A Good Year

It has been a very good year. While there were some very hard months in 2009, looking back, I have so much to be thankful for!

I kept my 2009 resolution and read 50 books--but with the unintended effect of when I met my goal, any reading other than magazines nearly tapered off all together.

My husband and I enjoyed our home life--perfecting the art of homemade pizza and gourmet popcorn and watching every episode of the remake of Dr. Who.

Bee has grown up faster than I ever believed possible--with an impressive vocabulary, fierce love of her family, penchant for all things Disney princess, and a vivid imagination.

My next job assignment will be in Washington, D.C.: our most anticipated posting yet. We bought a house. In a neighborhood I have always loved. We are living in a small town tucked inside larger suburbia. We can walk to the hardware store and Starbucks. I can't think of a better material "thing" to spend my money on than a home for my family.

I got pregnant. We worried whether the baby would stick. I developed a wild craving for spaghetti bolognese. I came home to the United States to deliver. My parents stepped in and took care of Bee and I while Justin and I were apart.

Thanks to the prayers of many people, Baby N stuck it out for 38 weeks and six days and was born completely healthy. The best early Christmas present ever.

I am indeed blessed and lucky. My hope is that 2010 is as wonderful for all my friends and family (especially for all those who are expecting their own little babies) as 2009 was for me.

Happy New Year!

Warm fuzzies

I was quite surprised that my favorite Christmas gift this year were seven pairs of socks.

In a lapse of good packing judgment, I only brought three pairs of socks to wear for the three months I planned to spend in the US--and this quickly grew rather monotonous.

Now I have argyle and stripes, stretchy cotton and soft wool--a treasure trove of footwear. Warm toes. Less laundry.

My feet were made even happier today by the fact that I took three walks outside. As any nursing mother of an almost two week old newborn knows that is nothing short of miraculous.

Home for Christmas

We have a white Christmas, although it is leftover snow. My house is very quiet--the only sounds are my baby nursing while I type, cars slushing down the street, and Max sighing to go outside.

We celebrated Christmas with my husband's family this afternoon. It was wonderful--to see everyone and also to enjoy my father in law's spectacular cooking. His idea of a "small" tea consisted of eggnog, crudites, white cheddar with pear on crackers, turkey sandwiches, stuffing, cranberry sauce, waldorf salad, cranberry bliss bars (and his are better than at Starbucks), peppermint ice cream, and three kinds of tea. So I think we'll have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Christmas eve dinner tonight.

My husband and Bee are at church. I wish I were too but there are too many coughing, sneezing, germy people there to risk exposing Baby Nightingale.

We're ready for Santa, but I'm afraid he is bringing far too many presents for one young lady . . .

Merry, Merry, Christmas to you and yours!

Shhhh. . .

Both of my girls are currently napping, a fact which boggles my mind so completely, there is no way that I am going to be able to sleep myself. Miss N sleeps with her arms in the "touchdown!" position, which is just about the cutest thing in the universe aside from her pouty baby mouth.

All the parenting books say "sleep when the baby sleeps" and that is a good idea only if you don't ever want to get anything else done for the rest of your life.

Right now I actually do have the laundry and Christmas present wrapping under control. So while I may not sleep, I have a stack of magazines and a cup of peppermint tea to keep me company for a bit.

It has only been a week, but I have realized that second babies are very different from the first. Miss Bee had me in such a state of utter panic that I think it was almost a year before I started to feel like I really knew what I was doing.

This time around, I know that Baby N will eventually sleep through the night, and grow fat and then mobile, and before I know it, be running and joking and negotiating over dessert. It's really nice to have some perspective.

Baby story

So there was no room in the inn, but instead of the stable, I was waiting in a crowded waiting room filled with mothers, uncles, husbands and cousins (don't know how they all got in to be honest, since the hospital had a strict limited visitors policy due to h1n1 flu, but I guess that it was okay to visit outside of the delivery suites).

The other pregnant women were not having as hard of a time as I was--one was chatting on her cell phone, the other had been sent to walk the halls in order to move things along. I wasn't moving anywhere! I was struggling to stay upright in the wheelchair that my husband had snagged for me when it became apparent that walking had become a bit impossible.

After what seemed like a veritable eternity, a delivery room opened up and we headed in. I was already at 4 cm and in a lot of pain and had already decided that I wanted to have an epidural. I will say that I am secretly jealous of women who are brave enough to do natural childbirth. However, I have no idea how anyone could actively chose to be in that much pain.

The anesthesiologist was very quick and efficient and as soon as he was done, the nurse checked my progress and I was already at 9 cm. After a couple hours of blissful pain free rest and it was time to deliver. After 40 minutes of pushing (and I was brave enough to use a mirror and watch my baby being born) and my sweet Nightingale was born. She was 7 lbs even and a perfect 10 Apgar score. Perfect to me in every way. When Bee was born, she had a small complication and was immediately whisked away. This time, my daughter was placed warm, crying and wiggling on my chest--and there was no greater feeling in the entire world.

Giving birth to Baby N almost felt like cheating after the 20+ hours it took to have Bee. My nurse and doctor were almost cavalier about how easy the delivery would be--I guess it had been a long night for them. But best of all, my husband was there this time, from beginning to end.

We lobbied (and were permitted) to leave the hospital after one day instead of staying the requiste 48 hours. Baby N. is doing great--eating, sleeping (some) and making diapers. Bee is a proud big sister and handling the whole transition very well--although it is hard for a three year old. And I am just fine. A tired Mommy of course, overwhelmed a couple times a day, but feeling wonderful and just so proud of my girls.

And after these long nine months, I love to be able to say girls in the plural. My babies. My Merry, Merry Christmas.

My Christmas Day

. . . seems to have arrived a few days early this year. My week started off very nicely when I realized that the class I was enrolled in didn't actually start until Tuesday. So Monday morning my dear husband and I dropped Bee of at daycare (with a small amount of guilt, but mostly excitement at the prospect of spending the day together) and headed to go Christmas shopping at the mall.

We walked and shopped and talked and ate at Five Guys for lunch, and even had enough time leftover to see a movie together in the afternoon; my husband very obligingly went to see New Moon, and I know that that wasn't his first choice. Throughout the day, I had periodic mild contractions, but chalked it up to Braxton-Hicks. I mean, I couldn't possibly be going into labor, could I?

Oh, but I could!

By 7 pm that night, I was fairly certain that this was the real deal, but it wasn't until about an hour later that we were calling the doctor and my mother to come and stay with Bee. We finally left for the hospital just after 9 pm. We arrived safely at the hospital (despite a long and torturous walk from the parking lot to a locked entrance) only to be told that all the delivery suites were occupied! Fortunately, they were cleaning one and it would be ready soon. We were sent to the lobby to wait. There were several other women in my predicament--and from my pain addled state, I was busy drawing parallels the fact that we had just been told that there was "no room at the inn."

To be continued once I have 15 more minutes. . .

Vertex

Vertex is my new favorite word in the English language.

This pregnancy has been nothing but one excitement after another. So I guess I wasn't entirely surprised when I went in for my 35th week "welcome back to medicine in the western world" sonogram and the ultrasound technician looked at me and said, "Well, you know the baby is breech, right?"

