Last Tuesday I was sitting down at the dining room table, trying to start reading the paper for what was probably the eighth time that morning - only to be instantly interrupted by my two-and-a-half-year-old: “Mama, my train! It doesn’t work!” Up I was again, trying once more to attach the engine to the long toy train R. had assembled on the living room floor. Feeling a little exhausted at 8.45am already. Wishing – with a pang of guilt, of course, about what a heartless und ungrateful mother I was - I could catch a train to some office in the city and put together some words for an article instead.
Ok, train is back on track, all aboard, another five minutes for my newspaper if I’m lucky. And there it is: A column in the New York Times’ business section, titled “A Reversal In the Index of Happy”, telling me that women nowadays not only tend to be less happy than men, but also that they are, on average, significantly less happy than they were in 1970! Although – or maybe: because – women in the new millennium do a lot more paid work and less housework than in the nineteen-sixties.
What has happened, apparently, is that men in general cut down on their work, while women still spend about the same amount of time on work but feel they’d need to do a lot more. Or, as the columnist puts it: “Men’s leisure time has grown; so have women’s to-do lists.”
If it is true that women today compare themselves not only to other women and what they have achieved (like they did in the Sixties), but also to men, it seems like we did not exactly chose new priorities, but simply set ourselves a lot more goals. Like a female student said in a conversation with one of the happiness-researchers: Her mother’s goals in life had been to have a beautiful garden, a well-kept house and well-adjusted children who did well in school. “I want all those things, too, but I also want to have a great career and have an impact on the broader world.”
The result is a lot of pressure, and even if a universally accepted definition of happiness is probably hard to establish, too much pressure most certainly is not a good component.
So, are these surveys simply water on the mills of neo-conservatism, indicating that society would be so much better off, and women would be so much happier if the latter concentrated on their traditional role in kitchens and kids’ rooms? Is cutting down on perfectionism a promising way to more happiness? Like the lady whom I met on the train lately told me: “When my children were little, I simply decided that we did not need a spotless house. So I stopped cleaning up after I came home from the office and played with my children instead, telling myself: They will remember the fun and not the mess!”
Should woman endlessly deliberate what might make them happy, until they miss the chance to have children, like it tends to be the case in many European countries? Or should we just fight more vigorously for affordable universal day care plus better treatment by employers for women with small children?
Before we moved to P., I was one of the lucky few, who had that perfect combination of work and children for a short time. I worked part time - three days per week – as a journalist in Berlin for an employer with a lot of understanding for parents’ need of flexibility, while N. was in school and R. was in preschool until 4pm. Also, there was a nanny to bring the boys to school and pick them up on the days I worked. Plus, a husband who, in spite of a full time workload, still loves to spend time with his sons and does so regularly.
Now, as I’m not yet allowed to work in the US, one important component of my life is missing, and sometimes badly. There is less balance in my everyday life; I tend to feel I’m standing on just one leg right now where there used to be two. Maybe there are more unhappy moments now, especially when I nourish feelings of loss and renunciation. But there might also be more moments of intense happiness because I spend more time with my children. Just enough to let me sense that concentrating on one task is not necessarily the worse alternative to multitasking - and getting this feeling that one doesn’t do anything right. Am I all in all less happy now than I used to be in Berlin? I honestly couldn’t say.
Don’t get me wrong: This is no plea for the case of stay-at-home moms. I’d go back to work tomorrow if I could. But instead of nourishing unhappiness at times when one cannot have it all, it might be better trying to make the most of what is the case just then. Like sitting on the sun deck on a beautiful September morning, spending one intense hour with R. building a new, exciting train track. And then writing - maybe not that Pulitzer-Price winning article, but at least this post -, while a perfectly content little guy choo-choos along all by himself. Here we are: One happy little man – and one happy woman. At least for this precious moment.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Back - Home?
The first full year as “Transatlantic Nomads”, as a friend who flies back and forth even more often than we do calls her blog (which is definitely worth checking out if you speak German), has passed. After spending the summer in Germany, we are back in P.. A little exhausted. Somehow more glad to be here again than at least I had expected before. And the resume for this first year clearly is: A life in two countries has to be learned.
It was wonderful to see our families in Germany, of course. Flying in from Newark and to be picked up at Cologne airport by the (grand)parents didn’t even feel much different from driving to their house from Berlin like we used to until we moved to the US; both trips take at least nine hours.
