One Green Bee Designs

I've loved you more

P and I don't have an official song, but we do cook up some fine, off-key duets. Our best is Emmylou Harris and Mark Knopfler singing 'This is Us.' (it seems that they get the lyrics about as right as we do in this version) Although we are big Emmylou and Mark fans, at our hearts, at our hearts we are Johnny Cash people. We holler a good, 'Jackson', but you'd get raised eyebrows if you called that your song. And I'd feel awkward since P has a mean crush on June Carter. So, when choosing a tune for my P this Valentine's Day, I turn to a favorite Cash album: American IV: The Man Comes Around. He's singing solo on this one, and he does a beautiful cover of the Beatles'  'In My Life.' (are these links legal?) (It's powerful enough to make me consider abandoning my go-to karaoke classic, 'Total Eclipse of the Heart'. Almost.)

P and I are terrible at celebrating holidays that institute forced love (and awfully good at making fun of them), but I'm feeling especially soft for that good egg this year. I think there will be sincere heart-shaped pancakes at breakfast and a little Johnny on the stereo.

"There is no one compares with you."

Photo credit to the amazing dRops. He captured this image on the John Lennon Wall in Prague earlier this fall, and he also sang in public with tone-deaf me. That's mighty good friendship when you're musically talented and willing to harmonize with the musically inept. Thanks, Dave and Tracy!

What lies ahead

A friend shared a blog article today, and it was talking about how situations that drive us to go within---often end up limiting us. I don't think I agree with the article's greater point, but I did think about how the city of Prague---or my ability to survive in the city of Prague given my limitations, fears, and idiosyncrasies---drives me within. I work to limit my interactions with others, and I try to hide from what is uniquely and wonderfully Praha. (all self-imposed, mind you! No fault of Prague's!) But---and this is absolutely not a comparison of cultures or a weigh-in on whether one is better than the other, it's simply the result of my dreadful shortcomings interacting with the aspects of a culture---in Southeast Asia, the cultures I explored and lived in were ones that complemented my weaknesses and pushed me to be braver and to seek out interactions with others. (Again, all self-imposed choices and actions!) I could lose myself outside of myself-----and I really really miss that. I haven't been able to articulate what has been so hard about living here for me, and I think this is the crux. 

I appreciate where I am so much and am so very grateful for these two years. Given the choice, I'd live them over again. And I could return. But for now, in this phase of my life with a toddler in tow and a tentative spirit, I'm very much looking forward to the change that lies ahead.

Speaking of what lies ahead, it's already February!

 

Hallelujahing and Hiding

It's all hallelujahs and hiding spinach around here. Almost 11 months ago, I found myself unable to get out of bed or pick up my baby or hold a cup of coffee. A pesky joint disease altered life for this family. Altered it a lot. It hit when I was finally gaining a little confidence after a bucketload of bewildering newness. We'd kept the baby alive for nearly a year and survived our first months on a new continent. I was back in shape and clocking happy kilometers on long runs, and our first winter in seven years--a long and gray one--was starting to lift. It was a cruel time to find myself abruptly bed-ridden, and I let that disease knock the hope right out of me.

But I've got good peeps and Grace and This Too Shall Pass. And it did. It's not the same body; there are joints that will never quit growling but I can move. Hallelujah, I can move! Today marked a milestone of moving---18 glorious kilometers through Praha with a dear friend. It was hard, but it was beautiful, and I never ever ever thought it possible. I am one grateful girl.

Tomorrow will be Advil and ice and spinach muffins. That's right. I'll take this poor transition from what really is an awfully Big Deal to explain that I obsess over iron intake, and so we've been eating Rebar's Broccoli Soup (take the time to make a pesto to swirl in, toss in some steamed florets and you will never ever ever make any other creamed brocolli soup--or possibly any other soup at all. You'll find the bare bones of it here.), which should really be called spinach soup, and finding other creative uses for the green stuff.

The boys have no idea there is wilted spinach in these delish carrot muffins. 

And tomorrow's fruit smoothies.

Bad photography aside, you have no idea how happy this all makes me. 

I hope I am able to be kind

Since we returned to Prague, Gus and I have been having a hard time speaking each other's love language. He's hid all of my winter accessories. My hands are freezing. He gave me a bloody nose and dropped his oatmeal in my coffee. And then there was Wednesday. When someone you love hands you their own poop, you know your relationship needs some attention.

