"...If you’re traveling with a child, place your mask on your face first, then assist your child.”

"...put on your own oxygen mask before attempting to help those around you." If you have ever travelled on an airplane, you have heard those words or other similar emergency instructions. And if you are like me, you have listened to them and known they made sense. And Oprah has had various shows counseling the wisdom of such advice in other situations, the message being "Look after yourself first so that you can be in better shape to take care of others."

But whoever wrote those words obviously was not a mother. Sorry Oprah, I know you mean well, but until you have been a parent, you don't know what you are talking about. Or maybe you do, as I don't know the sacrifices you would be willing to make for your 4-footed babies.

It isn't just the daily interruptions: answering questions while we are on a phone call, missing our favorite TV programs in order to calm last-minute homework meltdowns, interrupting our bath ritual to stop a squabble between siblings, letting our kids have the last cookie or finish the ice cream telling ourselves we don't really need the dessert, forgoing that pair of shoes for ourselves so that we can afford to give our offspring that wardrobe item that would break our budget.

But tell me what mother, what parent for that matter would deny their child blood, bone marrow, kidney, lung liver, skin.... anything that could be given that would help their child in need. The costs in money, health, emotional distress, job security or anything else be damned.

We all do it. We consider it part of the job as a parent. You give yourself to your children and pay no attention to the toll it takes. And even when you do know, when you realize that you are on your last nerve, you are draining your batteries, that what you are doing or what your child is putting you through is raising your blood pressure, aging your body, greying your hair, making you a nervous wreck, driving you crazy...do you stop?

I don't know how you answer that question for yourself. I know that everyone has their own limits. But for me, as long as I hold out hope that whatever I am doing, all that I am going through, all the frustration and stress and worries and tantrums and breakdowns will eventually lead to a better life for my child and a light at the end of the tunnel (even if I can't see it), means that I will sacrifice myself, my health, my sanity, my self esteem, my happiness whatever it takes.

And make no mistake, dealing with a teenager means you sacrifice a lot. Dealing with a troubled teen means the cost can be very dear. Which is to say that my health is suffering. Weight problems, blood pressure issues, fatigue, listlessness, mood swings, low resistance to every germ and virus that comes around, etc. And while I know what causes it, and what I need to do about it, I have not yet gotten to the point where I can "put on my own mask first".

I know I need to. I plan to. One of these days I will. Soon. I promise. But right now I just don't come first. I blame Mother Nature.

Getting back on the horse...

I know. I've been gone. A while. Sorry. It was a lot longer than I expected. But tbh I just have not had the energy to do more than hold my life together with chewing gum and baling wire (at least that's how we fix things in Texas and that's how I feel like I've been surviving so far).

But if a life crisis has drawn me away from blogging, a mini-crisis has drawn me back. You see, I am losing one of my best mates here. And while we have not had the almost daily interaction that we once had as she already left me once to move a 40+ min drive away, I did get to see her on a regular basis and now I face the prospect that this will no longer be the case. And believe me I am kicking myself that I did not make more of the time in the past year to avail myself of her physical presence. Most of you readers know her just from the virtual world. I was blessed to play with her IRL. And believe me, you come away with your face hurting from smiling, your sides hurting from laughing, and your perspective on the world slightly askew just because she has made you see things in a different way.

One of the things she has opened my eyes to since I have known her is just how much my life here as an ex-pat is different from what it would be in the US. Her blog has basically been about her own experiences here and I identified with her a lot and also saw so much more of how I have adapted to my surroundings after 20+ years overseas. Some things are very frustrating and are part of the usual rants that ex-pats share when they get together. Others are very unique and enriching experiences that add so much to our lives.

So while I can in no way follow in the footsteps of my dear Jenn, one of the things she has taught me is that maybe I too have "Something to Say...".

So if you are here my dear readers.... "she's back!!"

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Out of the mouths of babes....

During our recent visit to Texas, my Netherlands-born children made some very astute observations about how different it is to the country they live in.

• DD2 said, "Mom, in Holland they have their flowers in the fields but in Texas they have them on the sides of the road and in the middle." For those of you who have not experienced Texas in the springtime, you don't know what you are missing!

• DD1 observed, "In the Netherlands and Germany you can always tell which buildings are the churches, they are always decorated and built different. But in Texas they all look like the Walmart." While she is not completely correct in her observation, her comment is a lot closer to the truth than I had realized. I didn't point out to her that Walmart is often where families go on Sunday instead of church...

