Kittens

There is only one thing cuter than a black and white kitten with a tiny pink nose--A black and white mama cat with five black and white kittens with tiny pink noses, all curled up together in a comfy pile of leaves, fast asleep.

The building next to my office has a number of tenants, but none so cute as their youngest feline residents. They are street cats--skittish, shy, moving in the shadows, and most likely doomed to a short, trash-can scrounging life. They have grown old enough now that it would be more and more difficult for someone to adopt them.  

But, when they're all curled up together, with their paws and tails so intertwined its hard to tell where one kitten stops and the other begins, passerby stop and press their faces up to the fence, just to watch them--in all their adorable kitten-ness.  

No cats for me, though. I just watch and sigh.

Small victories

As Bee approaches turning two years old, she has become more and more dramatic.  She got angry tonight when David had to go out and run an, erm, errand.  (We didn't have sesame oil for our peanut noodles recipe, so we retreated from the kitchen and resorted to ordering a pizza.  I don't know whether it's a good thing or a bad thing that there is a take away pizza place less than two blocks from our apartment.)  

So, David was off picking up the pizza and Bee was angrily throwing my tennis shoes and crying that she wanted to go with her Daddy.  

I think Bee's tantrum stemmed from the fact that she didn't realize how much she had missed her father until he returned.  Tonight, she turned dinner from its usual 15 minute sit down to 45 minutes, perched on her father's lap, taking miniscule bites of her increasingly soggy pizza crust until we finally made her go take a bath.  

But I was talking about the tantrum. So she's yelling and carrying on and I'm too worn out from my marathon day at work to talk her down from the cliff.  My usual strategies are either to hold her and sympathize with her problem, without giving in, or to ignore the bad behavior. Really bad behavior, like hitting, earns an instant time out, but I try to use them sparingly.  All the yelling was getting on my nerves so I said, "Bee, I am going to go read some stories in your room." I walked away, without a word, went to her room, and began reading "Going on a Bear Hunt," which is one of Bee's top ten favorite books.  

Immediately, I hear, "NO BOOKS!" bellowed from down the hall. I pretend I didn't hear her and persist with the story, and she caves--stopped crying, came running even, climbed up on the couch and sat nicely with me while I read.  

Score one for parentdom.  

Athens

I have been wanting to post, and I want to write a long post, but my intentions have fallen through these past couple days as David has been out of town and I have been increasing my (already enormous) respect for single parents everywhere. 

On Monday evening, I flew back to the wilds of Eastern Europe with Bee. David stayed on in Athens for a conference.  Flying with an almost two year old is an adventure and I was very nervous about how we would manage alone. I shouldn't have been so worried. We only had a few dramatic moments (wanting to go on the bus that was going out to the airplane flying to Sofia, and she was so angry at me I almost considered letting her go for a second) but for the most part, she was surprisingly angelic. 

Once onboard the plane, she chanted over and over "airplane, big noise" because the plane to Athens had been a turboprop, and it was very loud.  We were both relieved to fly back on a jet. Neither of us enjoyed the airplane food, but we had fun playing with her "Cheerios" book and singing quietly to each other.  The only perilous part of our journey was the cab ride from the airport to our apartment. Our driver was from the Congo and basically only spoke French.  He had a GPS navigator that gave him directions in French. I don't speak French so I was praying the entire way that he wouldn't get lost. Fortunately, we made it home without incident. 

But, Athens . . . was wonderful minus the motorcycles. They swarm like mosquitos, driving on the sidewalks and plazas and in between the lanes of cars.  There was so much to see. Unfortunately, I forgot the memory card to my camera so I couldn't take any pictures. To compensate, I really soaked up the scenery and tried to create as many mental snapshots as I could.  

The weather was warm, the Athenians were so friendly, and the food was so, Greek (either fried or drenched in honey or both).  Athens gives off an amazing sense of history.  You will round a street corner and run into an excavation of an ancient road, or a pair of several thousand year old graves.  There is an aura of permanence. The city has been there, has been Athens, for thousands of years and it is reassuring to know that it will continue to be Athens for many thousands more.  

Our hotel, the Baby Grand, was delightful, and I wouldn't hesitate to recommend it to anyone. Bee fell asleep in the taxi ride from the airport and David carried her, car seat and all, over to reception. Upon check in, they told us that they had upgraded our room to a gorgeous suite and that it would be ready in 30 minutes. 

David and I curled up in the very eclectic bar and lounge with our magazines and some tea. We had the whole place to ourselves and we relaxed while Bee napped in her car seat.  After Bee woke up and we were settled in our room, we headed out to find the city, with no particular direction in mind.  David inevitably does this to me.  Whenever we go on vacation, he will sent off, a rudderless ship, wandering the wild sea of streets.  Irritatingly, some internal compass of his always manages to find the main tourist attractions. I remember during a trip to Copenhagen, we wandered through the city and he found the "little mermaid statue" within an hour.  It's a talent I guess.  His other talent is ignoring me while I trot behind pleading with him to look at a map or ask for directions.

So, as a result, within 15 minutes we had arrived at the Plaka, the touristy cafe and shopping district.  The afternoon sun blazed in a bright blue sky.  Suddenly, framed by a pair of buildings, the Acropolis and Parthenon, bone white against the sky, came into view--a mental snapshot I will keep forever.  How can that ancient ruin still dominate a modern city?

