California Dreaming

I grew up in the foothills of Northern California and have always had mixed feelings about the place. It is a small town and I grew up in a small house on 2 acres surrounded by oaks, manzanita, deer and silence. It had a way of making me feel claustrophobic at times.

We lived three miles out of town on a dirt road, surrounded by hundreds of crickets who'd chirp all night long. (I only noticed when city folk would mention how loud they were). We could walk all night if we wanted to, just by the light of a full moon and we spent our summers plunging into the satisfying waters of the Yuba River.

Yet, I often found myself dreaming of the long, flat, wide, straight streets of cities - the seemingly straightforward, uncomplicated, matter-of-fact, predetermined benefits of man-made environments. In my hometown, trees and mountains which at times gave me a sense of protection and warmth, at other times made me feel trapped and isolated. The natural, unkempt surroundings of the forest both filled my heart with delight and caused me frustration.

I am here again in my childhood home with my husband and children. We are visiting my mother and brother who still live here. As with each visit, I sit in the same rooms and walk along the same paths as I did as a child. I notice that the trees have grown and that many things have changed.

Yet, what surprises me the most is not the way things are different from when I was a child. What surprises me is the way in which my own childhood memories are slowly being reshaped through the eyes of my own children. The way I remember my days as a child slowly begins to interweave itself with the daily romps and giggles of my children. It is as if I am seeing my world from a brand new vantage point.

Isn't that me sitting in the sandbox under the swaying oak trees letting sand flow through my outstretched palms? Am I not the one collecting moss and branches to create miniature worlds of my own making?

I sit on the back deck, breathe in the dry, familiar air and watch my children dart back and forth across the front yard. I find myself reliving my past through their laughter and overwhelming joy. Magically I slowly forget those things which aggravated me as a child and instead realize that I am savoring the bits which brought me satisfaction and happiness. I know there are downsides to growing up out here in the countryside, yet I easily push them aside as I witness the utter joy on my children's faces as they dedicate themselves to nothing but pure, unadulterated play from morning until night.

Our world seems so simple here. We step back just far enough to see things with a clarity that I fail to grasp when at home (where we rarely take the breaks we so desperately need to let our soul dangle). At home there is always a long list of "duties" which ultimately encapsulates me even more than the tall oaks and wide mountains ever did (and, ironically, are traps of my own making).

Despite the solid sidewalks and expansive streets of our city, it is out here in the wilds of Northern California that I find myself able to breathe again. It is here that I let down my guard just long enough to realize that I haven't been longing for wide city streets at all. In fact, I have been in awe of how high the trees have grown and how tall the mountains seem to have become ever since we drove down that dirt road of my childhood .

Deutsch, bitte!

"Deutsch, bitte!"
Ahhh, those two magical words which have such power, such influence, such resonance.

As I wrote in my last blog entry, we have been entering a new phase in our household - an English phase. The language of choice for my children when playing has become English, English, English. (Luckily they are still speaking German with us.)

In addition, my sons have been asking why they are expected to always speak German at home with one another when my husband and I don't even do it all the time. Good question, indeed! So, my husband and I, supporting this argument, suggested to our children that we would make an effort to speak German with one another more often if they would do the same. Agreed all around.

This doesn't mean that our children now automatically speak German with one another. That would be too easy! But it does mean that a gentle reminder of "Deutsch, bitte," elicits the friendly reply from our kids (in German) "Oh right, I forgot!" followed by at least 10 minutes of German discussion until it slowly spills into more and more English (followed by another gentle reminder). But hey, that's something!

Who knows what will happen in a month or two months or eighteen years but I do know that this current solution to our "German language problem" has brought me oodles and oodles of delight!
No arguing, no fighting, no cajoling, no begging, no long discussions, no defense, no attacks. Just a simple reminder followed by a simple agreement. Ahhh, it makes one want to sit back with a cup of tea and just feel the joy and happiness.

And, as if all of this weren't already too good to be true, I often hear my kids reminding his or her siblings to speak German! Talk about awesome! What kind of magic has taken over my household?

Ok, ok, before I faint from a euphoric swoon, I do know that this is but a temporary hiatus along our usually bumpy language road. I know this isn't the end of our language journey.