After moving on to Berlin, we enjoyed our little apartment just in the same house we used to live in before. The first two weeks on the well-known turf passed quickly and delightfully: Rediscovering old and dear places, getting back to some nice routines like food shopping on the Kollwitzplatz street market on Saturday mornings.
But pretty soon afterwards, we started to feel awkward. First of all, it is impossible to have a two-and-a-half-months vacation – even for Germans who are spoiled in that sense. It took us a while to figure out why, although looking back, the solution seems self-evident: While the lives of most other people – friends, relatives – hadn’t changed much, and most of the old social infrastructure was still there, OUR lives had changed completely, of course. No work. No office to go to in the morning. No school. All the everyday routines were gone, and we had somehow managed to – at least emotionally – ignore this.
That K.’s laptop with all his work stuff on it broke down for good just three days after we had arrived didn’t help. That our German cell phones had gone out of business because we hadn’t used them for too long was another one of many small nuisances that add up to make one feel uncomfortable and, well, not really at home. On top of everything, most of my elder son N.’s friends went on vacation trips with their parents sooner or later because it was their summer holidays, too. Only R., our two-and-a-half-year-old, could go back to his old preschool for two months and was perfectly happy there.
So, here are the lessons learned: We have to travel more in Germany next summer, to make our regular trips real explorations of our home country. We’ll have to book some sort of summer camp for N. (Although, and this is one of the best things achieved in the summer, we went to a most extraordinary kid’s pool next to the Museumsinsel in Berlin Mitte at every single sunny day, so that N. learned how to swim properly!). And the parents need some sort of working projects, too. In general, a whole lot more planning needs to be done beforehand…
Still, many treasured memories were brought back to P. Getting reassured, for example, how important really close friends are – and continue to be after one leaves. I spent many of this trip’s best days and hours with my girlfriends H. and B. whom I have known and loved for more than thirty years in one case and more than twenty years in the other. And even some of the friendships that had only developed over the last six or seven years in Berlin have stayed close in spite of us moving away. So, apart from not forgetting where one’s roots are and making sure the boys continue speak their first language, there are quite a few good reasons to make the strenuous - and expensive - trip every year.
Maybe even coming back after the summer is one of these journeys' big assets. Some small things that felt SO good. To write an email on the evening before the flight back announcing one’s arrival, and to receive an answer from M. within seconds that one has been missed. Or to be greeted as warmly as by our neighbor D. who came outside to hug us in the midst of all our suitcases – and had filled our fridge with good things to eat. Maybe it IS possible to have two places – and kinds – of home, after all.
It was wonderful to see our families in Germany, of course. Flying in from Newark and to be picked up at Cologne airport by the (grand)parents didn’t even feel much different from driving to their house from Berlin like we used to until we moved to the US; both trips take at least nine hours.
After moving on to Berlin, we enjoyed our little apartment just in the same house we used to live in before. The first two weeks on the well-known turf passed quickly and delightfully: Rediscovering old and dear places, getting back to some nice routines like food shopping on the Kollwitzplatz street market on Saturday mornings.
But pretty soon afterwards, we started to feel awkward. First of all, it is impossible to have a two-and-a-half-months vacation – even for Germans who are spoiled in that sense. It took us a while to figure out why, although looking back, the solution seems self-evident: While the lives of most other people – friends, relatives – hadn’t changed much, and most of the old social infrastructure was still there, OUR lives had changed completely, of course. No work. No office to go to in the morning. No school. All the everyday routines were gone, and we had somehow managed to – at least emotionally – ignore this.
That K.’s laptop with all his work stuff on it broke down for good just three days after we had arrived didn’t help. That our German cell phones had gone out of business because we hadn’t used them for too long was another one of many small nuisances that add up to make one feel uncomfortable and, well, not really at home. On top of everything, most of my elder son N.’s friends went on vacation trips with their parents sooner or later because it was their summer holidays, too. Only R., our two-and-a-half-year-old, could go back to his old preschool for two months and was perfectly happy there.
