What do Aliens Eat?

Max:  Momma, what are you eating?

Me:  Indian food.

Max:  What is that?

Me:  Well, we eat lots of different kinds of food from different places.  Leberkase and wurst are German foods, hamburgers and barbeque are American, and pizza and spaghetti are Italien. 

Max: And Alien?

Playing Cars

Me:  Look Max, my car is doing donuts.

Max:  Mine is making cakes.

Conversation

"I want a big sister."
"I'm sorry baby, but that is something, I can not give you."
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"Can't you buy one?"

Naked Guitar Player

As my friend says, add a Bavarian felt hat, stand him at Stacchus, and he will make millions!

An Amphibous Child

Max will not let the fact that he is the only non-German speaking child in his kindergarten hold him back  No, no he would figure a way around the language barrier.   When Paul dropped Max off at kindergarten yesterday, Max hopped into the classroom, and immediately transformed into a little amphibian.  "Rib-bit, rib-bit!" ia apparently an internationally recognized greeting amongst children ages three to six.  Followed by a few more croaks and zaps of the tongue, Max was soon the center of attention, provoking a few more amphibious lurkers to come out of hiding, as well making other giggle.  Apparently our little comedian has built a following at his kindergarten, because today when he arrived at school, his little fans swarmed him anxious to hear his newest animal impersonation.

 

It is amazing to think that I was ever worried about my child being intimidated by the language.  He is truly his father's child and would be able to make friends with a lamp post.

Productive Procrastination

Tonight before Max went to bed, he insisted on picking up all the stuffed toys off the floor.  This was 100% procrastination on his part, but who am I to complain?   I’m just relieved that they are up off the floor. 

After two attempts yesterday to put the stuffed toys on their shelves, only to have them knocked down almost immediately by Maggie and then Max, I surrendered to a play area with a plush floor.   So tonight, when Max was picking up the toys to avoid going to bed, I didn’t fight with him.  He stuffed and crammed them into all the available spots in the toy bins.  If they didn’t fit into the bins, he stuffed them on top of the books, and when there was no more room there, he piled them up on the toy kitchen.  Of course this means that he completely overlooked the four empty shelves where the stuffed animals normally sit. 

At one point this would have freaked me out.  Every toy has its proper space, and I’ve spent many hours sorting out the toys and separating the blocks into their appropriate bins.  I would dive under the furniture; pull up the couch cushions and search the corners until every last block, ball and car were accounted for.    Now, I’m just grateful for any help in trying to conquer the toys that have taken over our lives. 

It is definitely tempting to let him delay his bed time this way every night, even if a few toys end up in the kitchen sink.

Update on Kindergartens

I swore I would not be one of those moms, one of the moms who freaks out about what preschool her child goes too, but when I wrote this post, I was dangerously close to crossing the line.  We had only applied to three kindergartens for Max, Waldorf A, Waldorf B and the Waldkindergarten.  After receiving letters putting us on the wait lists of two of the three, Paul and I started to worry and wonder if we should start applying to other kindergartens.  Most kindergartens open their admission in February, but maybe we could get on some more waiting lists, increasing our odds of finding a spot for Max.  The biggest concern of course, was the gap in his language skills.   He was finally starting to make progress in the German language, and we were worried that any length of time not in school would set him back.

Needless to say, I was quite relieved when we received the acceptance letter to the local public kindergarten.   We had applied over a year ago, but after having an underwhelming experience at the information afternoon, we quickly forgot about it.  Once we were accepted to this kindergarten the pressure was off, and before we knew it, all of our ducks seemed to line up.  A couple weeks later, we were accepted into Waldorf B which is very close to where we live.  And at the beginning of this week, we received a call from Waldorf A where Max is currently attending a Spielegruppe.  They had a spot open up, and they offered it to us.  We declined, as we had already accepted the spot at Waldorf B.

Maggie is guaranteed a spot in the Spielgruppe at Waldorf B, and later in the Kindergarten class, so I can be sane once again, at least until we start looking at Grundschulen (elementary schools) in three years. 

Sneak Peak into the Future

Paul: Maxi, how was school today?

Max:  (blank stare)

Paul:  Did you play with anyone?