But I figure after all of those pot holes, there are bound to be some smooth patches here and there along the way so I'm going to enjoy it for all it is worth.

Has It Come To This?

Has it come to this? Have my children finally stepped over to the dark side? The one where all I hear is English, English, English all day long?

My children still speak German with me and my husband. I can revel in that joy (thank goodness) but that is about where it ends. Outside of the Mama-Papa sphere, English has taken over my children like an annoying virus.

My oldest insists that knights only speak English and therefore feels it is important to speak English when he is being a knight (which is pretty much 24/7 these days). My husband responds with a clearly worded (German) defense about how the shows my son has watched or books that he has read about knights have been translated from German or French or Spanish (etc.) into English. HAH, isn't my husband a tricky guy? He argues that the true language of knights are not English and therefore my son is not being completely authentic.

Ok, let's stop here to accept the fact that my husband is completely tinkering with the mind of our 6 year old - all in the name of language preservation! What will my son say to himself later down the road when he reads about all of those English-speaking knights in the British Isles? Will he turn to my husband and say, "Papa, I have lost all respect. It is over. I will never trust you again. You lied to me when I was 6 and you will forever have to bear the pain of that lie." Or will he simply throw it into the pile with the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy (we have yet to add her to our repertoire of fantasy figures who will one day be dispelled) once he learns the truth about them?

Aside from the fact that my husband told a blatant lie to my son to encourage him to speak German, it still didn't work. My son doesn't buy into that kind of weak argument. He is 6 years old and wants proof. We do have ONE book in German about knights which could be used as some kind of proof but what's the point, the English books win out 100 to 1 every time.

My husband feels frustrated and deflated. Course, that is what he gets for trying to win a battle of wits with his own 6 year old son!

I, on the other hand, focus on that age-old method of encouragement: when I hear English spoken between the kids, I call out "Hey, what about German?" Or, "Wouldn't it be fun to also play together in German?" But what is the use? To obtain the desired effect, my kids first have to hear me (HAH, like that will ever happen) and then I have to capture their hearts with my loving appeal which is hard to accomplish since they are still in the "what will I get out of it" stage of life.

The truth is, this is where our best laid out plans go their own merry way and we can't really do much about it other than try to steer things in a general direction.

For example, I insist that they speak with me in German by simply not responding when they speak to me in English (which is extremely rare so I can still go about it in a humorous, fun way). And I still continue to speak German with them (although, I do have to admit that I mix in a good amount of English words when I don't know the German equivalent).

I also know that in the end it is about enjoying the ride.

My husband and I are on the next stage of the roller coaster ride... things aren't as bumpy as before but we are still reminded that we haven't made it back to the platform either. We gotta keep our hands on the rail but other than that, wow, isn't this fun!? Wheeee!

Why Should I Speak It If You Don't?

My husband and I often speak English with one another. In fact, we speak English with one another most of the time. It comes naturally since that was the language we spoke when we met 16 years ago on the Emerald Isle of Ireland, in Mary Ryan's Hostel in Galway. Wow, 16 years!!

I didn't speak a word of German at the time and my future husband was in Ireland to speak English - so it all worked out well. Of course, he wasn't looking for a future American wife and I wasn't looking for a future German husband. We were there to meet the Irish! Not other foreigners!

Well, be it as it may, we fell in love and I ended up taking a leave of absence from my studies to spend two years in Germany with my future husband where we finally tied the knot and moved to Seattle, Washington.

While in Germany I spent grueling hours at the Volkshochschule followed by even more grueling hours at the university in Kiel learning German. Textwiedergabe - I remember that word clearly and it can still bring dread up my spine and fear into my heart. The ultimate of torture touted as "learning German." Ugh, I can still remember sitting there with my pencil poised for the moment of truth.

That coupled with trying to pronounce the letters ä, ö and ü while a kind-hearted teacher squishes your mouth into place was enough to make me want to fall to the floor and plead for mercy. "Try saying "eee" while rounding your lips like this," the teacher would say. "Ok, yea, I get it but now how do I remember all of that while trying to use that sound in the middle of a word which is in the middle of a sentence!?" would be my exasperated reply.