That night, before he went to bed, we prayed together as a family. Well, I prayed and he poked his father in his closed eye (it really hasn't been easy for any of us). I asked for a little help around here. Help learning to parent with joy.

I've been getting all sorts of appropriate parenting advice and notes and insights from folks, and it's felt sort of bleak to have well-intentioned people say such lovely things like, "Don't you feel like you're just living the best life has to offer?" when I'm scrubbing the toy excavator my son has just filled with his own urine. I've really questioned (and probably will forever) my ability to execute and endure the dirt and grime and nuts and bolts of parenting. 

Thursday Gus and I left early for school. This walk was rich with the giddy anticipation of a breather from one another. And so it was surprising when we found ourselves missing our bus in order to crunch ice. All the puddles from the day before had frozen over, and we are people who do not miss an opportunity to smash things without consequence. So we smashed and hopped and slid and skated and reminded ourselves not to eat dirty ice or to lick the tempting pieces that look like candy. (I thought of you fondly, MS, and all the times we watched the movie Beautiful Girls. I always liked the scene where Natalie Portman is just stomping snow. I share her pleasure in a good snow stomp). While ice chunks flew and Gus learned to land on his knees for a really good ice ride, a neighbor walked by and took in our mayhem. She is not a parent, but she has more parenting mojo than I'll ever muster. I'm bewildered by this girl's kid-magnetism. Kids love her. She loves kids. Oscar is totally smitten. I was pretty sure she walked off making a mental note to investigate Czech child protective services as I yelled things like, "Run over here, this puddle is REALLY slippery!" But I was wrong. Instead she later emailed that she just wanted to share her joy in "witnessing kairos (she and I must read the same blogs)", and how she was so happy to have seen such a beautiful parenting moment.

Argh. What a stinker. I wanted to tell her, "That's parenting? That's the crap Gus and I waste our time doing all day when we should be learning to cut with scissors and sing our ABCs and put on our own coat. That's the stuff that distracts him from eating vegetables and bathing properly. That's the fun stuff I do when I want to avoid what parents should be doing. That is NOT parenting." But, I got it. I get it. Thank-you-very-much pre-eye-poke prayer.

I was pretty happy to pick up Oscar after school and get my buddy back. Affirmed now in our aimless ways, we did all the voices to The Pout Pout fish together when we were supposed to be learning to tie our shoes and may or may not have hung up our jackets. And can you believe it? He even asked to use the potty and not his own hand or the Nepalese carpets. I was shocked.

This is a strange gig, this endeavor growing a human. In an On Being podast from NPR with Sylvia Boorstein, two phrases recently stuck in my head (poorly quoted):

"Your measuring stick that you're thinking clearly is that you are able to be kind."

and

"In this moment, am I able to care?"

I'm looking forward to putting those up on the wall and trying them out on the next day where I find myself gritting my teeth. And while I'm not super keen on the amount of attention fecal matter gets around here, I am pretty keen on living hopefully and on watching someone grow so admirably despite my best efforts at messing up this process. I am grateful for a community of outspoken women who remind me what I am doing and remind me what I should be doing and give me pause. I don't always agree with them, but I am happy to be walking in this path if it is one where Gus and I can take a break from the horror that is learning-to-zip-your-own-coat with an impromptu ice skate.

About twenty blissful seconds before he poured hot chocolate on my shoe.

A door opened this week

Gus and I have been walking Stromovka as often as we can. The ice is creeping across the lake and the ducks are huddling in the corners; frosty mornings are now the norm. We have to savor these mornings of silvered trees because they will soon end. Winter will of course linger until May, but after that it could be quite a stretch of hot, welcome years.