Um. No.

My doctor recommended a couple of in-home exercises and other things I could do to try to induce the baby to turn. The most humorous of these involved playing music in the "target area." While I dutifully followed his advice, Baby Girl was not impressed. At my 36th week checkup, the doctor confirmed that that baby was still breech. Week 37 came and went, with no apparent position change on the baby's part.

According to the baby books, only 3-4% of babies are in the breech, or feet first, position by the 37th week of pregnancy. Delivering a breech baby poses a number of risks, so nowadays, most obstetricians strongly advise delivery by Cesarean section. And while 30% of American women now deliver by C-section (I have been doing some research) this is most certainly not my ideal birth plan. There is a much longer recovery involved--which is time away from Bee, and an additional challenge in taking care of a newborn.

So I opted to schedule an external cephalic version, or ECV, where the doctor attempts to move the baby into the head down position but manipulating the outside of the pregnant woman's stomach. There are some minor risks involved, so the procedure can only take place at a hospital equipped for an emergency delivery.

My ECV was scheduled for today, which meant that my dear husband, who is most recently returned to the U.S. from Romania (he arrived yesterday!) could come with me for support. So this morning I was starved (no food or drink for 8 hours prior) registered, monitored, hooked up to an IV and ready to go. The doctor walks in with the ultrasound machine, puts it on my belly and says. "Vertex! Your baby has already turned head down."

Cue the hallelujah chorus. Somehow my baby flipped without my knowing it. No ECV necessary. No scheduled c-section. Merry Christmas indeed!

I know that she still could flip back, although it is unlikely, or that my labor could always end up in a c-section--and that there are a million other little possibilities to worry about but right now, I am just so happy that my baby girl can greet the world when she is ready to do so.

Lack of willpower

So a nine months pregnant woman and a three year old Disney princess in training are probably not the best pair to be making decisions like, "Should we stop and have ice cream on our way home from work or continue on home to a healthy snack option?"

Really, in our case, there is only one possible answer to this question: "Ice cream! The green kind."

So me and my baby sat and ate mint chocolate chip ice cream cones with rainbow sprinkles at Scoop Beauregard's ice cream shop today.

I knew that this was a hit with Bee when she spontaneously started singing "If you're happy and you know it. . . "

We're happy. We know it.

Exactly what I wanted

My very special Christmas present from my sister this year is a Alois Dallmayr chocolate advent calendar from Munich. She brought it to me in Bucharest and I in turn toted it all the way home to Virginia, carefully wrapped and packed in my checked luggage.

Now it is December and I cannot even begin to describe how delicious these chocolates are other than to say they are heavenly. A different gourmet truffle or caramel every day of Advent. So no, I am not sharing, not with Bee or even my dear husband--they are my own reward for being a nine months pregnant temporarily single parent still working full time.

Now I am off to bed so that tomorrow morning I can open another delectable window. And when I reach the final one I will --hopefully--be a mother of two on maternity leave with present and supportive husband. While I cannot think of anything sweeter, I will probably need some more chocolates to help manage the sleep deprivation that awaits!

Happiness

In America, Bee can make mud pies to her heart's content.

Home

I am sitting on my bed listening to Bee play with my childhood collection of "little people" in the next room. Outside my window, November wind is lashing at the trees. I can hear the rain rattling in the downspout.

Downstairs, my parents are getting ready for work. I could be ten years old again, if it weren't for this baby I am carrying and my sweet daughter who wants me to come and play with her.

It is so good to be home.

3-8-3

Trying to pack 3 suitcases for a 3 month trip while 8 months pregnant is the mental equivalent of trying to teach my 3 year old algebra. And that's all I'm gonna say about that.

Count your blessings instead of sheep . . .

If you have ever watched the movie White Christmas, you know the above song. Oh to live in a Bing Crosby musical--everyone dressed smartly and the girls were girls and the guys were guys and all life's problems were resolved with a song. Unrealistic, I know, but these days, I am liking the idea of an escape from reality.

Fortunately escape I will, Tuesday next. I just have, oh, 17 million little things to do to get ready until then. Plus my office is beginning an outbreak of HN1N flu. So yes, it's time to go away. My dear husband was on the phone with the United airlines tonight to see whether I could change my flight for a day or two earlier, but, no luck.

Tonight I dragged out the suitcases and went digging for some potential post pregnancy jeans and sweaters. I piled up our passports and some American currency. I am making a start at getting everything ready to go. A timid start for sure, but it's better than nothing.

Really though, I need to take myself off to bed, because this Baby Girl I am carrying demands nine hours of sleep per night. Let's hope she keeps it up once she is actually born. And when I go to sleep, I will not count sheep or viruses or suitcases, but instead I will dream about the completely formed human inside me. My constant companion's fingers and eyelashes and lips and toenails. The hairs on her head. Her heart in my body. My blessing.

Her time

Every evening, once I put Miss Bee to bed and maybe, once in a blue moon, help out with the dishes, I settle in on the couch to check my favorite blogs and read the news. It has been, up until recently, my alone time.

However, starting a week or two ago, my constant companion has decided that evenings are a good time for kicks and wiggles. As I rush through the workday and dinnertime routine, I scarcely have time to notice when the baby is awake or asleep in my belly. On the couch though, in the stillness of the evening, my baby daughter dances.

I don't mind the company. I do mind her knees in my ribs.

Time on my side

I just finished kneading the dough for a batch of potato rolls that I am bringing to a soup dinner tonight. Every time I make bread, I think to myself that the act of kneading, in its unhurried repetition, is a good time for some serious thinking.

This has been a magical weekend. Bee's four day fever broke, and my little daughter was able to attend her third birthday party. I stayed awake half the night on Friday wondering if she would be well enough to attend. Thank God, and I mean that literally, that I didn't have to have the dreaded "why you cannot go to your birthday party" conversation.

In addition to the above miracle, my sister came to visit, and she didn't mind that we all had been sick, because she was recovering from a similar cold. So we all spent time together in my cozy living room, were entertained by all of Bee's new toys, and were afforded a rare chance to just take it easy. I do feel bad that my sister had to fly several hours for some relaxation, which probably could have been more easily accomplished in her apartment in Munich, but still, we reveled in her presence.

The stress of last week has curled and crashed like a wave. I feel as though I have almost reached the shore and am simply walking through the tide as it goes out.

We bought our house. It's really ours, as in, we have a mortgage, and keys, and a tree in our front yard that has dropped its leaves everywhere. In our absence, my poor father had to go rake them all, but as he raked he managed to meet all of our neighbors. Nothing like having my Dad, who makes friends wherever her goes, talk us up to the neighborhood. Hopefully new friends await us.

Our next assignment will be a most coveted tour in Washington, D.C. This is dreaded by many people in my profession, but after six years of living overseas, going home to America is just about the nicest thing I can think of. It's home. And my family is there. And my daughter(s) are going to get to live in America and speak English, and go to the park, and play at their grandparents' houses and we will all be fat and spoiled and fine. I think after a few years we'll be itching to see the world again, but not for a while. Not for a good, long, while.