In any case, tonight my 6-year-old son heard my husband and I speaking English with one another and promptly said to us (in German), "Why are us kids supposed to speak German together while you two speak English with one another?" My husband and I looked at one another and and said (in German), "You are right! We should be speaking German. Ok, here is the deal, we'll speak German with one another from now on and you'll agree to speak more German with your siblings, ok?" Our son pursed his lips to think about the deal. He clearly smelled something rotten. And then I quickly added, "And you stop calling me Corey and just call me Mama from now on, ok?" Our son started to look at us with clear suspicion while my husband topped it off with, "And you will always call me Papa, ok?"

Well, let's just say that we all eventually shook on it and agreed to the terms. Whether my son has any idea of what he really agreed to will be seen soon enough. I think he would have agreed to anything just to get the heck away from his crazy, begging, pleading parents.

Is this what a bilingual family has come down to? Making language deals over the dinner table? Well, if it works it is worth it right? I guess I had better remember to speak German with my husband from now on! I mean, a deal IS a deal, right?

Stop Calling Me That!

My children have developed a bilingual habit which is starting to drive me crazy!

At the beginning, when my children first started speaking, they called me "Mama." I identified myself to them as Mama and so they followed suit. This all came very naturally and easily and I gave it very little thought.

Me=Mama and their father=Papa.

That was until I started noticing that my children were saying "Corey" much of the time. I noticed it most when they were speaking to one another (vs. speaking to me) and figured it was just a cute way for them to identify me by my given name. Little did I realize that it was going to start driving me crazy with frustration.

It wasn't until recently that I noticed that they were saying Corey when in conversation with one another in English. And that they were even calling out to me saying Corey rather than Mama! For example, if they were playing in the living room in English and wanted to get my attention, they'd call out, "Corey!" And if an English-speaking person was around with whom they were speaking, they would use the name Corey when talking about me to them!

Everyone we know thinks it is absolutely adorable. "How cute that they call you Corey!" they say.

And what about me? What do I think about it? It is making me want to sit those little bilinguals down and give them a long lesson in linguistics.

Instead, I started by asking them (calmly) why they call me Corey instead of Mama. They clearly identified the situation by stating matter-of-factly that when they speak English they say Corey and when they speak German they say Mama. "Mama is German, Corey is English," they tell me full of conviction. As if they were teaching me the translation of my name in each language!

After a while I started bugging them about it. "I wish you'd just call me Mama all of the time. I am still your Mama whether you are speaking English or German." They looked at me with a questionable look and said, "We'll think about it."

Ah, so, is that where things have progressed? They get to decide what they want to call me after a joint bilingual sibling consultation? Am I to have no say in the matter? I'm their Mama for goodness sakes!

As of today, they still call me Corey in English and Mama in German. They have not been convinced by my explanations and pleading in the least.

But little do they know that I have raised the stakes (or lowered my pride) and I now shamelessly complain to them in nothing less than a childish manner. "It makes me so sad when you call me Corey. Don't call me that anymore, ok? Just call me Mama all of the time!" I am delighted to say that I did stop short of bribery: "If you only call me Mama from now on I'll give you some candy!"

In the end, I realize that I have little say in the matter. My 6, 4 and 3 year olds are bilinguals destined to make language choices based on nothing but what makes most sense to them. That is their right to use language as they see fit, isn't it?

I can go blue in the face complaining, begging and insisting but I fear that when push comes to shove, I'll forever be half Mama and half Corey in the eyes of my little bilinguals. I guess there are worse things to worry about! At least they are still speaking German with me.

That's Not My Poop

The other night I was exercising in my husband's office (the home of my beloved elliptical trainer) while my son Patrick was bouncing endlessly below me on a mattress left over from our recent family visits. A box of my husband's Physics papers falls from the mattress to the floor. Oooops! My son looks at it and beelines it for the office door (figuring I'm in my blissful state of elliptical trainer heaven and won't notice).

"Uh, Patrick," I say through exhausted puffs. "Can you please pick up that box of papers and put it back on the mattress."

As a side note, it really makes no sense to put the box back on the mattress where it will simply sit for another period of days or weeks until the next child knocks it over - but it is my husband's office and, well, it is the principle of the thing, right!?