Max:  Maxi played.

Me:  Did you play with Lena?  Daniel?  Isabella? Jonathon?

Max:  Maxi played.

Paul:  What did you play with?

Max:  Maxi played.

Me:  Did you play with Autos?  Kugelbahn?  Puppenwagen?

Max:  Maxi played.

Me:  Did you sing? Dance? Cook?

Max:  (rolls eyes at his hopeless parents and sighs)

Me to Paul:  Wow, I didn't think it was supposed to be this hard to communicate until his teenage years.

Making the Rounds Again

Once again that time of year has arrived, where we are applying for kindergartens.  Last year we applied for the Spielgruppe (playgroup) for two-year-olds, and we were accepted into two Waldorf kindergartens, we'll call them A & B.    At the time we thought we were going to move, so we went with Waldorf A which would be closest to our new location.  It was a difficult choice to make because the Waldorf B was only ten minutes away and we liked both schools very much.  Well, we did not move, and since October we have been making an half-hour commute to drop-off and pick-up Max at Spielgruppe.

Being in Waldorf A's Spielgruppe did not guarantee us a spot in their kindergarten.  So, this year we once again are making the rounds, applying for the 3-6 year-old kindergarten classes.  In addition to Waldorf A, we applied to Waldorf B, hoping our decision not to send Max to their Spielgruppe wouldn't affect his ability to get in.  We also applied to a Waldkindergarten, which is an outdoor kindergarten.  Five days a week, for four hours a day, the children play outside in all, but the extremest of weathers.  On extreme weather days, the kindergarten has alternate activities planned in indoor venues like museums and librarys.

On Saturday we received a letter from Waldorf A, saying that Max would not be able to attend their kindergarten in September, which admittedly disappoints me.  I was sort of expecting this answer, as they had very limited space available.  However, I still feel a little bit slighted.

However, I am trying to look at the sweeter side of Waldorf A's answer.  The other two kindergartens are within easy walking distance to where we live, and it would not be difficult to get Max there in the mornings.  Waldorf B has a very nice facility, and the Waldkindergarten has a special appeal to me.  Paul grew up in the country, and from three to eight-years-old, I lived in the country.  Both of us spent hours and hours playing outdoors in all sorts of weather.  And we have very fond memories of that, and we think it would be a great experience for Max.

Now we wait to find out if Max was accepted into either of the other two kindergartens.  We are supposed to hear from the Waldkindergarten this week, and next week we have our interview with Waldorf A.  Hopefully, one of these will work out, or I will have to resort to Plan B.  I'm not exactly sure what Plan B is yet.

Sipping Tea After Coming in from the Cold

 

After stripping all of our layers and winter trappings, we usually just hang out in our long underwear around the house, looking like a mismatched troupe of acrobats.  Many a raised eyebrow I have received from a delivery man when I show up to the door in long underwear and a t-shirt. 

The Missing Piece

It is 4:30am in the morning, and our 2 1/2 year old, Maxi has been sleeping on a mattress on the floor of our bedroom while Maggie learns to sleep through the night. I immediately wake up, even the slightest whimper of one of my children is picked up by the mother antennae. Max wakes up coughing and crying. He climbs over to the edge of our bed.

He whimpers "Ma-Ma, Maxi hurts, Maxi wakes up."

"I know baby, you're sick, do you want to sleep with us?"

"Yes," he whimpers, and I scoop him up in a hug and pull him over my body in-between Paul and I.

This is unusual because Max has not slept in our bed since he started sleeping through the night. Even when he is ill, and I climb into his bed to comfort him, he'll respond with "Mommy, GO!" So, I savor this rare moment, his little body curled up against mine.

I hold on tight because I realize in the still of the morning, that times like these are fleeting. It will not be long before I will no longer be the center of his universe. Marni Jackson says it best in Double Lives, "[H]aving children transforms you. It keeps on transforming you. And the hardest thing to prepare for is this constant change."

My first born opened up my heart; I never knew that I was capable of loving someone so completely. Admittedly, I was worried about the second child, how could I possibly love someone as much as I loved Max? However, with Maggie I learned that there was even more room in my heart, and this astounded me. With my children I have found a completeness that I never realized I was missing.