So now I just have one more week + one day (why am I going to work next Monday?) at work. And while I have a number of papers to finish filling out/emails to send/ people to train/ projects to wrap up, I know that it'll all get done. And despite the fact that I have spent the entire summer feeling as though I was irreplaceable, work will carry on just fine without me. New folks have arrived, and once I have gone, I am certain my colleagues will hardly give me a second thought. And that's a good thing.

This week is 33 weeks in my pregnancy. Mentally, every week since March has been hard won. For my little baby who almost didn't stick early on, 8 months is a miracle. I continue to pray that she continues to grow and stays healthy and with me until she has reached full term. Every night, I fall asleep thinking about her tiny fingers, toes, and eyelashes.

So now the rolls are rising and the dryer tumbling clothes and Bee is dreaming and I am going to go do something lazy and enjoy some more of this quiet Sunday. Next week at this time I will be packing my bags to go!

Can't hardly zip my jacket!

Making Friends in Aachen

Arrivals

Just a week ago today I was arriving in Amsterdam. It had been a lonely couple of days with my husband gone at the Hague for a conference. Then, Bee and I flew to meet him for the holiday weekend. It had been a long day, starting when Bee was dressed and ready to leave for the airport at 6 am. Unfortunately our flight wasn't until 2 pm so we spent the morning haggling over when it would be time to leave. Anticipating having my hands full with my daughter and her massively large car seat, I packed very light--one carry on suitcase and one backpack for the two of us.

It was finally time to leave around 10 am and one of our usual taxi drivers came to take us to the airport. We waited for the plane, endured the long flight (yes, I bribed Bee to use the airplane bathroom), and made our way through Schipol airport to the baggage claim. Through the glass I spotted my husband waiting for us. We piled everything on a cart and Bee and I hurried out to greet the main man in our lives. Bee was so excited to see her father that she broke into a run, toddler arms and legs flying out in all directions, and hurled herself into his arms with a serious impact. All the grandmothers lined up waiting cooed simultaneously. It was like something out of a movie.

As if arriving in the Netherlands and being reunited with my husband wasn't sweet enough. The three of us went and had vanilla milkshakes and french fries (the way they come in Europe is stuffed in a paper cone and smothered your topping of choice, mine, mayonnaise). We devoured our snack together, each of us savoring good food and having our family back in one place.

I love arriving; I hate leaving. I am always waiting for my next beginning. I would do well to be less impatient, but despite my best efforts, I am always dreaming of going somewhere. Right now I am focused on my upcoming trip back to the United States so I can deliver my baby girl. Three more weeks of work. Three more weekends. Bee's birthday is next Sunday. The following week my sister comes to visit and we have Bee's birthday party. Then just one weekend remains to pack my suitcases, clean out my desk at work, and fly home to America.

Since the intervening weeks promise to be beyond stressful, I am concentrating on arriving home in Virginia. Let's just skip the rest already. In my mind's eye, I can see the international arrivals hall in Dulles. The weary immigration officers. The crowded baggage claim terminal. Customs. A short walk to the exit where my family will be waiting for me. Bee clutching my hand. Both of us trembling with excitement and jet lag. Home.

Leaving my husband behind will be the hardest part of next month. Bee and I will be home, with our family and favorite restaurants and a new house and a very soon to arrive baby. However, I know that as soon as I arrive home I will be counting down the days until my husband arrives and then (and hopefully this time it will be in this order) the very special arrival of a very much wished for little baby girl.

It was a dark and stormy vacation . . .

The sun does shine on the Netherlands periodically, but somehow I only managed to take pictures when it was either dawn, dusk, or about to rain.


Chateau St. Gerlach in the Maastricht region of the Netherlands: My dear husband picked the hotel on a whim. "It looks really nice; I want to go there," he declared. Never mind that zee Chateau is a two and a half hour drive from Amsterdam. "We'll rent a car," he explained. I continued to protest, but the man had an answer for everything.

So I gave up arguing, because I had no better suggestion, and we booked a hotel in the south of the Netherlands because it looked pretty with no other plans than to make our way there and see it for ourselves. And you know what?


It was a very good idea. A very, very, complete with indoor swimming pool and rustic bistro, good idea.


We were upgraded to a senior suite, located in one of the gables of the chateau. I had my own couch on which to lounge in the evenings. I read magazines and ate chocolates.


They had a wonderfully ancient lobby and a bar with character. And when we asked the bartender for some Dutch cheese, he said, "Coming right up!" The cheese came with a little pot of mustard. No bread. Just cheese. It was delicious.

The Chateau was set on a beautiful park, filled with interesting statues and walking paths. Unfortunately, as I set out to take pictures on our last morning there, it started to rain. But really, rain or no rain, I could live in the Netherlands.

Therapy

You know, I have come to the conclusion that it can be a good thing that preschoolers are, by their very natures, self centered. My daughter doesn't care how stressful my workday was, or that my back hurts, or that I am worrying about where my next job will be. She just wants her Mommy to come home and play with her and be happy. What else can I do but oblige? I had the happiest of childhoods and want the same for my daughter.

Bee and I have been spending the past few evenings alone, and our time together has been liberating. We play. We make dinner from what's in the freezer. We clean up the kitchen. We play some more and then Bee goes to bed.

Tonight we made animals out of playdoh, listened to a whole array of children's cds (Bee likes selecting and changing the cds more than actually listening to them), colored in her seven dwarves coloring book, and read extra stories before bed. It was, all in all, a mundane evening, but very calming. Even adults need to play once in a while.

My measure of success

Tonight, my husband patiently showed Bee how to make homemade calzones. She was covered in flour from wrist to elbow by the time they were finished, but she successfully helped roll out the circles of dough, add the filling, crimp the edges, and paint the egg wash on top. (And here's how crazy about food we are--this weekend we also made vegetable enchiladas, pumpkin cookies, and the piece d'resistance: from scratch "everything" bagels.)

This afternoon, I drew the outline of a tree on a big sheet of packing paper and gave Bee some tempura paints in fall colors. She spent a long time carefully painting autumn leaves. I would say she leans toward the surreal in art.

We went to Starbucks. I had given up all caffeine for most of this pregnancy, but recently have been indulging in a chai latte on the weekend. Baby Girl seems to like the sugar boost.

We cleaned the house. My husband changed burnt out light bulbs and dragged the vacuum over the rugs. Bee helped dust. I vacuumed the floors and even mopped, a little. Our main living room/dining room/playroom is adorned with Halloween decorations. The decorations are up early; the house cleaning was long overdue.

It's funny how these little tasks fill me with more pride than any work accomplishment ever has.

She Vants to be Alone

I can't quite wrap my head around this newfound independence thing with Bee. She just woke up at the deliciously late hour of nearly 7 o'clock, and now she is holed up in her room--reading. I guess this is what happens when you don't let your child watch television. This is hardly a noble effort on our part, but more to do with the fact that there is nothing to watch on Romanian TV. And since I don't enjoy children's videos, I don't buy them.

So Bee is deprived and has to read herself storybooks for entertainment. The amazing thing is--she really likes it. She looks at the pictures and "talks" through the story. She can keep her self busy reading for the better part of an hour.