So, here are the lessons learned: We have to travel more in Germany next summer, to make our regular trips real explorations of our home country. We’ll have to book some sort of summer camp for N. (Although, and this is one of the best things achieved in the summer, we went to a most extraordinary kid’s pool next to the Museumsinsel in Berlin Mitte at every single sunny day, so that N. learned how to swim properly!). And the parents need some sort of working projects, too. In general, a whole lot more planning needs to be done beforehand…
Still, many treasured memories were brought back to P. Getting reassured, for example, how important really close friends are – and continue to be after one leaves. I spent many of this trip’s best days and hours with my girlfriends H. and B. whom I have known and loved for more than thirty years in one case and more than twenty years in the other. And even some of the friendships that had only developed over the last six or seven years in Berlin have stayed close in spite of us moving away. So, apart from not forgetting where one’s roots are and making sure the boys continue speak their first language, there are quite a few good reasons to make the strenuous - and expensive - trip every year.
Maybe even coming back after the summer is one of these journeys' big assets. Some small things that felt SO good. To write an email on the evening before the flight back announcing one’s arrival, and to receive an answer from M. within seconds that one has been missed. Or to be greeted as warmly as by our neighbor D. who came outside to hug us in the midst of all our suitcases – and had filled our fridge with good things to eat. Maybe it IS possible to have two places – and kinds – of home, after all.
Friday, September 21, 2007
blog shmog -- ms.d we miss you!
Opening this blog, almost a year and just four or five posts ago, we said we would share our thoughts and experiences –how we try to adjust and settle in, and tame and navigate a/the new world – small town, big country, some misgivings and a lot of hopes. Essentially, it is meant to be about transitions (in case you have had trouble noticing after reading just a couple of posts:>).
For me personally, a very important part of this transition, was getting to know and making friends with D.
I have always had very few female friends (quality over quantity!) And I haven't really made many new ones – male or female – over the last decade. It takes time and I have been moving far too often. Perhaps, subconsciously, I inoculated myself against getting too close to anyone new. Because as soon as it happened, I (or they) would have to move again.
In this case my inoculation did not work. D has become a close friend and someone very important.
Was it because for a few months we lived within two blocks of each other? Because of our kids? Or because she comes from the Mediterrean and I am a Slav and there is something we share that is different from the Anglo-Saxon sensibility, if you will? Some emotional make-up? Sense of humor?
Or is it because D is an orthodox Jew who treats religion seriously? Neither orthodox, nor a Jew (trying to stay a decent Catholic, which proves complicated at times :>), I have a lot of respect and admiration for people who are as grounded as she is.
Her parenting style? Her always being calm and laid back? (which does not mean she won't yell when one of her three sweet and charming monsters gets out of hand, which, by the way, happens 98% of time; yelling, to be fair, accounts for about 1%; and 43.5% of all statistics are made up on the spot). The fact that she is warm and loving yet also capable of being demanding and able to challenge them and set limits?
Or maybe it was good food and good laugh and good conversation that you could always count on? Or her good-looking and always so-much-fun-to-be- around husband? (Oh Ms. D, I know there are days when you strongly disagree!! And it drives your crazy that everyone marvels at how wonderful your husband is while YOU know much better. I know the feeling!). The warmth and welcome of her home (yes, home, not a house!) whenever you came, whether expected or unannounced?
In some ways, they were my surrogate family. Some substitute for what I left behind when moving away from my hometown -- an extended family, where people always fight and argue and tell awful things straight into your face, but at the same love each other dearly and stay very close.
We never really argued. Not yet (wait until we start talking politics, Israel/Palestine et al. :>! Could that make good blog material?) We did not gossip too much (just very little), we did not talk about old boyfriends, and we did not necessarily share tissues when someone had a bad PMS day (just nappies and wipes when kids run around and into trouble). Under the influence (of D, of course, not alcohol) I tried to take to felting and knitting and it totally did not work. And I was never a good sport for shopping which D LOVES and can't live without.
OK, to the point. I did become quite attached to D.
And guess what?
D, along with her handsome husband and three charming monsters, have just left. RELOCATED! Went home. Except it is not "back home," or not quite. Right or wrong , they believe they would no longer be able to survive (in) Italy after living in the US for ten years. So they are taming Jerusalem right now. A new home?
Talk about big transitions.
Keeping fingers crossed for their hopes and dreams, I am nevertheless (a little) envious of anyone who will have them as friends and neighbors. And (very) sad that they are gone. And curious (big time!) about their new adventure.
To cut the long story short. Ms. D – would you be interested in joining this blog? Maybe it will oblige us here in Princeton to be a little more prolific? And you will feel mobilized (not that there is any pressure!) to drop a few lines once in a while? (Presto! To the whole small world all at once!!).
Well, I hope that you will agree. And the Small World will go global. And more prolific of course!!!