Life before children dulls in comparison. Watching them grow and develop has colored my world. I marvel as my baby's brow furrows in concentration when she is mastering the art of picking up Cheerios with her thumb and forefinger . My heart swells the first time my son starts referring to himself as "I" instead of "Maxi," and when he climbs up next to me, slides his arm around my neck and whispers into my ear"I love you Mama," my heart just about bursts.

My children have taught me to appreciate the small things again. The smallest things give them joy like how Maggie's face lights up simply because I walk into the room. Or how Max thrills at the sight of a snowball. Their laughter and their smiles are contagious. I can't help, but be happy when they are, which is why discipline can be so difficult sometimes.

Nothing is impossible for them, and they are not scared of failure. At one time getting from one side of the room to the other once seemed impossible, but now Maggie can do it at lightning speed. Their determined spirits have rekindled mine. My children have taught me to live again. They've inspired me to pursue my dream of writing, and to stop worrying about failure.

I have not lost my self, I have simply transformed.

Learning

Parenting has a steep learning curve. That is what a father of three told me a couple weeks ago at a dinner party. In the twenty-nine months I’ve been a parent, I would say these words of wisdom ring true. I am learning how to be parents; I am not perfect. While I have ideas of the kind of parent I want to be, it is my children that are teaching me how to be a mom. Already I have had to grow, adapt and change.

Max is about to start his pre-kindergarten playgroup in one month, and it absolutely kills me to have to send him away at two-and-a-half years. I never thought I would be sending my baby to school when he was still just a baby. Much less sending him to a school where he did not speak the language and the teachers did not speak his language.

This has been a very humbling experience for me. As much as we have tried to prepare him, we can barely scratch the surface with simple vocabulary like Schmetterling (butterfly) and Auto. I had hoped that maybe by osmosis he was picking up some of the language when I took him out to playgrounds and shopping where he is surrounded by German, but it has become pretty obvious that he has not picked much up. When a mother at the pool asked for her child’s toy back, Max just stared at her completely baffled. When an older boy approached Max and said “Hallo Kliene (Hello little-one,)” Max said “Hi boy!” and the child looked back at Max baffled. Or when my friend spoke to him exclusively in German she said that she got the distinct impression that Max didn’t like her so much anymore. I suspect that this will be much like the interactions between Max and his classmates and teachers at the playgroup.

I can only imagine how confused Max will be, and how hard it will be for me to send him back into that confusion day after day. At the same time I know that this is the best time for Max to overcome the language barrier. As hard as it is on me to send Max to school next month, I keep reminding myself that this is what is best for him in the long run. And I hope that I am right.

Passports

Last week, Paul and I went to the U.S. Consulate to report Maggie’s birth and apply for her passport. With Max, we applied for his straight away when he was two weeks old because we had no idea how long it would take for him to receive it, and we needed it to return home to the United States.

Since I know you are wondering if she has dual citizenship, no, she doesn’t. Neither of our children have dual citizenship. In Germany, you only qualify for citizenship by blood. Or, if you have lived here for seven years, you can apply for citizenship. A funny little quirk on that rule is that a friend of mine who lived here for seven years was able to get dual citizenship for her child when he was born, though neither she nor her husband have German citizenship. Once our children are here for seven years, we can apply for citizenship for them, but I believe they would have to choose between the two countries as adults.

I’m getting off point however, so back to passports. We had to get the kid’s photos for their passports, which are good for five years. Because everyone knows that an infant is very representative of what they are going to look like a year later, much less five. The photos couldn’t be just any old photo of their face; oh no they have to be biometric photos with mouth closed, no smile, eyes wide open, and no obstructions.

A two week old baby only keeps their eyes open for a few minutes a day, so I originally tried to take the photos myself. Here are examples of my first attempt at photographing Max for his passport photo.

I thought I did a pretty good job at meeting the biometric requirements, and I even had them sized right for the biometric requirements, but we couldn’t get them to print out to the right size on the do-it-yourself photo printer at the photo studio. So we finally took him into a photo studio to have them done.