Patrick takes a long look at me. He grimaces. He lets out an audible sigh of disapproval and states in no uncertain tones (and in English no less): "Papa should put that box back, it's full of HIS CRAP."

CRAP?!?! Where the heck did that word come from, I ask myself!

So I give Patrick an eyebrow-raised look and say, "Did you know that crap actually means poop?"
"WHAT!?" he yells out. "Ewwww. It does not mean that!"
"Oh yes it does, it certainly does," I give a satisfied smile.
Then he takes off down the hall yelling, "Yeuck, yeuck."

I retell my husband the story and he lets out a hearty chuckle. We discuss the situation and agree that Patrick most certainly learned the word in daycare. He learns all of his English in daycare we agree. Then my husband puts the box back on the mattress.

Yesterday, while in a meeting at work with my QA group, I retell the story of what Patrick said. I include the part about how I told Patrick that crap means poop and what his reaction was. We all laugh - ah children, they are so darn funny!

I also explain that I have no idea where he learned the word crap! "It is an English word and he said it in an English sentence so he must have picked it up at daycare." We all nod and agree that daycare is to blame for our children's rampant profanity absorption (albeit, crap isn't really a profane word but what the heck, nice to have someone to blame).

Half way through the meeting we are talking about our office's internal wiki where we post all of our activities. We discuss how at times we get a little overboard with our pages. We post so much information that the pages become cumbersome and useless. I find myself saying, "Yes, we just don't realize it and start putting all kinds of crap on our pages."

Knowing smiles start to spread across the faces of my coworkers. Oh my gosh, I said it! I said crap, it is ME who is teaching my son to say such words!! As this realization starts to hit me and I start to laugh, one of my witty coworkers says: "So, I guess what you are saying is that we should be careful not to put so much poop onto our wiki pages?"

Oh poop, they got me! :-)

Library Junkie

I'm a full-on, complete, no-holds-barred library junkie! Just the smell of the place makes me swoon!

We have a shelf full of library books at home. Most are about homeschooling, a bunch are ones the kids picked out, some are learning to read books (in English, of course) and a few are novels that I've wanted to read. Then we have the whole row of DVDs: the entire first and second seasons of Grey's Anatomy and Desperate Housewives, countless kids educational DVDs (and a few oddities like Rubadubbers' "High Noon in the Bathroom" where animated bath toys have a show-down - very educational indeed), a few political DVDs which my husband picked up and finally French and Spanish movies with subtitles - my favorites!

I think we have over 80 items checked out right now and another 50 on hold.

Today I went into the library to pick up two more books and I felt a little giddy the whole time - like when I was a kid and my birthday or Christmas had arrived and there were gifts with my name on them.

We have so many libraries in Seattle that we can choose the books we want online, then ask that they be delivered to the library closest to us. Fabulous! Who needs Amazon when we can order free books from the library, have them delivered and just pick them up on the way to get the kids from daycare.

Hallelujah - I love the library!

Oh - and my kids do too. :-)

Home Depot with Kids

Last night we went to Home Depot. The kids were dressed in their pajamas before we left – preparation for the drive back when I was hoping they’d fall asleep.

We arrived just before closing, at around 8:45 pm, and rushed around chatting in German about which flowers would do best in full sunlight. We headed into the store to pay, the 2-year old in the shopping cart seat and the two boys standing on each side for the ride.

When we reached the check out area, there were only two options, neither of which were optimal (at least as far as I was concerned):

(1) Self Checkout (with which I never have any luck because I always do something wrong, like move the items slightly and the whole system seems to go berserk - I usually end up having to call the clerk and feel humiliated),
(2) a long line at the other end of the store where everyone had a ton of items, each of which were big, bulky and of varied shapes and sizes.

We opted for the Self Checkout.

At first it all went ok... I scanned each flower, it beeped, registered the price, I placed each flower in the little plastic bag. Yes! I was in synch with the system. The system and I were one.

After around flower three, things started going bad. The system blurted out something about having too many items on the scale. Arghhh. I looked down and younger son was sitting on the scale! In German I said, "Ok, Christoph, get off the scale." He jumped down with an impatient glare.