• DD2 asked, "Mom, how come the cows in Texas are only one color?" Tbh, this is something I would have never noticed!

Missing...No Action

Yes, I am still here. Thanks for asking. Hugs and lovely thoughts to all those who have sent messages and prayers my way. I just stalled out and crashed for a bit.

There came a point in the crises where I have had to do everything I could not to lose it. The energy to rant and curse and fight just ran out, the tears dried up, and numbness and shell-shock set in. I've been going through the motions and doing the daily tasks and yet felt there was no real "life" to any of it, although unfortunately, this is my reality.

My friend Jenn's post kind of brought home to me why I have had such trouble talking about this. While in my daily life I can put on a mask and make the small talk and attempt to follow normal social conventions, in this blogsphere I use the anonymity to allow for honest, unvarnished openness. And for a while now the pain of the various struggles has been such that I could hardly bear to look at it myself, much less share it with others.

I am ok. We are ok. But finding the new "normal" is taking some time. I will be sporadic in the posts for a bit. I have lots I want to say and share and happier times to cheer myself and others on with. But the energy levels are still pretty low.

But summer is coming. It seems to take forever in this part of the world. But it is, like healing and acceptance, inevitable.

Warmest heartfelt wishes to you all. Thanks for not forgetting about me!

Where Life's Entropy Has Stalled Me...

...Limbo.

Can't find words for what's going on? Maybe just one will do! Come play along at Jenn's place!

I don't want to talk about it...

As part of the diagnostic process for DD1, we are making the rounds of the various "experts". So far, not counting the school doctor and the family doctor, I have seen 5 different specialists. And we are not through yet. Some of them meet with DD1 by herself, some with DD1 and myself, some with just me or DH, and some with all 3 of us.

And while they all have their own specialization and different items to focus on, and we have now filled out 3 different ratings questionnaires, for the most part they all have the same general kinds of questions. These cover not only DD1's problems, behaviour, childhood, friends, social life, etc., but also babyhood, pregnancy, health and..., and ..., and.... And then of course you get into my biography. And DH's biography. And family medical history.

Invariably, at some point in these conversations, there will be something asked that brings me to tears. It's not that hard these days I admit, with everything we have going on. But still, I wonder if all these folks are putting together a picture of our family that says "Poor kid. Dad is pretty calm but Mom is an emotional wreck. No wonder she is so messed up."

As the "primary caregiver", I am the one who has most of these appointments, even though DD1 has the problem. At least that's what I think. She, of course, has a different point of view and thinks that I am the one with the problem and she should be left alone. The thing is, since I am the one doing most of the talking with these folks, I am starting to doubt my own sanity...

Generally I am pretty talkative. I usually have something to say. (You may have noticed this if I have posted comments on your blog!) But all of a sudden I am all talked out. I feel like I have brought every skeleton in my and my family's closet out in the light. By now these people know most of our deep dark secrets, even ones we had almost forgotten.

And unlike on my blog, there is no anonymity. I sit in front of them and answer their questions and tell the tales of incidents I have tried to erase from memory and put behind me. And now my everyday reality is filled with confronting and thinking about things that I would rather not.

And this is not a healing process. They take their notes, hand me a tissue and go on with their questions. There are no hugs. No kind words of support. No sympathies and similar stories exchanged. No one to tell me it will be alright. So far they have not been judgmental. But of course I look back on my parenting mistakes and my offspring's meltdowns and feel despair and shame and defeat.

Some friends have advised that I get some sort of medical intervention for myself. But I am afraid that if I go down that road before we've gotten the solution for my beloved daughter, then I will be too tempted to not come back to reality. My reality is not pleasant. There are some days when it is hardly bearable. I long for my pillow and covers and an alternate reality.

So if I am only lurking these days, please forgive me. I do read on occasion and cry and laugh and enjoy my blogging world. But if I'm not commenting or blogging then please know, for the momment, I have nothing left give.

I've not talked about it here because right now, I don't want to talk anymore.

The experienced traveller

CableGirl has a great game that lets us all take a ramble down memory lane. And I do have some stories that are not really SOS, but definitely memorable, so I'm playing this week. For a walk in someone else's shoes, check out her blog.

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I had been in Munich (München in German) for over a year, and had not done all the traveling I had originally planned, primarily because I was spending time with my German boyfriend. But there came a holiday weekend in early Spring when he was going off to visit his family and everyone else I knew in town had plans. So I decided to take an overnight train to visit Florence.