Max adamantly slept the entire time we were trying to get his photo taken. He slept through fire truck sirens on the street; he slept through my mother and I undressing him. We tried turning him upside down, everything. Nothing woke this kid up. Of course the whole time I was wondering why wouldn’t he sleep like this at home?

Finally, we had to leave the studio and come back when he was awake. Of course a two week old baby is usually only awake when they are hungry and want to eat. And, if you don’t feed them right away, screaming usually follows, which doesn’t work out so well for the biometric photo either. Finally I was able to feed Max back to calm, and we got the photo which will represent him for five years.

And just for kicks, this is what Max looks like now, two years later.

With Maggie, I wasn’t going to mess around. I took her straight to the photo studio, and got her photos taken and printed out. Only I forgot they needed to be a different size than the standard German passport photo, so I spent 16€ on photos that are too small, which of course I didn’t realize until the night before our consulate interview. However, now we have six perfectly darling biometric photos of Maggie.

So in desperation, since there are no 24-hour photo studios here, I did the only thing available to me, I tried to do the photos myself. This time I had a photo printer, granted it is a cheap photo printer, not commercial quality, but I would be able to get the photos the right size this time. Anyone, who has tried to photograph a two month old, knows how difficult it is to get them to smile for the camera. Of course, when you are trying to photograph them not smiling, they seem to do nothing else but ham it up for the camera.

We weren’t sure if the consulate would take a home-printed photo, but they were quite happy with them, so, this photo is going to her passport photo for the next five years.

On a side note, the passport application also asks for their weight, height, eye color and hair color…hmmmm.

Quick Update

On Paul: He went to see an orthopedic about his broken clavicle, and found out he has to wear the figure eight sling another 3-5 weeks. He was also very sternly lectured about not using that arm at all. It's very hard for him not to be able to hold his children. Once the bone has healed, he'll have to rehabilitate the muscles in his left arm. Then he'll be able resume holding Maggie and Max with both arms, and I'll be able to walk Asia again.

On Max: Potty training has pretty much fallen to the wayside, as Max has lost interest. He still uses the toilet about once a day in efforts to procure M&Ms. The process has added a whole new array of amusing vocabulary combinations to Max's repertoire, like "a big poop coming," which of course he never tells me in time to get him to the potty. When Max is perfecting a new word he practices combining it with all the important people in his life. His latest, "Maxi's butt, Da-Da's butt, Maggie's butt, Oma's butt, Opa's butt, Asia's butt, Ma-Ma's BIG butt." Thanks kid.

On Maggie: She's eating, pooping, drooling, crying, cooing and smiling. She's also getting Ma-Ma's BIG butt back in to shape, by forcing her to dance her to sleep twenty times a day. Since we never invested in a rocking chair, this has been both of our children's preferred methods of going to sleep in infancy. I consider it my exercise routine, and I recently added squats to my impressive dance routine. It's a good thing we live on the top floor.

On Asia: Poor dog hasn't gotten much exercise lately, since I can't take her for hour long evening walks anymore. She's been a champ about it though, and is pretty much doing the same as Maggie, eating, pooping and drooling.

On Me: Read above, as my life revolves around these three people and our crazy pooch.

Music Appreciation

I visited a friend’s house last week for much needed adult interaction. She has a daughter around the same age as Max, and another daughter about six months older than Maggie. The two older kids were playing with a sing-a-long children’s book. It was filled with the simple songs of our childhood, the songs we all know by heart and the ones that when we hear them as adults get trapped in our head for days and weeks.

The book started playing its tinny version of The Wheels on the Bus, and Max started bopping his head to the beat. My friend smiled at him, and asked him if he knows the song. She starts singing the lyrics, half expecting him to join along with her daughter. Max looks at her funny and keeps bopping his head.

Trying to cover my shame, I look on with a half-smile and a non-committal shrug. Max doesn’t know this song, and he won’t know the next one played either, Row-Row-Row Your Boat. He doesn’t know them because I never play them at home, and he only hears them when we are at other more devoted Mothers’ homes. Selfishly, I don’t play, nor do I invest in music that will drive me crazy. I’m already half-way there, and I don’t need any help finishing the trip.