Yesterday, P and I accepted jobs back in Singapore. I haven't found my footing yet as to how to explain this to people. There is no short answer. We like it here. We could love it here. I'd return to Prague. There's of course the hassle of snowsuits and cold hands and lost mittens and gray days. But that's not reason to go. And that's what I try to explain to people---there's not reason to leave except that Singapore offers us something that not many other places can in the toddler years of our lives. It offers us festivals and colors and diversity. It offers us monkeys and jungle walks and 365 days a year where we can go outside (granted, often in suffocating heat). It offers us Cambodia and service and travel to places to see things that Gus isn't old enough yet to complain about. I think I better take advantage of the fact that he's too young to gripe about the tuk-tuks and the holidays to places where all we do is wander and not a tv screen is to be found. And then there are the professional gains. And the hope of medical gains. BUT. There is the loss of Prague, and that is a large loss. We chose Europe not as parents and moved here as new ones. We had no idea how parenting would impact where we wanted to work and live (I know. I know. We're the dumbest people on the planet. Believe me. I KNOW.) When Gus is old enough to let me finish my coffee in a cafe or bike beside me on a river path, I'd really like to return. He and I will rip up the trails and sample every offering in the pastry shops. I can't wait.

In the meantime, we'll savor Stromovka and snowfalls and holiday markets and hot candied almonds. We'll get cocoa at every farmer's market and laugh our way through layering up to head outside. 

------------------------

This month's sketchbook entry had to be hurried-up since G and I are off to visit the beloved grandparents soon and won't be at the drawing table. The theme of this book was "colors" and I was given black. I sketched up some nocturnal animals hidden behind inked doors. Doors seemed appropriate in this season of Advent. Man, I really love things with doors.

November is ending well

We had a lovely post-Thanksgiving weekend. I baked my first turkey, which we enjoyed with the truly wonderful Rops clan. There were Christmas markets and sunny mornings and gluhwein and chocolate bars and singalongs. Everyone was tolerant of both Gus's runny nose and his hollering. It was good.

Perhaps because of the tryptophan, the good company, Starbucks Christmas espresso blend, the German beers, or the new (and simply glorious) pottery Advent wreath P bought me at the Dejvicka market, this morning we entered the week of Decisions with lighter hearts, which I am also enjoying. 

In the afternoon, I made the Colophon Cafe's African peanut soup with our leftover turkey, which turned out to be a splendid move. It was totally unthanksgiving-dinner-like, and it used up a lot of the bird.

And tonight, I'm packaging cards to sell. 

 

Pillarbox

I enjoyed the first day of November with a morning stroll in downtown Prague (alone!), dropping off cards at a new shop in Vinohrady. Pillarbox is not only kind enough to carry my wares, but it is also carrying other fabulous cards, toys, and giftwrap. The owner has created a very expat friendly store with lovely gifts and stationery from the UK and Czech Republic. She's only five minutes from the Muzeum metro stop---pop in!

Happy to have been and happy to be back

We are back from lands of chocolate, cheese, hiking trails, and really great people. A weeklong road trip to Munich and Zurich proved to be exactly what this family needed to gain a little clarity and lose a little Euro (Take note travellers, it's not just Switzerland that requires a toll sticker. The Austrian fine is hefty!).

(fondue--followed by chocolate--with the lovely Rops)

Gus was a champ, sleeping like he'd never slept before and recovering from bronchitis in unfamiliar places. He mooed at Swiss cows and marveled at German forests. Our hosts were all amazing and our weight gains evident. What a great trip.

And now we're back and sorting out some big decisions with lighter hearts and darker German beers. Life is good in Prague. Fall has settled in with freezing temperatures, and homemade soup was on last night's menu. This is a season to savor.

I got a little gutsy and posted some designs to sell, but it's mostly to avoid over or under printing. I'm still not comfortable with seeing doodles in print, but maybe this will all work out. We'll see. In the meantime, I've got a sketchbook project this week and three amazing birthdays to celebrate (Steelie Dan, Bekah, and Annika--Woop woop!). With only six weeks left in the CZ before Oscar and I take full advantage of all the love Grandma and Grampa have to offer, we're living it up!

 

Indian Summer

Despite a forecast of 75 degree weather for Monday, it feels like fall could descend at any time. And once it comes--it's frost and down jackets until April. So, Gus and I are quickly making the most of the farmer's market tomatoes. They are unreal.

(His pants, shirt, and face are filthy...not to mention the lost sock...and yet he couldn't get over the drip on the counter.)

There are cookies baked for a Sunday brunch. We've also got pumpkin roasting and black beans simmering for enchiladas that we'll take to a pumpkin-themed dinner party. It's a busy kitchen today.