PS1. Global Priority did not prioritize this time, hm? Miraculously, your disorganized friend did retain this receipt, so we can get on their backs and be really annoying! Except, I suspect it might have to do with a small customs issue.... You did not mark the boxes. Not being sure what went into which, I attached the forms pretty much randomly. Do you think anyone might be surprised if they see baby clothing in what is supposed to be a package with "Hanuka decorations"? Perhaps?
PS2 Mr. husband just looked over my shoulder as I was finishing this post and noticed the Anglo-Saxon reference at the beginning. He strongly protests. He does not wish to be categorized as Anglo-Saxon (how does he know I meant it?). He is not, or so he claims, an Anglo-Saxon. I am not sure where he belongs then, but one thing is certain -- I am not admitting him into my Slavic club!!!!
For me personally, a very important part of this transition, was getting to know and making friends with D.
I have always had very few female friends (quality over quantity!) And I haven't really made many new ones – male or female – over the last decade. It takes time and I have been moving far too often. Perhaps, subconsciously, I inoculated myself against getting too close to anyone new. Because as soon as it happened, I (or they) would have to move again.
In this case my inoculation did not work. D has become a close friend and someone very important.
Was it because for a few months we lived within two blocks of each other? Because of our kids? Or because she comes from the Mediterrean and I am a Slav and there is something we share that is different from the Anglo-Saxon sensibility, if you will? Some emotional make-up? Sense of humor?
Or is it because D is an orthodox Jew who treats religion seriously? Neither orthodox, nor a Jew (trying to stay a decent Catholic, which proves complicated at times :>), I have a lot of respect and admiration for people who are as grounded as she is.
Her parenting style? Her always being calm and laid back? (which does not mean she won't yell when one of her three sweet and charming monsters gets out of hand, which, by the way, happens 98% of time; yelling, to be fair, accounts for about 1%; and 43.5% of all statistics are made up on the spot). The fact that she is warm and loving yet also capable of being demanding and able to challenge them and set limits?
Or maybe it was good food and good laugh and good conversation that you could always count on? Or her good-looking and always so-much-fun-to-be- around husband? (Oh Ms. D, I know there are days when you strongly disagree!! And it drives your crazy that everyone marvels at how wonderful your husband is while YOU know much better. I know the feeling!). The warmth and welcome of her home (yes, home, not a house!) whenever you came, whether expected or unannounced?
In some ways, they were my surrogate family. Some substitute for what I left behind when moving away from my hometown -- an extended family, where people always fight and argue and tell awful things straight into your face, but at the same love each other dearly and stay very close.
We never really argued. Not yet (wait until we start talking politics, Israel/Palestine et al. :>! Could that make good blog material?) We did not gossip too much (just very little), we did not talk about old boyfriends, and we did not necessarily share tissues when someone had a bad PMS day (just nappies and wipes when kids run around and into trouble). Under the influence (of D, of course, not alcohol) I tried to take to felting and knitting and it totally did not work. And I was never a good sport for shopping which D LOVES and can't live without.
OK, to the point. I did become quite attached to D.
And guess what?
D, along with her handsome husband and three charming monsters, have just left. RELOCATED! Went home. Except it is not "back home," or not quite. Right or wrong , they believe they would no longer be able to survive (in) Italy after living in the US for ten years. So they are taming Jerusalem right now. A new home?
Talk about big transitions.
Keeping fingers crossed for their hopes and dreams, I am nevertheless (a little) envious of anyone who will have them as friends and neighbors. And (very) sad that they are gone. And curious (big time!) about their new adventure.
To cut the long story short. Ms. D – would you be interested in joining this blog? Maybe it will oblige us here in Princeton to be a little more prolific? And you will feel mobilized (not that there is any pressure!) to drop a few lines once in a while? (Presto! To the whole small world all at once!!).
Well, I hope that you will agree. And the Small World will go global. And more prolific of course!!!
PS1. Global Priority did not prioritize this time, hm? Miraculously, your disorganized friend did retain this receipt, so we can get on their backs and be really annoying! Except, I suspect it might have to do with a small customs issue.... You did not mark the boxes. Not being sure what went into which, I attached the forms pretty much randomly. Do you think anyone might be surprised if they see baby clothing in what is supposed to be a package with "Hanuka decorations"? Perhaps?