When I’m feeling especially guilty, I will play the podcast, Spare the Rock, Spoil the Child. However, mostly Paul and I play music that we like. So Max might not be able to sing along to Hickory-Dickory-Dock, but he can get down to Barry White, and slow dance with Mommy to Van Morrison.

Ring Around The Moon

I'm hot, I'm sweaty and I'm covered in pee because a new brand of cloth diaper we were testing just failed like a sieve. I'm sitting on the bathroom floor in my nursing bra and panties, with a semi-nude Maggie now safely in a more reliable brand of cloth diaper. She is alternately gulping and coughing to keep up with the fast stream of milk rushing from my breast, which sprays all over both of us every time she pulls back. A naked butt blurs past me, as Max gleefully streaks out of the bathroom past me. Maggie dangling wildly from my breast, I race into the living room training diaper in hand just in time to see his baby white butt launch into the air as he trips over his own feet, and crumples to the ground sobbing. It's another successful day of potty training.

You might think I'm insane for potty training Max this soon after the new addition, and I'm inclined to agree. However, this wasn't my choice, it wasn't Paul's choice, and it wasn't even in our plans for the immediate future. It was Max's choice.

It's been a long time since I've gone to the bathroom without an audience. I've long since gotten over the feeling guilty of holding a wailing baby over my shoulder while relieving my bladder. Later, when Max's separation anxiety stage kicked in, I often carried him with me to the bathroom, sitting him in his Bumbo or in a strategically placed playpen outside the bathroom door. Now going to the bathroom with mommy is such a routine he often follows me in chattering away about whatever it is that interests him that day. I'm so used to this routine, that I have to remind myself to close the bathroom door when I'm at friends'.

Last Thursday, we were following this normal bathroom ritual; Maggie briefly occupied in her playpen, when Max looks at me quizzically, "Maxi poops?"

Not really listening, I replied, "Yes, Mommy is going potty."

He repeats his previous phrase a little more loudly and with a whine at the end "Maxi poop-EEEEEEEE?" because maybe now, Mommy will pay attention.

Startled, and a little confused, I looked up at him, "Is Maxi going poop?"

He nods his head yes. I was used to this, as he has been alerting us for weeks now about activity in his diaper. A preliminary inspection reveals his diaper is still clean.

I start to get a little excited, as he repeats his phrase raising the volume each time, "MAXI POOPS!!!!!"

I ask him tentatively, "Does Maxi want to use the potty?" He solemnly nods his head, yes.

"OK," and I start to remove his diaper.

When I pick him up to set him on the potty, he locks his long legs around my body crying "NO!"

"OK, you don't have to," and I put him down.

He repeats his phrase, "Maxi poops.”

This sequence of events repeats a few more times before I get a brainstorm.

I close the lid of the toilet, and ask him, "Do you want to sit on the toilet now?" He nods yes, and I pick him up, he screams again, but I sit him down anyways. After about 3 seconds, he realizes he is OK and starts laughing hysterically.

Suddenly, I remember the children's step-stool potty stored in our other bathroom. We had briefly courted with the idea of potty training this winter, and purchased one, but after reading the first chapter of the book decided neither he nor we were ready.

With Max following me excitedly, quipping his new favorite phrase, I quickly dig the potty out and install it on the toilet, the whole time sure that Max is going to fulfill his prophecy on the floor before I get it installed.

As I'm installing it, Maggie starts to cry, but I don't want to lose this moment with him, so I ignore her. Once Max is safely on top of the pot, I quickly retrieve Maggie who wants to eat. Max is thrilled with this new throne, and chatters away about it for several minutes. I hover over him expectantly holding fussy Maggie. Nothing happens. Five minutes pass. Nothing happens.

Trying not to let the disappointment show on my face, I look at him, and ask, "All done?"

"NO!"

This is going to take a little longer. So, I sit down on the floor to start nursing Maggie who is now voluminously voicing her displeasure at not being fed on demand.

"Mama, Maggie, go!" Have I ever mentioned that the hardest thing about your child learning how to talk is when they start telling you what to do?

"I can't go honey," I can't leave him on my hastily installed potty that at any moment topple and send him plummeting two feet.

"Mama, Maggie, go!" Who is this kid, who has been accompanying me to the bathroom, his entire life, but is suddenly overcome by modesty?

