My beautiful boy, my favorite boy, is turning four! I’m slowly putting my baby years behind me, part of me does this with great joy & happiness, and part of me is feeling a little sad. That baby smell is definitely gone from my house. Stinky feet, piles of dishes and lego’s underfoot are a lot more common now. I have to admit, I really prefer listening to the thoughts and dreams of a 4-year-old than the crying of a baby. There is some good in my babies growing up.
Dane loves to grab his “guys” (usually lego Star Wars guys) and sit behind me, on my office couch, and talk to them, to me, as I work. His imagination is out of this world. He gets exposed to too mature movies thanks to all the older brothers and sister, though perhaps it is that imagination helping out as well. Two nights ago he had a bad dream.
“Remember that dream? And the ship ran over me? And you didn’t save me?” Um. I got in big trouble for not saving him in his dream. Obviously I dream the exact same thing he does. Obviously I failed in duties as the mom. I’ve failed at many things in my mom days, but this is the first time I failed to save a child in a dream. Even after six kids, I’m still finding new ways to disappoint.
Once a week we drive up to post to buy our American groceries. This week it was combined with yearly check-ups, so after 2 hours with the Doc, I felt they all deserved a treat. It was warm, the drive is almost an hour, so popsicles it was. Cole was in charge of handing out. Dane had a fit;
“I don’t want red. I want leeelah!” Huh. Lila. Not purple, lila. He’s definitely speaking way more German since his ear surgery in January. Yesterday we had a big goodbye party at his schule, his kindy, for the principal. After years of teaching and leading, most of the kids in our little town as well as their parents, she was retiring. Most of the festivities included digging in the sand for gold-painted rocks. Two hours of fun. Actually, I prefer Piñatas… but when in Rome…
After prospecting, there were Wurst in Brötchen, hot dogs in buns, German style, and Apfelschorle (sparkling apple juice, very low in sugar and I really don’t like it). Of course, it being Germany, you had to pay for your snacks. For me, it’s just odd going to party, let alone a big one like a retirement fest, and having to pay for drinks and snacks as you celebrate. Again, when in Rome…
One of the things I do love here in Germany is the fresh-baked rolls with the wurst inside, curry ketchup over the top. Granted, you’d think after hundreds of years there would be a roll to fit the wurst, but who am I to question tradition? For that matter, if Dane choses to eat his wurst as he would a burger, who am I to say it’s wrong?
Dane would definitely like me to keep my how-to-eat-a-Wurst-and-Brötchen to myself.