This morning though, I was feeling so refreshed from sleeping and was happy she was awake, I went to her room, plopped down on the couch (more like sank heavily given the current state of affairs) and said "Good Morning Bee; can I read with you?"

The thundering answer was, "NO! I want to be alone!"

I don't know how I am going to survive the teenage years. A year ago, I think I would have turned cartwheels and rejoiced at any sign of potential independence, but instead, I have slunk back to the living room, where I am trying to console myself with juice, pumpkin bread and magazines. Fortunately, Bee's state of independence doesn't usually last more than 15 minutes or so, and I can go back to being her beloved Mommy.

Evening

I was trudging up the stairs from the metro tonight and found my dear husband and his faithful dog at the top step waiting for me. He was home early for once, and it was well deserved, since he was at work until 11 pm last night and then had to leave the house again at 5 am in order to bring a vip visitor to the airport.

Last night, Bee and I muddled along by ourselves, doing our best to have fun during "girl's night." We went to the bookstore and visited the new kitten that lives there among the books. I tried to liven up a hodgepodge of leftovers (vegetable soup, cauliflower casserole and peanut butter and jelly) with a cranberry sparkle. The pb&j was a hit with Bee, as was the cranberry sparkle (cranberry juice and club soda). The rest of dinner, not so much. I was asleep before 10 pm.

So coming home tonight to my husband was a real treat. He then proceeded to make us pizza for dinner (from scratch) which completely wins my heart every time. Bee and I ate in our pajamas. Now that she is asleep I am mulling over my evening reading choices and ice cream toppings. Life outside of these four apartment walls is hectic and stressful, but with my family inside, home is a refuge.

#50

So I have been meaning to post that I finished my 50 books in 2009 resolution a couple weeks ago. How difficult could it be to add three more titles to my list? Very difficult. No matter, this is one resolution I managed to keep.

Now I just have to convince myself that even though I finished 50 books I have to keep reading because 1. it makes me sane 2. it's better than mindless web surfing and 3. I have so many unread books in my apartment that are begging to have their pages turned. Especially the new Diana Gabaldon novel in my favorite series ever.

The final three books were as follows:

Charlaine Harris' "From Dead to Worse." You know, Sookie Stackhouse has been utterly ruined for me by watching half of the first season of the HBO series True Blood. What a yucky series. I gave it up halfway through.

Wally Lamb's "The Hour I first Believed." Not particularly uplifting, but Wally is a wonderful narrator. He draws you though a story like a needle in cloth.

Finally, "However Tall the Mountain" by Awista Ayub. It's a non fiction book that a friend lent me about a bunch of Afghan girls who play soccer. Nice to end my reading project on a hopeful note.

But really, I need to keep on reading even though it is so hard to sit down and concentrate right now. My mind is going like ping pong balls--buying a house--having a baby--busy at work--going home in November--getting an onward assignment--and on and on and I'm lying awake at 11 pm thinking about how, "I really need to take Bee to visit her daycare the first Friday I am home so she isn't too nervous the first day and blah blah blah." Really, I need to get my mind to just quiet the heck down. Books are good for that. And cheaper than therapy. So maybe I should go for sixty books in 2009.

Cornucopia

Autumn has arrived and we have been doing fall-ish activities like baking a pumpkin and making leaf rubbings. It all sounds very idyllic unless you know that I have been knocked out--flat on my back--sick as a dog for the past two days.

My third trimester of pregnancy arrived with a particular vengeance: Thursday night stomach flu. There is nothing quite like lying on the bathroom floor, puking your guts out and worrying about going into preterm labor at the same time. But fortunately, I didn't and am finally feeling better today, which means only mildly nauseous. But really, it's not a good idea to get the stomach flu and lose 6 pounds in 12 hours when you are a hungry pregnant mother. I feel sick, yet am starving. Not an enjoyable contrast.

But the weekend must be saved. Before I go back into the malestrom of my workweek, Bee and I have been trying to do some quiet autumn activities together. Last night, I swapped out the books in her reading corner for autumn and bear themed stories. She was very excited this morning to discover a whole new array of reading material and was content occupied the whole time my dear husband was making French toast. And since he was making an entire loaf of bread (not sure why he made so much for just him and Bee, as I had regular toast) it took quite a while.

After breakfast, Bee and I checked on the leaves that we had collected last week. I had pressed them under some heavy books last weekend because we planned on making leaf rubbings. This project stems (excuse my pun) from a horrible little book called "Leaves, Leaves, Leaves!" that I ordered through Amazon.com.

I like ordering children's books from Amazon, because you can generally preview the first couple pages and make sure that the text is not insipid. For this one however, I was lured in by the "buy four paperbacks, get one free" promotion and added it to my cart on a whim. The cover seemed cute. All about leaves. What I didn't know is that is nearly 50 pages of the scientific life cycle of a leaf told out through a conversation between a mother bear and baby bear. As in the baby bear asks, "What's chlorophyll Mommy?" And then the Mommy bear makes a scientific chart to explain.

Anyway, we read it once and I was sure that would be the end of it, as it was so boring, but to my complete dismay, it's Bee's new favorite book. Evidently she is a budding (oh the puns) scientist. We have read it as her bedtime story for 7 out of the past 10 nights. But anyway, the bears collect leaves in the book and so that's what Bee and I did last week. Now pressed and dried, we spent the morning making leaf rubbings. Or I should say I rubbed, and Bee decorated. They look cute.

So this afternoon, after Bee naps (or does not nap but hides out in her room rearranging the furniture) we will make pumpkin bread. I had a particular craving for pumpkin bread about three weeks ago, and checked my cupboard to discover I had no canned pumpkin left. So I begged my mother to send me some. She did (as she has been wonderful about mailing me every strange pregnancy craving I have had this year, just ask her about the canned clams). And as she emphasized, it wasn't ordinary canned pumpkin, but Trader Joe's organic canned pumpkin.

However, while the canned pumpkin was winging its way from America to Romania, we discovered that fresh pumpkins had arrived in the market. We couldn't resist, as we found a glorious light orange ten pounder--these are not your American jack-o-lanterns but hearty "feed a family of ten" Romanian pumpkins. I baked it (in halves, cut side down, with an inch of water in a pan, at 350 degrees) for about two hours and now have many heaping cups of sunshine colored pumpkin puree. Between my cupboard and my freezer, I now have enough pumpkin for as many pies, doughnuts, breads, and muffins as my heart desires. And since I am pregnant, that is many. At least when I don't have the stomach flu.

Truant

This morning, I am skipping church. My sweet husband and Ms. Bee are dutifully making their way the four blocks, while I am still in my pajamas, curled up, or given my current condition you might say wedged, into an easy chair.

I went to bed early last night, because I was feeling very pregnant, and slept in (although that is a relative term) until the deliciously ungodly hour of 7:45 am. I am not being sarcastic, that is nearly two hours of extra, delicious, much needed sleep.

When my daugher finally came in to wake me up--and she did it very nicely except she switched her instructions from "Go give Mommy kisses and then turn the lights on," to "Turn the lights on in all their blazing glory and then jump on Mommy and give her affectionate kisses"--it was almost time to leave. Bee put her arms around me and very sweetly said, "I love you Mommy; you're a little bit smelly." I was thus excused.