"OK," I relent, and Maggie and I retreat to the hallway the bathroom door open, Max in clear view.

I nurse Maggie, while Max blabbers away. When I'm finished nursing and burping her, I ask him if he is done, and wants to get down. He is emphatic in his dissent. I grab the bouncy chair from the living room and put Maggie in it next to me. I'm starting to get a little bored now as the initial excitement has worn off. I inspect the potty; there isn't even a drop of pee on it. Every time I ask him if he wants to get off, he refuses. So we wait.

Then a bell goes off in my head, my dad potty trained me in 3 days or so he claims. He sat me on the potty the entire time, feeding me food and drinks and entertaining me. So I run and grab his half-drank juice from breakfast and a book, Everyone Poops from the living room. Then I do what every good mother does, and I grab the camera. After a few shots of him reading the book on the toilet, he still refuses to get down from the toilet, yet this is yielding no results, I realized we are going to need a few more books, and a little bit more food. Eventually I install a bedside table next to him, complete with a neat stack of books, and a bowl of grapes, followed by cookies, followed by pretzels. I sat down again next to Maggie, feed her again, and call Paul to tell him what is happening. I'm the pinnacle of patience right now.

Suddenly I hear a stream of pee which Max inspects with his hands. Thrilled, I exclaim, and clap my hands. Maxi claps too. I ask him if he is all done, he still refuses to get off the toilet. A few minutes later, he poops, and I'm so proud of him when I can't get through to his father to share the news, I wake my mom up on the East Coast. .

Since Thursday, the novelty of the potty has worn off for Maxi. When he's not distracted or too busy, or he sees an opportunity to make Mommy put Maggie down, he lets me know when he has to use the potty. Since the first amazingly successful day, we have had a few pees and poops in the toilet, a few pees on the floor, and a whole lot of M&M rewards (read bribes). I introduced the M&M's to encourage Maxi to get off the toilet. Otherwise Max would spend half the day up there.

PANIC and running around aimlessly

My first day alone with the two children, and we ended up going to the emergency room before we'd even reached lunchtime. While I was attending Baby Maggie, my two-year-old, Max, got into his father's backpack and swallowed an unknown amount of hand-sanitizer. He ran into me crying, holding the half empty bottle trying to get it out of his mouth.

The hardest part about being in a foreign country where you don't speak the language, is dealing with emergencies,

My first reaction was to PANIC and run aimlessly around the apartment half-crazed, while trying to peel back the label for the promised "additional drug facts." After the 30 seconds which felt like forever it took me to peel back the label I read "Keep out of the reach of children. If swallowed, get medical help or contact a Poison Control Center immediately."

My reaction more PANIC and more running aimlessly around the apartment half-crazed. I didn't know the phone number to a German poison control, nor can I speak German to someone on the phone. Not being able to use body language makes it almost impossible to communicate even with people who understand English pretty well.

My brain addled by the PANIC I was still feeling, I called my husband. He told me to call the ambulance, which was a pretty appropriate response to the amount of PANIC I was conveying over the phone, though not appropriate to the situation. Max was showing no signs or symptoms of being poisoned and was immensely enjoying chasing his wild eyed mother around the apartment.

The PANIC and running aimlessly around the house half-crazed briefly paused, and I told Paul I was going to call the pediatrician. This led to more PANIC and more running aimlessly around the apartment half-crazed in a wild search for my wallet which has the pediatrician's card on it, because when I am in PANIC mode, my brain can't compute the obvious. The wallet was in my bag where it belongs.

I tried calling, but after ringing a couple times, I got a strange message in German, and elevator music which is not at all soothing while PANICKING and running aimlessly around the apartment half-crazed because your two-year-old just swallowed an unknown amount of hand sanitizer. I hung up and dialed again, and got the same result. More PANIC, more running around aimlessly. I called Paul back and was met by a busy signal. More PANIC, more running around aimlessly.

Not sure what to do, I attempted the pediatrician again, at which point Paul showed up on call waiting. I told him I couldn't get through to the pediatrician, and he sensibly asked me if the pediatrician was open. I retorted, "Of course, the pediatrician is open." He suggested going straight to the pediatrician's office instead of calling.