September is ending with really enjoyable hustle and bustle: A post-mushroom-hunting feast (thanks, generous K family). A long bike ride with sock-tossing Gus. Impromptu dinners with neighbors. Birthday parties. Dreaming and scheming. And non-stop sunshine. 

Oh---sweet P posted my sketch to the ISP Sketchers website. People are doing good things. So happy to be sharing in that circle of art.

Onwards to October!

Humble Praha pie

We returned this weekend from an adventure in the mountains with Patrick's colleagues.

A good time was had by all.

Shortly after our return, I had a (get ready for hyperbole) bad Billa moment that I blew into a bad Prague moment that I made into a I-don't-want-to-be-here-anymore moment. Most expats I've met have some sort of traumatic grocery store abroad story (P has a fabulous one about cherry juice). While I find grocery stores in foreign countries to be one of the greatest delights while traveling, I find them to be one of the greatest challenges in a place where I'm actually living. When you depend on the items and the aisles and the cashiers on a daily basis, the grocery store becomes a microcosm for all that is unfamilar.

So. Gus and I set out for post-weekend-away-provisions. We started at the Italian bistro and ordered a pizza. No trauma. Then we entered Billa. Billa is always fraught with strangeness: The weighing of the produce, the frenetic pace at while everyone shops, the narrow aisles, the four thousand kinds of sauerkraut. Added to this foreign-to-me mix is Gus's love of bare feet. The dude just wants to see his toes. Last week, in 50 degree weather, he ripped off his shoes and socks in the stroller and gleefully shouted to tongue-clucking passerbys, "Cold toes! Cold toes!" He cannot be coerced into wearing footwear. Unlucky for us, this is a keep-your-coat-and-wool-socks-on kind of town. So of course, in Billa, he liberated his feet and the comments began. I ignored well, only minorly irritated, until one woman became loud and aggressive. She pointed. She smacked my shoulder. She yelled at those around us and rallied what I interpreted as ire. When I finally listened, I found that she was not yelling the word for shoe, but that she was yelling "ucet"---The word for receipt. She wasn't mad. She was worried. And sure enough, she had cause for alarm as a tiny scrap of paper was sticking out of Gus's mouth. He had devoured the entire pizza check and grinned ala Cheshire cat. 

I was humbled, sweaty, and flustered. And as I dodged one of the speedy shoppers through my embarrassment, Gus simutaneously bucked, and a bottle of beer flew out of the basket onto said shopper's feet. Glass and beer covered his pants and shoes (thank goodness he kept his on) and everything else nearby.

The poor ale-soaked man I'd assaulted took a deep breath, raised an angry finger, and let loose. Security rushed over to assist in the shouting. And so, I responded to the hollers of the duo and the stares of the growing crowd in the only language I knew: I sobbed (sheesh). At the sight of tears, all reeled back. I guess folks don't cry in Billa. Their English was far better than my Czech: "No problem. Go home. No problem. Go home." 

I now had the pizza to tackle. This is a rule-following kind of town. I wasn't going to get my pizza without my ucet. I had one saliva soaked scrap that had half the bistro name on it. When I presented the pathetic piece, the waiter's eyeroll was all I needed to start sobbing again. He responded in similar alarm and shooed me out with my pizza box. 

After an evening of self-pity, I woke determined to stop the negative internal rumble (mutter mutter grizzle grizzle swear word swear word). The antidote to not liking Prague is to see Prague, and so we enjoyed a four mile walk to Gus's best pal S's house. Our jaunt took us past the castle and across the Charles Bridge through Old Town. 

It didn't make me click my heels, but it did make me stop the stinking thinking (despite an initial fifteen minutes of ranting about the secondhand smoke, lethal cobblestones, and public urination). And after two cups of coffee, watching sweet S hug little G and the two of them serve each other imaginary tea, my smile was sincere. We have good sights to see and good friends to visit. In shoes or not, we are okay. We are blessed. We have much for which to be thankful.

But, we may avoid Billa.

Transition as pathetic as my self-pity:

I have inked in my sketch for P's faculty Sketchbook project (I don't know if I'm allowed to share the website yet). Every three weeks our books get traded. So exciting. Felt really good to doodle for my own sake. I haven't done that in a long time.