So now I am eating cinnamon toast with cream cheese and having fruit tea, and contemplating the day ahead. It's cold outside today; autumn has finally arrived. While I may not be sitting on a pew this morning, I most certainly am counting my blessings.

Child's play

So I found myself playing "barfing dollies" this evening. It consisted of Bee having one of her dollies, Maggie, throwing up on herself (imaginary vomit, thank goodness) and then needing to have her clothes changed.

My job was to pretend to wash and iron the soiled clothes. I much prefer to make believe I'm doing the laundry than actually do it, so I was happy to oblige.

I am glad that Bee's experience with getting carsick on herself during our trip in the mountains has provided her with this new creative outlet. I am, however, not hoping for a live repeat performance.

Sunrise

Sometimes, I think that it is impossible to know how wrong things were until they start to go right again. I have had a few days to recover from all the excitement of having guests and traveling around the country. We have gotten back into our family routine.

When I think back to two months ago, which were so fraught with worry, I realize that I have spent much of the summer in a haze. A funk. A depression. A worry. I don't know what is the right word is for it, exactly, but maybe a better way to put it is that I have been focused completely inward, which is not, on the whole, a very healthy way to be.

Something happened on Friday. The veil lifted. I began to feel, for the first time in a long time, much more like myself. Or at least someone a bit happier than before. Maybe it is the excitement of potentially buying a house. Or just that fall has come. Or that I will be headed home soon. Or that with every passing week, my little kicker is getting bigger. Whatever it is/it was/will be, I think I'll just enjoy right now for a little while.

I love Saturday

Waking up and not having to go to work is always such a pleasure. Not that I was pleased when Bee started hollering that it was "morning time" at 5:20 am. We pulled out her book basket and sent her to her room to read by herself for a while. This worked splendidly until about 6 am when she came roaring back into our bedrooms, ready to start the day.

And why not? I have never been a morning person, but always manage to feel very accomplished whenever I get up early on the weekends and get things done. While Bee was busy playing "grocery store," We baked some fresh cinnamon rolls. We made them from scratch about a month ago, but it made so many that we froze half of them unbaked. All we had to do was let them defrost in the fridge overnight, and then pop them in the oven.

I took Max for a walk, was followed by a pair of very disreputable young men until they realized that I knew that they were following me. I made a beeline for the American Ambassador's residence and the guards that stand post out front. They declined to follow. It is a real shame that my neighborhood, which is very nice for Bucharest, is becoming less safe.

While I was out, my dear husband scrubbed Her Royal Highness's car seat for any last traces of last weekend's unfortunate carsickness adventure. After I returned, he took the car to be washed and vacuumed and got his hair cut. I did a couple loads of laundry and spent a lot of time playing "doctor" with Bee, and had all my toes bandaged. Fortunately, my role as a patient meant that I just had to lie on the couch and by then, I was tired.

Later on we went to the farmer's market and then to the mall and drank Starbucks and then I had the delight of 15 minutes of solo uninterrupted window shopping while Bee and her father sat by the fountain in the atrium. I will admit, I was fingering all those tiny newborn clothes.

Back at home, we had lunch and fought over every slice of the leftover pizza from last night's dinner. Then I fought with Bee about taking her nap, but guess what? I won. She is asleep. My husband is asleep. And right now, I have nothing to do but contemplate the rest of my busy day: make stock for soup, make soup, make bread, go to a party tonight. I love it. I love Saturday.

Romanian countryside

Bringing down the sheep

One of the pleasures of driving through the Romanian countryside this time of year is watching the shepherds bring their flocks of sheep (or goats) down from their high summer pastures. A shepherd's life, while much romanticized in folklore, is lonely and hard. I think they must be glad to be headed home.

Behind the times

I have certainly not lacked things to write about these past few weeks. What I haven't had a lot of, however, is free time. We have had a wonderful full house since mid August, a rotating succession of family and friends, constant entertainment for Miss Bee, long meals at restaurant and over 1,000 miles of travel, all over Romania. No more travel in Romania for us for a long while.

While the house is quiet again, but our lives are anything but. We are having a baby, trying to secure our next job assignment, buying a house. Bee turns three in October and we want to have a Halloween party for her. So much to think about. My mind is honeycombed with: "We need to. . . " "I must remember. . . " What if. . .?"

Despite all the constant buzzing of future plans and contingencies, the months of the year are sneaking past. September is well underway. October is looming. November, I fly home. In December, I'll have another little daughter for Christmas. There couldn't be a sweeter end to the year.

Stealing time

My husband is giving Bee a bath right now. I can hear them splashing. I just finished washing the dinner dishes but gave up before wiping the counters. My feet and my back are in open rebellion against the rest of my body.

I'll get back to work in a minute, but the one thing I have learned from this pregnancy is that if I feel like I need to rest, I better rest. No putting it off until I finish this or that.

So I am stealing some time by myself right now, and am doing my best not to feel guilty. My dear sweet husband has done so much around the house these past few months. Just today the man was mopping the floor, and here I was not sure he knew how, and then I almost had a complete heart attack when I found him scrubbing the shower. So I do feel a little guilty.

Well, time's up. Miss Bee is out of the bath, dressed, and wants a cookie. Back to life.

Sometimes you just gotta--

--Eat Kraft deluxe macaroni and cheese. Preferably with peas and tuna fish. Alone. Where no one will know how much I secretly enjoy American processed food.

--Read really silly, but highly entertaining, mystery novels: (Charlaine Harris's Sookie Stackhouse vampire series. They count as books 41-47, thank you very much!) And now #8 in the series is on the way from amazon.com as well as season one of HBO's True Blood.

--Count your blessings. My amniocentesis results came back yesterday. The baby girl who is swimming laps in my belly is healthy and has a perfect set of chromosomes. I am so thankful.

Books: #38-40

"Winter in Madrid" by C.J. Sansom: A spy novel set in Franco's Spain. I had high hopes. Unfortunately, the plot doesn't move very quickly and the characters aren't very likeable. It's not terrible, though.

"The Help," by Kathryn Stockett: Chronicling the lives of white Southern women and their black maids, the author constructs a believable portrait of the American South on the cusp of the 1960s Civil Rights movement. Very well written and believable.

"The Other Hand", by Chris Cleave: This fast moving novel tells the story of a Nigerian teen and a British magazine executive. Quite unexpectedly, their lives intersect. The back of the book claims, "We don't want to tell you what happens in this book. it is a truly special story and we don't want to spoil it." I have to say, in this particular case, I agree.

Vienna Still Life

I stayed at the Le Meridien Vienna, and despite its overly modern decor, it was a good choice. There was free in room internet and a mini fridge filled with juice, water, soda. The hotel even placed a welcome apple (if there is such a thing) on my nightstand. I couldn't decide whether the severed hand was supposed to be inviting or frightening.



I loved the statues. Vienna has a really unique flavor, as far as cities go. Old and modern seamlessly meld, and around every corner there was something interesting, surprising, or beautiful.


Rhapsody on a kasekrainer.



St. Stephen's church, the architectural heart of the city.


Well behaved cherubs.


