Waiting Room Table: a Still Life. For a society obsessed with privacy, zee Germans have such a weird way of handling medical appointments and prescriptions. One has to announce and describe to the admin behind the front desk, and to everyone else in range, in explicit and repetitive detail, exactly what is happening to your body and why you have arrived to spend time in their office. Such conversation is then repeated to the pharmacist downstairs.
I shall bring earplugs next time. I don’t want to know.
While I was away, Junior and Martin swung by our pediatrician for a check-up. The doctor confirmed that Junior is a healthy, energetic, and active little boy. His hearing is much better, and his responsiveness to sounds and speech is improved, thanks to the procedure last month that removed the blockages in his ears.
I’m having a hard time with this one, ya’ll. More than any other birthday, Miss C turning 16 in a few hours has me walking around with a lump in my throat. Like, real tears in my eyes, and I don’t know why.
I no longer have a crib in my house. It’s been converted into a toddler bed. And don’t think for a second that I‘m the only sentimental sap around here. To honor this important milestone last night, Lola put on the bedsheets Jaz used to sleep on, picked out one of Miss C’s old baby blankets as the cover, and tucked in one of her Care Bears next to Junior’s favorite pajamas, which she laid out so nicely for him.
“Something from all the toddlers who slept here,“ she explained.
And then she crawled up next to him and read his bedtime book right there with him, because, you know, rocking chairs are for babies, and he ain‘t a baby any more.
Jaz graciously suggested I eat the last two scoops of cookies-and-cream ice cream today. Later, as we chatted over our snacks, he mentioned he wants to be a dad when he grows up, and probably have 10 children.
“What if your wife only wants two kids?” I asked.
He goes, ”That works. Just as long as I have kids that I can protect and take care of, and you can be their grandma because you will be a pretty great grandma. You already have the gray hair.”
Out of 500 flashcards, I‘ve narrowed it down to about 100 signs that I think make up a typical toddler‘s vocabulary, plus a few bonus words to help me stitch sentences and sentiments together. Colors. Animals. Emotions. Directions. Food. Interjections. The w-words.
I tried biking with Junior again, taking another route. The problem with living in a valley, though, is that it is ALL uphill if you want to get anywhere.
As I pushed us up a steep incline, a bunch of Germans zipped past me on their bikes, with a few of them actually smoking, and I initially spiraled into a cloud of confused self-pity. How am I STILL so out of shape?!
I got a little misty-eyed when I found these photos on my phone just now.
Lola took this sequence during our little pool party.
From top left, counterclockwise, Junior didn’t realize I was shouting along with him, but then he noticed me, put his hands on my face, I moved them to my throat, he laughed, and then we continued shouting together at the top of our lungs with him keeping his hand on me.
Miss C and I went grocery shopping on base, and without warning, the cute young man bagging our groceries goes, “Miss C? I haven’t seen you in YEARS? How are you?”
It was my daughter’s former classmate from when she went to the American school. I pretended not to listen as they chit-chatted about his upcoming junior year and her new school, and maybe they’ll see each other around?