Of course my mother would have had a fit at the thought of me traveling by myself to a country where I did not know anyone or speak the language. And friends had warned me of problems on the overnight trains and pickpockets, etc. But of course, I was 29 and invincible. So off I went!

The trip was uneventful, except for being slower than I expected. On the German side it was a high-speed train, but in Italy I think it turned into the milk run. Literally. We stopped at every little station and seemed to load some sort of freight on, but very few people. This went on all night long!

Finally I arrived in Florence or Firenza as it is called in Italian. I booked a hotel room via the tourist bureau at the station. It was within walking distance and set out to wander around and find it, getting a bit lost but seeing wonderful sights at every corner. I got myself checked in and went exploring. Of course I don't do anything unprepared so I had a couple of guide books that I followed and it was glorious. Looking back now, with the perspective of many years of a full schedule and parenthood, I really squandered the leisure time I had!

I walked slowly, lingered over lunch al fresco, got lost and backtracked and had no real destination. I did not try to find the best times to visit the museums as it did not matter that I had to stand in line for hours. And while I did see most of the sights on my list in the 4 days I was there, I ran out of time and did not see everything. But I figured I would come back another time. Little did I know it would be with 2 kids, DH and my Mom and her walker in tow. The two trips cannot be compared!!

Of course I visited the museum where Michaelangelo's David is housed. In those days they did not have to search your bags, and cameras were allowed so you could take your own pictures. I took a lot of photos, but later realized I would have done better to spend my money on the postcards! But at some point I decided I wanted a picture with me in it. So I asked an English-speaking couple and they were happy to oblige. I wanted a picture of myself admiring David. And so I posed in profile, with my chin pointed slightly up in order to lengthen my neck for a more flattering image of myself. I smiled a serene smile and held the pose without realising where my eyeline was directed. Yep, just as the camera clicked, it dawned on my that I appeared to be closely examining David's privates. Needless to say, while this is a very flattering picture of me, it was not one I used on my Christmas cards. In fact, I think there is only one copy in existence!

I had a fantastic time and did not at all regret making this trip on my own. My Italian phrasebook got me through most situations, and I was adopted by a waiter in the restaurant near my hotel where I stopped to dine more than once. He could not believe such a "stunning beauty" was on her own. Of course he flirted outrageously, which I'm convinced is a genetic trait in Italian men. And when I would not go with him he tried to fix me up with his cousin! But he was not offended when I turned down all offers and the third time I was there he took over my ordering and brought me the most wonderful dish that was not on the menu: chicken breast cooked on a bed of asparagus and covered with baked over Parmasean cheese with Tagliatelli noodles. That with a wonderful local Soáve and perfect Italian Spring weather made for a truly memorable meal.

Finally it was time to go home and I headed for the train station with just under an hour's time to spare. The station is smaller than the one in Munich and so I was not surprised when they did not yet have my destination listed on the departure board. I spent some time looking through the gift shops there for any last minute souvenirs I might have missed. Thirty minutes prior, still no train bound for Munich/München. I looked at my return ticket and saw that the track was listed so I headed on over to where it should come in. There was a train there, but it was bound for Monaco. But of course I was an experienced traveler and knew that in Italy, things did not always go according to schedule, so I wasn't worried when at 15 mins. prior to departure, there was still no train to Munich and the train to Monaco was still on the track.

Now I knew that Monaco was in a different direction from Munich, so this could not be my train. I checked the departure board to see if there were any other trains going to Germany, as I knew (again the experienced traveler) that sometimes they listed the end destination for a train that might be stopping at the destination you were traveling to. No trains to anywhere in Germany.

Now I was starting to get concerned. At 5 min. to departure time, I started looking for a conductor. I found one on the platform closing the doors to the Monaco train. I asked him about the train to Munich. Of course he did not speak English or German. He tried to put me on the Monaco train. I showed him my ticket. He nodded insistently as the conductor on the end of the platform was blowing his whistle to indicated the train was about to depart. I took a leap of faith and jumped aboard.

Good thing too. In Florence (Firenza) they call Munich Monaco. To quote Mark Twain, "Those foreigners have a different word for everything!"

What I thought when I read Jenn's Singular Saturday...

...Aww.

Yeah we are silly, but that's what the weekend is for, right? Wanna play too? Check out Jenn's place!