I took a quick, sideways glance to my right and saw the slowly forming line of waiting customers. I felt my face becoming a bit flushed. "Focus, stay focused!" I told myself silently.

I scanned the next few flowers, and then again, a complaint from the machine. "For god's sake, why did we get so many flowers?" I complain under my breath! I looked over at the scale again, and oldest son was leaning on the scale. Pointing to the scale, I said in German, "Patrick, look, don't go anywhere near this thing here, ok? Just stand over there."

Unfortunately, "over there" was next to the ingeniously placed "wall-o-candy," a child’s paradise indeed!

A new round of frustration began, a full-force chattering away in German. "Mama, can we have these M&M's? Just one! We'll share them." I looked over at the enormous bag of candy and to save some immediate whining, I said, "Um, we'll see, let me finish here first."

To my right, the line of customers was getting longer. In the expanse of faces, none gave the impression of taking pity on me. They looked tired, impatient and saw me and my brood as making their life less than satisfactory. And to top it off, they probably couldn’t understand a word we were saying since it was all in German.

I started to scan the next flower and suddenly the Self Checkout man was standing at my cart. "Oh no, I thought, he is going to tell me to get my act together and hurry it up!" But instead he pointed out that youngest daughter was trying to stand up in her seat in the shopping cart and that I should have known to strap her in with the belt provided on the cart. "Oh right, I said." I strap her in. Bad-mother-humiliation moment, one million and one.

I look to my left and see that the boys are happily discussing in detail which candy they are going to get. Uh oh.

A few more flowers scanned, wonderful! But I notice that the little shopping bag is full. What should I do? Should I move the bag to the side and open a new one, or will the machine go crazy? Am I allowed to put the next flowers anywhere or will the machine complain? Oh gosh, I'm not sure what to do. “Think quickly, think quickly,” I tell myself.

I feel wild and crazy, so I put the flowers on the scale but OUTSIDE the bag. Whew, the system registers that the flowers have been placed on the scale. Ok, we are on our way!

Just as I'm finishing, young daughter notices that the boys are at the "wall-o-candy" and that she is missing out on a potential candy purchase. She starts complaining - loudly. The boys notice her and simply start bringing her candy, asking in German which she'd like to have. "Do you want this candy, Marie?" Patrick shows her a Starburst. "Or do you want this one, Marie?" Christoph shows her some kind of pink bubble gum. “Just one, Marie. You have to decide on one,” they tell her.

I take no notice. I can’t think about the coming raised voices of indignation when I tell them that we aren’t going to get any candy. I need to stay focused. All I need to do is to slide my credit card through the machine and sign the tablet.

It seems to take forever but with a sigh of relief, the transaction is completed. The machine and I are no longer dependent upon one another. I pack the remaining flowers into bags, tell the kids that we are leaving and quickly start pushing the cart in the direction of the big EXIT sign. I don’t look at the frustrated line of customers; I don’t stop to discuss the “wall-o-candy” options with the kids. I just start walking and make sure the boys are following.

"But Mama, we wanted candy!" Wails older son.
"Yea, you promised!" Adds younger son.
"Candy, candy, candy!" Yells youngest daughter.
Me: "Let's discuss it in the car, kids."

A heated discussion ensues but soon all kids are in their car seats, the car is in motion and once on the highway, the lull of the movement puts youngest to sleep and the boys glare at the back of my head the whole way home, albeit in a semi state of exhaustion since it is way past their bedtime.

"Tomorrow we can plant the flowers in the pots at the front of the house!" I remind them. "Just think about how much fun that will be."

Silence.

Once we are a few miles from Home Depot, I laugh to myself at the spectacle we must have been: A tired mom, three pajama-dressed children chatting away in German, an obsessive focus on the "wall-o-candy," a cart full of flowers, kids sitting and leaning on the scale and a line of angry customers tapping their feet and sighing under their breath. Just one crazy German-speaking family. Yep, we certainly have a way of unwittingly causing an odd disruption.

Then it dawns on me… if I thought purchasing the flowers with three kids was a challenge, planting the flowers will be even more fun: three kids, a bag of potting soil and one trowel. Oh yea, the planting is going to be nothing but fun, fun, fun! At least we won’t have to do it with a bunch of impatient, English-speaking onlookers.