Naughty child stuck atop a lamppost.


Peace.

Spoiled

I guess that I should be grateful that the U.S. government has flown me to Vienna to have an amniocentesis, but I'm not.

I have been so worried and upset for the past week, when a routine prenatal test came back with an elevated risk for my baby having a disability. The test showed a one in fifty risk. Statistically that is very small, and compounded by the fact that the test used in Romania is notoriously unreliable. The more reliable one, commonly administered in the U.S., is not available there.

This week has been my crucible, my shadow in the valley, my sleepless night, because while I am having this baby no matter what, I am terrified that my child could be sick. It's stupid really, when you think about it rationally, my child could, God forbid, contract a disease or a have an accident at any time in his or her life. It's fate ya know, so why worry? However we mothers are not rational creatures. Now that the procedure is over though, I somehow feel calmer, as if the test itself was all I needed to heal anything that could potentially harm my baby.

I took heart in the obstetrician's careful fetal assessment during the ultrasound. She said she thought that everything looked normal. This evening she came by the hospital to check on me (they are very conservative in Vienna and have women stay overnight in this hospital after an amniocentesis) and brought pictures of the baby; she had even taken the time to enlarge the best one. A souvenir.

A better souvenir would have been to let me keep the six inch long needle that she stuck into my stomach. She actually did the procedure twice, because the first time the baby moved too close. The second time was worse than the first. (It reminded me of when I was in labor with Bee and had to have the epidural catheter inserted twice, because the first time it was too low. What is it about me and my bad luck with needles?)

So now I am faced with waiting--waiting to get out of the hospital and go back to the nice hotel in the center of Vienna--waiting for my Mom, sister, and sister's boyfriend to arrive from Munich tomorrow (my knights in shining armor coming to save me from my tendency to worry far more than is good for me), and waiting for the preliminary results, which I hope and pray will alleviate my fears.

-*-*-
Monday
-*-*-

After four long nights filled with tossing and turning, far too many pastries and strudels, numerous phone calls back and forth with my doctor in Vienna, one achingly frustrating plane ride back to Bucharest with no news (I listened to Christmas carols the whole way because it was the only way I could manage to calm down), my preliminary test results are back. The ignominiously named yet very reliable FISH test says that my baby is just fine. Now I know just how I'll feel on resurrection morning.

(It's a girl!)

No comment

A mother's joy

Add this to the list of chores a toddler enjoys!

In the napping house

Where everyone is sleeping, even the dog. There is only the rustle of the noisy neighbors upstairs, the hum of the refrigerator, and the faint smell of recently baked chocolate chip cookies.

I am full and fat from lunch with my husband and several of the aforementioned cookies. I am virtuous because I have washed three loads of laundry and the kitchen is clean (although for the latter I have my mother to thank).

Nothing to do tonight except make dinner and maybe read for a bit. To relax and try not to worry about life's latest roadblocks.

This is the perfect stay at home vacation.

What I like about Sibiu

Sibiu is the the anti-Bucharest, what with its orderly city center, restored historic churches and restaurants, and unique architecture. Plus, the buildings are always watching you.


I quite liked our hotel, Casa Luxemberg. It's the pink building on the far right and it has the honor of being dubbed the cleanest and most spacious three star hotel I have ever stayed in.


The best part of Sibiu, however, is the chance to stroll from one cafe to another and eat pizza and gelato and other sweets until you can't walk anymore. In the photo below, my dear husband and sweet Bee are moving with purpose toward our pizza lunch.


It being a Saturday, the square was filled with brides taking their wedding photographs. There were young and pretty ones, and others not so much of either, but all (with the exception of one angry smoking bride) happy and smiling. The grooms mostly trailed behind their new wives looking slightly stunned.


Unfortunately, I could have also titled this post "plague and flood" because we all had terrible colds and it rained on and off Saturday and all of Sunday. But despite these slightly negative factors, I can still taste the walnut chocolate gelato and would do it all again just to have another plate of perfectly fried calamari.

Books #36 and #37

"Florence Nightingale" by Mark Bostridge: I am so happy to have finished this book. It has been my nightly punishment, my bedtime purgatory, as I have dutifully scanned my way through 500 endless pages documenting Ms. Nightingale's not so interesting life. The author lost me somewhere around page 200. I have never been so happy to discover that the last 100 pages of a book consisted of notes and a lengthy index. If it had been any longer, I never would have finished.

"The Summer Garden" by Paullina Simons: This book brought the emotionally exhausting Tatiana and Alexander trilogy to a most satisfying conclusion. While I was glad to finish the story so that I could return to the rest of my life, I was sad to leave the characters behind.

Cornhusker

Add shucking corn to the list of things that will keep a preschooler occupied for at least five minutes. . .

Overthinking it

I received my weekly pregnancy email from babycenter.com which happily informed me that my baby, in the 16th week of pregnancy, was now the approximate size and weight of an avocado.

That information is certainly all well and good, I can much more easily envision an avocado as opposed to earlier weeks, when my baby was compared to a lentil.

However, what my email service did not know, and could not have known, was that guacamole was on tonight's dinner menu. I had to eat my baby!

And that was very traumatizing.

Books #33-35

I am too busy to post on my blog because I have been swallowed whole into the extremely melodramatic, but can't tear myself away from it, melodrama that is Paullina Simons' Tatiana and Alexander trilogy. I must find out if there will be a happily ever after. I hope after nearly 2,100 pages of drama and three books that this is a remote possiblility.

"The Bronze Horseman," by Paullina Simons: book one in the Tatiana and Alexander saga. It's the oldest story line out there: two people fall in love but cannot be together but are forced to see eachother all the time. Oh, the yearning! It's Leningrad and WWII, so there is a lot of horrible starvation and other deprivation to add to their troubles. But it's worth reading if only to experience the suspense in book two, the very literally titled, "Tatiana and Alexander." These books are great, but they are eating up my life. I need to finish them and do other things.

"A Peacock or a Crow," by Victor Groza: a very strange book about foreign adoptions in Romania. As there has been a moratorium on Romanian adoptions by foreigners for the past several years, this book is of little interest to 99.99% of the entire world. I guess I fall into that remaining .01%.

"A Girl's Guide to Kissing Frogs" by Victoria Clayton: Reading this book is the literary equivalent of drinking an bottomless glass of Coca Cola with lots of ice. And maybe throw in a plateful of hot french fries on the side, with lots of ketchup. Fast reading, but a superbly fat-free indulgence.

Happy 4th of July!

Hope you get to eat as much cake as I did! (And that was a lot. . .)

Generosity

My dear colleague at work brought me 20 fresh eggs from her grandmother's chickens today.

I have been singing "Omelette. . . " to the tune of "Alouette" ever since.

Oh, my sandwich . . .

It is a little ridiculous how much of my morning is spent thinking about lunchtime, but that is the fate of a pregnant woman. It's all about the food.

Right now, for instance, my dear husband is making lasagna; prepped tonight, it can be baked tomorrow night with enough time left over for a family dinner. Of course, we had to pick up Lebanese take-out for dinner tonight so that he has time to make tomorrow night's feast, which seems a little counter-productive, but oh well. The smell of sauteed mushrooms, garlic, onions, and bechamel sauce is making me dizzy with hunger, and I just ate dinner.