PS2 Mr. husband just looked over my shoulder as I was finishing this post and noticed the Anglo-Saxon reference at the beginning. He strongly protests. He does not wish to be categorized as Anglo-Saxon (how does he know I meant it?). He is not, or so he claims, an Anglo-Saxon. I am not sure where he belongs then, but one thing is certain -- I am not admitting him into my Slavic club!!!!
Sunday, September 16, 2007
on knowing how to take a compliment
My husband keeps telling me it's an important skill -- this complement-taking business. Apparently you suck it with your mother's milk if you happen to possess an American passport. Or maybe it comes with your social security number.
Who knows.
In any event, they do not seem to have too many issues in the complement department, here in the Uncle Sam's Land. As opposed to us Europeans, especially the Eastern breed..... We hardly ever know how to send a complement, let alone take it!
I got a pretty useful lesson today.
Sunday. Beautiful September morning-- summer almost gone, but the fall has not quite yet arrived. It feels crispy and the light is beautiful.
D springs up from bed at the crack of a dawn (7 am) and is about to leave to "hit a few (tennis) balls". Unshaved, his curly hair in a little bit of a mess, he puts on my favorite grey sweater and a pair of white shorts. Still half-asleep, I catch a glimpse of him. "Hey Mr. R you look very handsome" I say as he is heading out of the room. "I do not look handsome. I AM handsome" replies Mr. Modest.
Ho ho ho!
For a split of second I entertain the possibility of getting out from under my cozy cover and blowing him a big kick. "What the hell does he think. That he transformed into Sam Sheppard overnight?" But it is too cold. And too early. So I stay in bed and think about this modest exchange for a while.
He was right. He did not look handsome. He FELT handsome. Relaxed and energetic, he looked forward to an hour of good work-out with a good friend. This energy and enthusiams showed on his face, in his voice, in the way he walked around the room. In the way he replied. He WAS handsome - because he felt happy.
You need to feel handsome and happy in order to be able to take a complement. Otherwise it just does not sink in.
And yes, it is true -- somehow, those who grew up in Uncle Sam's country, seem better at enjoying the moment, appreciating life's little pleasures and overlooking life's big annoyances. They know how to take a complement. And they are generous with passing ones to others.
(Overgeneralization? Find another blog if you do not like these!)
I do have some issues in this department. Perhaps some self-esteem workout would be in place?
Perhaps I should get up earlier on Sunday mornings? Maybe it would even make sense to take up tennis? (D recently got me a racket!)
One thing is certain, no one in their right mind is going to complement me for playing tennis any time soon....
Who knows.
In any event, they do not seem to have too many issues in the complement department, here in the Uncle Sam's Land. As opposed to us Europeans, especially the Eastern breed..... We hardly ever know how to send a complement, let alone take it!
I got a pretty useful lesson today.
Sunday. Beautiful September morning-- summer almost gone, but the fall has not quite yet arrived. It feels crispy and the light is beautiful.
D springs up from bed at the crack of a dawn (7 am) and is about to leave to "hit a few (tennis) balls". Unshaved, his curly hair in a little bit of a mess, he puts on my favorite grey sweater and a pair of white shorts. Still half-asleep, I catch a glimpse of him. "Hey Mr. R you look very handsome" I say as he is heading out of the room. "I do not look handsome. I AM handsome" replies Mr. Modest.
Ho ho ho!
For a split of second I entertain the possibility of getting out from under my cozy cover and blowing him a big kick. "What the hell does he think. That he transformed into Sam Sheppard overnight?" But it is too cold. And too early. So I stay in bed and think about this modest exchange for a while.
He was right. He did not look handsome. He FELT handsome. Relaxed and energetic, he looked forward to an hour of good work-out with a good friend. This energy and enthusiams showed on his face, in his voice, in the way he walked around the room. In the way he replied. He WAS handsome - because he felt happy.
You need to feel handsome and happy in order to be able to take a complement. Otherwise it just does not sink in.
And yes, it is true -- somehow, those who grew up in Uncle Sam's country, seem better at enjoying the moment, appreciating life's little pleasures and overlooking life's big annoyances. They know how to take a complement. And they are generous with passing ones to others.
(Overgeneralization? Find another blog if you do not like these!)
I do have some issues in this department. Perhaps some self-esteem workout would be in place?
Perhaps I should get up earlier on Sunday mornings? Maybe it would even make sense to take up tennis? (D recently got me a racket!)
One thing is certain, no one in their right mind is going to complement me for playing tennis any time soon....
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