rosebushes and he replied: "No, that one I save just for me."

And that's where our journey home will stay.  It's almost how I feel about our entire trip to Salzburg--even the rough patches.  I wish you would've been there with us, my friends, to know the real hard-earned joy of our trip together and especially to be with us on that train as we sat and felt our hearts fill to bursting with the weight of snow-covered beauty. I'm just not capable of doing it justice.  So, I'm saving it for me.

And Now for an Actual Update

So, "normal", Viennese style, means we spent last week in the predictable routine of preschool, playgrounds, lazy afternoons and elated evenings spent in the company of the one-and-only: Papa.  He's kind of a celebrity around here.  Mostly, because he plays one hell of a game of make-believe and makes the best surprised faces when being given the same 'birthday present' five times in a row.

We like spending time all together.  Which is why we go kind of nuts on Fridays.  Audrey and John always stop for a celebratory chocolate croissant on the way to preschool and I let the girls pick out a treat on the way home.  We spend the afternoon making sure dinner is ready the millisecond John gets home so we can have our popcorn-and-movie-pajama-extravaganza.  This week we rented Madagascar 3 on iTunes...it was kind of a big deal.

I love the way weekend breakfasts turn into marathons of babies helping stir pancakes and covertly nipping bacon from the counter.  There's always some intense Mad-Hatter make-believe going on for the bulk of the morning and we really don't count on creeping out the door before the ungodly hour of noon.  This Saturday we took the girls to the Natural History Museum...mostly because we couldn't find wind of any pumpkin festivities to save our lives and because Bailey fleetingly mentioned missing her bear--her life-sized stuffed polar bear that the NHM is kind enough to keep on display for us.  So, we were off.  Because that's how we roll.  We also always let the girls pick out a figurine to take home from the museum and this time it was a pair of tigers; one Mama and a 'baby brother'. (What are those?) The girls are really into big cats at the moment and we're trying, for the life of us, to get them to realize they aren't all called lions.

Saturday night John was out late with some friends (and for the record, I'm actually very proud of him when he comes home past midnight.) so, of course, Bailey decided Sunday morning would be an excellent day to wake up at 5:30.  At least this meant we got to eat two breakfasts...and there were new tigers in the house to be diverted by until John was able to drag himself out of bed for some biscuits and gravy.  When Bailey and I popped down to the bakery and discovered our first real foggy day in Vienna, we booked it back home and dragged everyone back out for a long, leisurely walk around the first district...which of course culminated in hot chocolate at The Demel. It was really cool to see the sights I've become so familiar with in a different light...and it seems inevitable that we'll be seeing some big changes to the city in the next few months.  

The only Halloween decor I've spied so far...and yes, that's the actual name of our street.

For the moment, Fall is glorious; the leaves are turning yellow and falling to the ground in droves. The nip in the air is bringing out a dearth of fashionable outerwear that I'm finding much more appealing than the really odd summer fashions sported around here.  The chill means roasted chestnuts are now for sale at stands all around the city (these are surprisingly appealing to me--John finds them less than palatable).  There's just something about the warmth radiating from their bland, chewy meat that makes me love them.  Also, as you might have noticed by the twenty-something mentions so far, Sturm is on the menu at most any eating establishment...and even at some wurstel stands.  Sturm is a beverage, which in Austria (and some areas of Germany) heralds the arrival of Fall and harvest time.  It is a yeasty drink, typically with a low alcohol content which is decidedly NOT shelf stable, as it is still fermenting.  Bottles are sold without corks, because a plugged bottle, after an appropriate period of time, would explode.  I've even witnessed a grocery store clerk yell at a kid for doing something so dangerous as putting a bottle on a moving conveyor belt.  Slightly tangy and entirely delicious, this stuff is absolute gold.  I imagine the only way to drown my sorrows when Sturm's season is over will be in a steaming mug of Punsch.   

I know our days and weeks and months will likely blend into our ever-evolving concept of normal, but I'm genuinely excited to see the changes around us coming in the next several months.  Don't talk to me about February, though.  As far as that's concerned, I've told John a visit somewhere along the equator would be in his best interest if he doesn't want to see an increase in take-out food, laundry heaps and dramatic fits of depression from yours truly.  Don't talk to me about light therapy.  My heart is set on the beach.  Yes, if we're keeping with the Viennese tradition of welcoming seasons with alcohol, Pina Coladas in February sound perfect.  




Prost!

Loving Normal

This past week was so blessedly normal.  I remember those first few weeks we were in Vienna, trying to scramble for any sense of the word...sleep deprived and totally out of our element, stubbornly trying to carve out something we could cling to as familiar.  Six months later, I believe we might have finally arrived.  The girls are in a happily manageable amount of activities.  Taking care of the daily stuff around the apartment has become something of a routine.  Thanks to my overactive focus on chilling out when I was feeling like death, I've developed some incredibly chill daily habits...that are all helping me really live in the moment with my kids and focus on growing as a person.  This form of normal is an incredible gift.

That's not to say things are boring.  Ha. Never. But on the contrary, when the daily stresses in the life of a stay-at-home Mama are muted, it is possible to reach out of that often-times survival mode of living and actually focus on something bigger.  This week, The Big Guy has been pressing the concept of giving into my heart.  He does this a lot, but I felt He was clearing the way specifically for this idea.  It's something I've been turning over and over in my mind; what it means to give and how those doing the giving are actually receiving something much more precious in return.

This is all really an integral part of my overall goal of living simply and loving deeply.  Here in Vienna, God has revealed a lot about loving.  There are new people here to love; people who are openly needy and those who couldn't be socially further from the beggars in the street.  And even though we're thousands of miles away, our community in the Tri-Cities, my family and friends scattered all over the states (and beyond) are still deeply etched in my heart.  I'm asking every day for a revelation and slowly discovering new ways to love people from afar--ways to create a sense of community in which I'm often not even physically present. Deep down there somewhere, I know I'm supposed to give something to all of these people; they should be the recipients of love--some tangible, visible act of love from me (read: Him).

Imagine how overwhelming this is.  Good thing I've been meditating.   And I can rely on someone way more qualified than I am to pick up the slack.  In the grand scheme of things, this week has really been small potatoes.  But, I've got some grand dreams that I know God could work out if they turn out to be His plans too. 

In the mean time, I'm really just thankful.  I'm thankful to have some kind of challenging conviction--even if it seems vague and unattainable.  I'm thankful that at the core of my life I have an amazing little band of people who love each other ferociously...often to the point of inflicting physical pain. (Bailey, I'm talking to you.) We are so blessed to have been given this time when our main priorities are spending time together.  Some day, that will change--babies grow up.  But, I know we'll have Vienna to cling to for the rest of our lives.

That's why I'm blogging, my babies.  Your mama wants this gift of normalcy to extend to you too. Even though your sponge-like brains are hardly capable of carrying these memories into your adulthood, I don't want you to just know where we went and what we did.  I want you to know the feeling of it--the intense love and happiness.  And most of all, I want you to know your mama wasn't just content to sit back and say it was all enough. (Because God knows, it could be.)  Instead, I'm working at making myself better.  No matter what horrendous challenges or blissful joy are in my future, I hope I won't stop trying to be a better person until the day I die--when I show up in heaven, breath heaving, flopping sweat to tell the Big Guy: "Coach, I gave 'em all I got." 

Losing the Funk

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.

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.  

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.

It's nice to be back on the Willian side of things where life is peachy.  Really, I'm just glad to have my blessings back in focus again.