My addled brain responded with, "THAT ISN'T EXACTLY EASY WITH TWO KIDS," no car, a stroller in the basement bike-room, and at least 30 minute door-to-door commute if I catch the bus at the exactly right moment.

His response, "That isn't the point, is it?"

My response, "Sometimes I hate you for bringing me here where I feel so helpless," which was really my way of saying, "I hate that you are being reasonable, while I am PANICING and running around the apartment aimlessly half-crazed." So I hung up and accidentally turned the phone off, which meant more PANIC and more running around aimlessly because I had to search in our file cabinet for the stupid pin number to turn the phone back on, because I can never remember it. Who puts stupid pin numbers on cell phone anyways?

After more PANIC and more running around aimlessly, I found the pediatrician's card that I had set down in the bathroom during a previous episode of PANIC and running around aimlessly. I looked at the back and realized that the pediatrician’s office was about to close for lunch and wouldn't be open again for another three-and-a-half hours, enough time for the hand-sanitizer to take effect, and my child would no longer be laughing while chasing his wild eyed mother around the apartment.

I called Paul back, and told him that I had to go to the emergency room. Still the voice of calm and reason, he told me he would call a Taxi when I was ready. So after I retrieved the baby's car seat from the attic and put shoes on Max and me, I made sure I had my wallet with health insurance cards, when I realized that I didn't have any cash. More PANIC and more running around aimlessly, I called Paul and told him I didn't have any cash to take a taxi. Still calm and reasonable, he told me to ask the Taxi to take me to a bank.

Once I was in the taxi, the PANIC and aimless running around subsided, because I now had a sense of direction, but mostly because I was restrained by the seat-belt. Max was sitting in the taxi's car seat happily babbling away about taxis and autos. We got to the children's hospital, and we were almost immediately triaged in to see a doctor. This was disappointing to Max who was having fun riding the carousel in the waiting room.

After the doctor contacted a Berlin Poison Institute about Max's choice of poison, she informed me that the amount missing from the 1oz bottle wasn't enough to do any harm. She still did a full examination of him to make sure that he wasn't showing any signs or symptoms of poisoning, and with a reassuring smile she told me that every child this age swallows something like this.

Crisis averted.

Stroller Poor

When I purchased our fourth stroller, I thought it would be our last. I had no idea that I was already pregnant with my second child. We weren't trying to get pregnant at the time, and we thought by the time baby number two would come along, that Max would no longer need to ride in a stroller. So when we found out that Maggie was on her way, we started to explore how we could avoid getting a fifth stroller.

Our first attempt was to get the Buggy Board, a little board attached to the stroller where the older child can stand. Max did really well on the first test run. He seemed to really enjoy riding the stroller this way, until we reached a familiar path, and Max decided he would prefer to walk on his own. This made it enormously more difficult since Max likes to wander around taking his time picking up rocks and inspecting the bugs.

Paul decided we needed to "train" him to stay on the buggy board. That weekend we took Max shopping. He did great getting there, though it took all four hands to pop him on the bus, followed by the stroller, parking the stroller and getting him seated. Still, something I would be able to manage by myself with practice. Then we go to DM (a kind of CVS) where we needed to pick up a few things. As soon as we entered, Max popped off the buggy board. We tried to convince him to stay on the buggy board, but half way through the store he was too distracted to cooperate anymore. So, our next solution was to try him on the child size shopping carts. Max bounced around the store like a pin ball. Watching him run at full speed pushing the shopping cart through everyone and everything in his way was entertaining, but not practical.

Our next thought was to teach him to walk next to us while we pushed the stroller, holding his hand. Trying to convince a two year old to stay with you when there are so many tantalizing things on the shelves is harder than convincing U.S. Congressmen to impose term limits in Congress. Our next thought was to give him something to occupy his hands, so we picked the biggest item from our shopping bag, and gave that to him to carry. This actually worked several times, and it seemed we had a solution to shopping with our two-year-old on the loose.

Several times Paul and I ventured out with Max, strollerless. Usually our trips ended with Paul carrying Max home on his shoulders or asleep in his arms. Still we kept our heads in the sand, convinced that we would be able to get Max used to the buggy board or walking along side us.