We ate an early dinner at a Taverna and ordered enough Greek food to cover the table.  We ate outside and enjoyed watching the crowds of people going by-- Greek Boy Scouts, Scandinavian tourists, women with headscarves, and African men selling "designer" sunglasses.  On the way back to the hotel, by complete coincidence, we ran into a friend attending the same conference as David. We plunged back into the Plaka and found another cafe where we sat and drank a bottle of Greek red wine.  I was defeated by a chocolate souffle. I didn't ever think something could be too chocolate-y, but this was.

The next morning, David navigated us to Starbucks (my vice, I know) and afterward we met up with a friend of mine who is working in Athens, and her husband. Her husband has a masters in Greek archeology, so we had our own private tour guide to take us to the Acropolis.  The highlight of the tour was standing next to the Parthenon and looking at the city spread out before us.  My friend's husband points out the spot where St. Paul is said to have preached to and converted the Athenians.  It gave me chills.

After the Acropolis, we all had lunch at another Greek restaurant where we savored such delicacies as fava beans, little fish fried whole and oh, the calamari. Just incredible.  We went back to the hotel for Bee's nap. When she (and David) woke up, we headed out again and walked around and around, mostly aimlessly, through a shuttered city (Sunday afternoon is not the time for touring or shopping). We ended up back at our hotel with no idea of what to do for dinner. We ended up eating dinner in the hotel restaurant, and, while the breakfasts were delicious (each morning I had a pastry and bowl of Greek yogurt with honey, walnuts, and jam) dinner tasted like someone's failed leftovers.  

Monday morning was the last morning of our trip and we did a little souvenir shopping (olive oil soap and a silver owl pendant for me, a worry bead bracelet for Bee, and a number of small gifts for my work colleagues). We checked out of our hotel and taxied over to the Hilton, where David was staying for the conference. We had lunch in the hotel, which always seems like something out of a novel to me, something from back when people embarked a Grand Tour. Now it's just grandly expensive.  

Bee fell asleep in the taxi on the way to the airport, which really worked out well. We arrived early and poor David carried Bee in her car seat (with her in it it's about 50 pounds all together).  After I checked in we maneuvered up to the second floor where they had a McDonalds and McCafe (a Starbucks wannabee).  Despite the music and loud conversations going on all around us, it was a nice quiet time for David and I.  So much of our day-to-day lives are taken up by parenting, meaningful adult conversation is usually squeezed in in the few minutes before falling asleep.  

So, with our peacefully sleeping daughter wedged into the booth with us, we sat and talked about our hopes and the future. As we talked. the noise around us dulled and we just enjoyed being together.  Too often, I get caught up in the concept of vacationing--the going and seeing and doing and buying--that I miss out on the concept of vacations as restorative, as a time for simply being. Well, of all the possible places, in a crowded McDonalds, we were.

I hate a problem I can't solve

At the risk of stoking the little tornado of seething indignation that is churning in my stomach: Our evening flight to Athens was cancelled due to a strike.  We have been rebooked to fly late tomorrow morning, which shortens our long weekend considerably.  

On the bright side, I am looking forward to meeting up with friends there on Sunday and touring the Parthenon.

David and I are off to watch a strange sci-fi series that he ordered from Netflix. I think it's called Red Dwarf?  We shall see. . .

Off to Greece

We are leaving work an hour early tomorrow to catch our flight to Athens, Greece!  It should be a very excited weekend.  I'm embarrassed to admit that I haven't really planned for this trip other than booking a hotel room.  

I know we'll want to see the Parthenon.  Other than that, we'll probably walk around the historic districts, find interesting little restaurants, and find a park where Bee can run and play.  

I'm nervous about how the flight will go tomorrow, because we won't arrive until past Bee's bedtime (I'm bracing for a major meltdown at some point, just hopefully not while we're on the plane).  It will be a good practice flight before we head back to the US at the end of the month.

Well, I am off to pack and spend some time with David as he is back from his ports visit.  

Prayers for Nie Nie

When a blog becomes a living hope.

They do the wrap

You know you're in Europe when:

At the first hint of frost in the air, every woman under the age of 40 is suddenly sporting an artfully wrapped cotton scarf around her neck. The longer and more colorful, the better.  Some are looped round and round and then loosely tied to tuck the ends under. Others are dashingly draped over the shoulder.  

Whenever I try to artfully arrange a scarf, it manages to come loose and is flapping about within minutes.  Clearly I am not European.  I also walk to work carrying a lunch bag.  This is another dead giveaway and major fashion faux pas.  

But I was talking about scarves. . . The scarf is usually worn over a skinny jacket, paired with tight jeans and flat shoes (strangely enough, Keds seem to be making a comeback with teenagers here).   

European women are chic.  They look like they have an expresso for breakfast and no immediate plans for lunch. As pedestrians, they walk aggressively and quickly.  There is a daily "on-foot" rush hour in my neighborhood.  Keep up or be run over. Despite the rush, they don't seem to be going to work.  Perhaps to university, or to a dingy cafe to smoke cigarettes and talk about philosophy.  

In any case, I like to watch them as I hurry to my American job, scarf swinging, lunch bag bouncing with each step, unfashionably enjoying life here in the wilds of Eastern Europe.