But I really wanted to talk to you about my sandwich: A couple of weeks ago, I found a new mantra in one of the many woman's magazines to which I endlessly subscribe. The subject of the article was about healthy lunches and argued something along the lines of, "It takes just as much time to go to the deli, order a sandwich and bring it back to work as it does to pack your own lunch at home." This is such a simple concept, but I can't tell you how many times I have talked myself into picking something up on my lunch break because I was feeling too rushed before leaving the house for work.

As a result, making the perfect sandwich has become my new morning goal, especially because the lunch options around my office are limited indeed. I have been stealing five minutes and slapping together lettuce, tomato, pickles (yes, it's a cliche, but I can't help myself), cheese, and occasionally even some lunch meat. And oh those sandwiches are good.

Weekend's End

While Friday evening swishes past and Saturday positively sails, Sunday evening arrives with a resounding thud. Time to get everything done that I didn't do on Saturday and start thinking about the work week ahead. (On this week's agenda: practicing my lines as master of ceremonies at an event with 3,000 invited guests. It will be lots of fun to speak/mangle Romanian in front of THE president of Romania.)

But despite the upcoming work whirlwind, this was a wonderful weekend. I have been feeling so much better these past few weeks; my appetite has returned with a vengeance along with a tiny bit of energy. Not enough energy that I can clean the house to my satisfaction, but at least I managed to squeeze in a few minutes straightening, dusting, and scrubbing the mildew off the shower walls. It seems strange to feel grateful for such mundane chores, but I do.

During the arsenic hour just before dinner time, I taught Ms. Bee how to play with paper dolls. I had bought the "Little House" paper doll book about six months ago and had saving them for when I felt we could enjoy them together with minimal paper ripping. She obviously can't do any cutting, but enjoyed making the fashion choices and dressing "her dollies". I live for these kinds of relaxed, one-on-one, moments with my daughter.

I am always working for the weekend.

True love is

At breakfast, giving your daughter one half of your hard boiled egg when you only cooked one.

Books #30, #31, and #32

The Book of Negroes, by Lawrence Hill: Despite the very unsettling title I highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys reading about history. Too often, American slavery is represented in literature as a footnote to a broader story, or even worse, romanticized. This book holds nothing back, as it chronicles the survival of Aminata Diallo, a young girl who is kidnapped by slave traders and sold into slavery in the American south.

Guests of the Ayatollah, by Mark Bowden: I stayed up way past my bedtime finishing this book last night, but I just couldn't stop reading until the hostages were rescued. Thank God that they were. It is shameful that it took so long.

The Audacity of Hope, by Barack Obama: I really, really like that our president has thought about the major issues affecting American society. It's a surprisingly interesting and fast read.

The end of Dr. Who

My evenings are going to be a lot quieter now that I finished watching the very last episode of season four of Dr. Who. No new shows until 2010. Oh, the Doctor. I will miss him and his ability to save the universe in each and every episode.

There is nothing I want to watch on Romanian TV unless you count the Romanian folk music channel. It broadcasts 24-7 and consists entirely of a group of Romanian singers wearing folk costumes standing in a row and taking turns singing karaoke to Romanian folk music. Sometimes they sway from side to side or maybe shimmy a little bit. Periodically someone holds up a glass of wine. I don't think it's a prop as much as a way to keep the inanity going. There is always a fat guy who fills his embroidered shirt near to bursting.

To my untrained ears, it seems as though you can tune in at any hour of day and the same song is playing, but of course this cannot be. The thing is, if I turn it on accidentally, I am instantly lulled into a kind of stupor until my husband says, "What is that you are watching?" "Musica noastra" ar fi musica mea.

So instead I am reading three different books at the same time, which means it'll take three times as long to get them all finished. I started Mark Bowden's "Guests of the Ayatollah" last night and spent nearly three hours transported in horror. In addition to chronicling the hostage taking with excruciating detail, Bowden's book gives an interesting perspective into what is happening in Iran nowadays. To the pages!

Childisms

We have been reading a lot of the Disney princess easy reader anthology. (5 stories in one! 5 princesses in one book!)

With an abundance of choices in one slender volume: Cinderella, Snow White, Belle, Aurora or Jasmine, for Bee, other story books pale in comparison at the moment. Unfortunately for me, the reader, the stories are easy readers, comprising simple sentences, a mere string of facts shadowing the general princess plot lines.

They. Plod. Along.

However, in the final story, Jasmine receives a pet tiger from her father to make her happy. (You can't read too much into this.) She names it Rajah. He keeps her safe from harm.

Every time I read this story, and indeed that is frequently, Miss Bee asks me, in a serious tone of voice, "Who is Harm, Mommy?"

As if Harm were a Disney character to be vanquished, one more step on the journey to a happy ending. If only.

"Harm is just another word for trouble, Bee," I cautiously explain. But still, she persists in asking. She is certain that Harm is a person. And in some places I am certain he is.

My darling daughter, if you only knew, that it is my one wish, my one prayer--to always keep you safe from harm. May you never meet Him.

Miss Bee knows

that only her Daddy will let her have this much fun at the playground.

Happy Father's Day to all the dads!

Holding my breath

Next week will mark the very end of my first trimester of my second pregnancy in which the first three months of which have been a real nail biter, I tell ya.

This dear sweet tiny Christmas baby is trouble with a capital T. My husband is convinced that he is a boy, whereas I am certain that she needs to be a girl, or else Bee's six thousand pink outfits are really going to have to become the new blue.

When I was pregnant with Bee, everything went by the book; there were no scary episodes, no evening visits to the emergency clinic, no doubt that it might all come crashing down in an instant. (Ever seen a doctor do an ultrasound while talking on his cell phone at the same time? Come to Romania and you too can have this interactive experience!)

Thankfully, things have taken a turn for the better. Despite this, worry still seems to creep into the edges of my everyday life. I cannot control what happens. I can only do my best to take care of myself and pray.

And breathe out.

I somehow doubt

that Miss Bee will be as enamored with washing dishes when she is sixteen. At the moment, however, she is absurdly happy when allowed to take part in the after dinner washing up. She rinses with vigor and wields a mean sponge.

Happiness is

A warm summer evening,
Enchiladas in the oven,
The kitchen clean,
My daughter snuggled next to me,
A lazy Labrador retriever.

Books #28 and #29

"The Forgotten Garden," by Kate Morton
This book is perfect at the beach/on the train/waiting for the airplane. It gently passes the time, with enough mystery to keep things interesting.

"Sundays at Tiffany's" by James Patterson
This is a delightful book with a romance and an imaginary friend. Expect a movie by the same title a year from now. . .

Books #20-#27

"The Outcast" by Sadie Jones
This book is all about a boy who is antisocial and has violent tendencies. It's a sympathetic read.

"The Invisible Wall" by Harry Bernstein
A memoir so crisp and transporting that it makes you rejoice! A first time author at the age of 96, Bernstein tells the story of his childhood in an English town, and the deep divisions between the Jewish and Christian families resident there.