Then Maggie was born. I could carry Maggie in a sling, and push Max in the stroller. This worked the first couple times, until I tried to go down the escalator at the train station. When I would bend over to hold the stroller, I had to use one of my hands to keep the baby from falling out of the sling. Max's safety now depended on my other hand holding the precariously perched stroller on the escalator. On shorter shopping trips I put Max on the buggy board and Maggie in the stroller. Max's first time off the buggy board, I gave him a giant bottle of water to keep his hands occupied. Shortly afterwards he had managed to pick up a Snickers bar and would have fit a few other items under his chin given more time.

The last straw was on the way home, when in typical two-year-old fashion, Max kicked and screamed in my arms the whole way home, while my mother pushed the baby stroller. This was the last straw. My mother wasn’t going to be in Germany forever to help me. I needed a double stroller with all the features I described here, and it needed to seat two children. There isn't a single double stroller that fits into our elevator, so I would have to enter the building via the garage and leave the stroller in the bike room. Still there were features we couldn’t live without, like big wheels for getting on and off the bus and trains. All the inexpensive tandems out there didn't have big wheels, and few of them are designed to balance on the back wheels long enough to ride down the escalator.

There was one stroller, the Phil and Ted's stroller that is ingeniously designed, with an sibling seat that fits under the stroller, but after seeing one in person, and its design flaws, I didn't feel like it was worth the money, 800€ after adding all necessary accessories. We didn’t want to pay that price when we hopefully won't be using the stroller for more than a year-and-a-half.

So it we started looking at side-by-side strollers with necessary feature, like the TFK, Urban Jungle or Easy Walker, but those prices were still sky-high. We looked at E-Bay and visited a family selling their double stroller. Even second hand, we were looking at spending at least 6oo€ for something we wouldn't use for very long.

We briefly considered buying Chariot’s bike trailer that doubles as a buggy. 1000€ doesn’t seem so bad, when a bike trailer can hold the children up until they are about six-years-old, and afterwards can be used to lug around groceries or any number of items you might want to take along with you on a bike ride. This we would be getting a lot more mileage for our money, but it was still a lot of cash, when we are trying to save for a car.

So back to the drawing board and after a full days search online, I found a little known stroller company, which makes the Crown. It still doesn't fit into the elevator, but it had all the desirable features plus some extra perks, and with all the accessories and shipping cost only 350€. The only thing I would change about the stroller is to make a larger storage compartment and to go back to one of their older models where they have two front wheels, not just one. Two wheels makes it much more stable when going up escalators or getting on to buses.

Now if only Pasing Bahnhof would finish the construction on their escalators and elevator, I’d be set.

Update: Within 3 months of purchasing this stroller, it started to fall apart, and I regret not buying a more expensive stroller.

The Origins of "Ba-Ba-Boon"

Max, Maggie, Oma (Grandma), Opa (Grandpa) and I spent all Wednesday at the Zoo. Maggie's experience was less memorable considering she slept the whole time.

Max had a very memorable experience. First glance of the polar bear exhibit is a bit dismal. If the exhibit in Berlin is Paradise, this one looked like a trailer park on the wrong side of town complete with floating debris in dirty water. However, timing is everything with the polar bear exhibit, and after my fourth visit to the Zoo, I finally had an "Ah-Ha "moment, and the reason behind the floating debris came clear.

After watching the playful Pavians on Baboon Island, Max perfected the word "Ba-Ba-Boon" because it so much more fun to say with the extra syllable.

Saying"Ba-Ba-Boon" lost some of its charm when the Mandrill intimidated Max.

Luckily the memory didn't last long, and Max has been saying "Ba-Ba-Boon" ever since.

The "Ba-Ba-Boon" might replace the "La-La" (Gorilla) as his favorite primate, as long as the Mandrill doesn't give him nightmares. Hmmm, maybe we should rent Lion King so he can see the Mandrill isn't such a bad guy.

P.S. If you are reading this on Facebook, you can get a fuller experience from viewing my blog where you can watch the videos.

"Ba-ba-boon"

Adding the extra syllable makes it so much more fun to say.