"The Shack" by William Paul Young
You will cry if you read this book, no doubt about it. However, I'm still not so sold on the author's personification of the Holy Trinity. I did like the ending, though.

Catching up on my Diana Gabaldon with:
"Lord John and the Private Matter," and "Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade." My all time favorite series is Gabaldon's "Outlander" saga. Unfortunately, the Lord John mysteries, while interesting, pale in comparision.

And finally, I spent last week reading the last three novels in the Anne of Green Gables series:
"Anne of Ingleside," "Rainbow Valley," and "Rilla of Ingleside," all by L.M. Montgomery. They serve as cheap therapy for when I just want to escape from it all.

Hush my mouth

Tonight Bee was acting very saucy and decided to try out some insults on her mean Mommy who enforces all manner of horrible rules around the house.

Her frustration with me boiled over and she unleashed the following zinger, "Mommy, you are a RACCOON!" This was quickly followed by "Mommy, you are a sea WEED!"

We had a subsequent chat about using kind words. (Sometimes, though, it's so hard not to laugh.)

London

Last weekend Bee, David, and I spent three wonderful nights in London.

Upon arriving, I experienced a bit of reverse culture shock. Everything there was so organized and clean in comparison to my current Eastern European residence. I stood captivated in the produce section of the "to go" food Marks and Spencer store, marveling at the perfect imported fruit: weighed, wrapped, and unblemished. Yeah, it was definitely time for a vacation.'

D and I were a bit nervous about how Miss Bee would handle the trip. Some people might say that traveling with a two and a half year old is asking for disaster, but we are blessed to have a mostly easy going little girl. In preparation, we spent several weeks talking about going on the airplane, staying in a hotel and eating out at restaurants (one of Bee's favorite things that we seldom do here; she is fascinated with the concept of ordering food).

I decided that this trip would involve a little more organization that usual. That meant deciding in advance on some activities that we would all enjoy. We settled on one "event" per day, leaving plenty of time for eating, shopping (oh can we say Waterstone's bookstore!), and visiting every available playground in a three mile radius of our hotel.

We booked a hotel in a very central location, right behind Buckingham palace, called Rubens at the Palace. The rooms were nice, reasonably priced for London (and that means less than $300 USD, per night, unfortunately) and included a full English breakast. Breakfast, to my surprise, ended up being, for me, the best part of the hotel (although D might tell you that it was Guiness on tap at the hotel bar, yes he took my daughter there and she had a chocolate milk while he drank his beer).

Saturday: We had a mid morning flight but gosh, three hours is a long time on the plane with a little one. Bee loved the in flight meal service, although the only thing she wanted to do with it was practice smearing butter on her roll. Those little butter packets, who knew that they would captivate a two year old? We planned on taking the metro (the tube) from the airport to our hotel, and we did, but this was not a smart choice. The tube in London is cheap and very efficient, but it does not typically have elevators in the stations and we were dragging our luggage and Bee and her stroller up multiple flights of stairs. After checking in, we splurged on a taxi to the London Eye. The Eye is essentially an enormous Ferris wheel, taking 30 minutes to rotate each car 360 degrees. We had bought tickets and assumed that would mean that we would have a short wait, but ended up waiting almost a hour. It was that crowded. Bee was reasonably well behaved, but we were relieved to finally board our flight. The views were lovely. We were lucky to have a clear and sunny day in which to view all of London.


Sunday: Our trip to the London zoo was probably the highlight of the trip for me. We arrived early, the weather was perfect, the animals perky, and Bee was absolutely in her element. This is a modern zoo, full of interesting exhibits, a focus on conservation, and a wonderful children's section (which had a whole play fountain section for the kids, and yes, the European kids were just getting naked and jumping right in; us prudish Americans steered Bee on to the next exhibit, although she was very interested in joining the others). There was even a special section where the kids could pet sheep and goats. In the center of the zoo was a carousel, cafe, and moon bounce (which prompted the one meltdown of the day; Bee wouldn't get off when her five minutes were up). We spent the rest of the day going to the playground and walking around until it was time to meet a dear friend for dinner. London's Chinatown, while small, more than met my craving for "real" (as in, American style) Chinese food. I cannot remember the last time I ate that much food, but I can tell you I will be dreaming about the crispy duck with plum sauce for quite some time.


Monday: our last full day in London. D made reservations for us to have tea at the Ritz hotel, to belatedly celebrate my birthday. It was wonderful, although I spent most of it on edge that Bee would break something or otherwise misbehave. Fortunately, she was very well behaved. I ate a lot of scones. Bee danced to the piano music in the lobby. However, as we ducked out of there, I couldn't help but feeling that we had escaped some kind of embarrassing disaster; I would not recommend bringing a toddler to tea. Monday also meant shopping at Fortnum and Mason and Harrods. Bee actually fell asleep in her stroller and slept through all of Harrods, giving D and I a quiet hour of browsing. You could spend an entire day at Harrods. The upper floors contain a coffee shop, a children's bookstore, even an American style diner. Monday night was the best meal of our entire stay, dinner at Quilon, an Indian restaurant a few blocks from our hotel. Our concierge recommended it, and I was skeptical, as he claimed it was the best Indian restaurant in all of London. However, it ranks as one of the top ten meals I have had. . . in my life. Their crab cakes were crisp perfect. The jumbo prawns were enormous and served with an onion chutney. The service was warm yet impeccable. The cook prepared a special dinner for Bee, since they didn't have a children's menu. We were served an amuse bouche of tomato soup that still haunts me. It was a wonderful way to end a very relaxing and happy family vacation.

Tuesday: We headed to the airport after breakfast, torn on whether to take a taxi or brave the subway again. We settled on the bus. This would have worked great, except that the bus station was a lot further away than we anticipated and arrived just as it was ready to pull away. We needn't have rushed though; our flight was delayed an hour, but this meant that we actually had time for a nice lunch at an pizza restaurant in the terminal. Even the airport food in London is good! (Or maybe I am just really deprived. . . ) But it was worth it to see just how much pizza Bee can eat when she puts her mind to it. And psst, don't tell anyone, but after the long flight and late arrival in Bucharest, we went to McDonalds for dinner.

Sweetness

My husband came home from the market today with a kilo of cherries, strawberries, ripe peaches and apples. We had strawberry milkshakes for dessert and tomorrow I am contemplating making a cherry pie. If only to sing "can she make a cherry pie Billy boy, Billy boy?" while I pit the cherries and roll the dough.

I also have plans to make lemon bread to thank our neighbors who took Bee the other night when I had to make an unscheduled trip to the doctor. No questions asked, they took Bee in, fed her dinner, and put her to bed with their own daughter (who is Bee's best playground friend) until we were able to come back and bring her home.

But we shall see, because I am supposed to be taking it easy. I am not a good patient. I do not like being sick. I feel nothing but guilty when I cannot run and play with my daughter and my poor husband is forced to managed all the cooking, cleaning, dog-walking, and child care. He already does so much. Despite his weekend of drudgery, my hubby made our favorite Friday night pizzas and the aforementioned strawberry milkshakes for dessert. Bee drank hers with three straws.

In every bitter hand we are dealt, there is some undeniable sweetness to discover.