Reached home

Almost a year has passed by since I returned home last November. Writing a blog with the title "homecoming-stories" therefore seems somewhat out of place. In many ways, I have reached home over the past nine months. I have learned how to appreciate the little things, the great landscape, the opportunities, and more than everything else the people who live around and with me here in Suedtirol. There are still many things I miss, but by now I have also come to realize that there will be things to miss, regardless where I live. Same as there are always things to enjoy, regardless of where one lives. With Mia, I can further be sure that life will always bring new, beautiful surprises - whether I continue living here in Italy, or whether I will move out again into the world.

So, what remains to be (publicly) said is that I will not continue writing this blog, but that you are more than welcome to follow up on Mia's and my life on our new blog at www.trekkingbaby.blogspot.com. For the first time, I feel that at I am congesting the web with something useful. At least for those of you who like hiking (or looking at trekkingpicturs) and/or would like to know more about hiking with children. And of course it's the new blog is also meant to make my friends want to come and visit me in Suedtirol ;)

Turning

Wow - Mia just turned herself from the back to the belly! At three months... I wonder what's next... crawling at four months? Walking at eight months? I have to admit that she actually is already quite strong - strong enough to make each diaper change a little struggle ;)

Knödeltime

Somehow I get the impression that she would prefer a Knödel over my milk.

Mia at three months

Three months later

The picture below has been taken on the 7th of May, the day before Mia was born. When posing for this picture, I had just completed a four hour trek with my mom. Thinking back, I am kind of tempted to believe that Mia was born BECAUSE of this trekking. Poor little worm had probably enough of being shaked around in my belly over "Stock und Stein". Today, we went on the same trek again (the picture below has been taken on more or less the same spot). At least this time Mia had a chance to see a bit of the landscape and participate more actively (and loudly) in the daytrip.

Summit

Pictures from Mia's first summit, the Königangerspitze @ 2400 m (with a bit of cheating, since she obviously didn't reach the peak by foot but rather was carried like a babykangoroo).

Kings of the road

One might think that pushing a stroller ahead of you would trigger polite manners by other traffic participants (in particular drivers of cars and bicycles). Not so in Suedtirol. Here, if you walk with a stroller, you better get yourself a second pair of eyes that help you cover a 360° radius, to make sure you don't oversee the kings of the roads with their bully jeeps or their 5000 Euro bikes.
Just today, I was already in the midst of a pedestrian crossing, a biker (who approached me and the stroller on his 5000 Euro bike) shouted at me - while almost driving into Mia's stroller with 50 kmh - to open my eyes before crossing the street (note: on a pedestrian crossing) . How comes these idiots on bikes think that they are exempted from traffic rules, just because they have fancy outfits and expensive bikes and well trained bodies? After all, I was already on the pedestrian crossing while he was still 200 meters away. Before I was able to tell him that it would be him to pay in case of an accident, because he 1) drove to fast 2) did ignore the pedestrian crossing - he was already around the corner.
But worst then the bikers are the owners of jeeps, and here again in particular female owners. I remember a middle aged women who recently parked her disgustingly big jeep in the midst of a pedestrian strip. I with my stroller had to walk on the street in order to pass her jeep. When I noticed her that the pedestrian strip was for pedestrians, she only shrug her shoulders and continued devoting her whole attention to her unnaturally full lips. Bitch. Besides the fact that I think its ridiculous to drive a jeep in a town where you can count the potholes on one hand, they should at least respect traffic rules. But after three months of stroller pushing, I have learned that it's size and speed that matter in Suedtirol. No wonder Italy has one of the lowest birthrates around the world.

Life outside Hollywood

Though still waiting for the happy end, I should add that there is more to tell about life with a child (and life in general) than what shallow hollywood movies are able to tell us. Luckily. How awful would it be if one would have to constantly worry about too many, too few, or simply the wrong men, deal with mothers and mothers in law, live in messed up appartments, and on top of everything also try to be funny while dealing with all this?

One thing that's beautiful about having a child is that suddenly, there are so many things out there to be (re)discovered. How should I put it? It's different to do stuff with a child, even if it is about something which one has done a hundred and more times before. Simply things. For instance spending a day on lake Garda, or going for a trek, or going for a swim, walking through the town in the evening, or travelling by plane, seeing relatives or friends. All these apparently well known things suddenly feel new, as if I would do them for the first time. Sometimes it doesn'teven require one to do things; it's enough to follow the eyes of Mia, try to look at things she is staring at, and suddenly there are new things in the room, in the street, in the car, whereverI am with her. Things I never noticed before - even so they were always there - because I just didn't pay any notice to them. Little things. Which are out there and all around to be discovered. First time trekking with Mia

First time lake Garda with Mia

Hollywood

Somehow I just can't keep myself from drawing analogies between my life and a shallow hollywood comedy:

One baby - Mia
Three men - Mia's dad, someone I love, someone I can't forget about
A flat in dire need of a cleanup
A facial skin that could put up with some scrubbing as well
A mom who believes that grandmothers have a bigger say in the upbringing of grandchildren than the granchilds' mom has
A mother in law that is not quite a mother in law but would still be happy to babysit whereever I decide to work and live
A dog who loves sunbathing on his back in the garden at 30 something degree
A bunch of lovely-crazy self declared aunties of Mia, around the world
And a group of other moms for the occasional gossip-coffee meet ups in town

I'm confident the happy-end is just hiding around the corner.

Früh übt sich

Pictures taken during a recent - improvvised - martial arts training session.

She's a real little fighter...

Thinking - screaming

At least she knows what she wants.

Sweet life, where are you??

It all started off so quiet, but I guess babies just can't continue sleeping away day and night. As I discovered over the past nine weeks, babies grow at an enormous speed, and with their body size, their voice gains power. And they discover that there are more interesting things to be done than sleeping (the day when she will appreciate a afternoon power nap will come again one day). Mia does keep me quite busy these days, both with smiles and with cries. When she smiles, she smiles all over her face, when she cries, she cries with her entire body. Though I prefer the smiles, I do have to smile over her cries, too. One wonders: what is it that makes such a tiny being turn from total joy into complete weltschmerz? What does she think when she's throwing her hands against her head while screaming the lungs out of her body? And what does she think when she's smiling away at the little pandabear which my mom bought in the souvenier shop of the Vienna zoo? But to be honest, there isn't actually much time left to read her body language. Between feeding, nappy changes, comforting her, pushing the stroller, a bit of homework, garden work, walking Argo, grocery shopping, meeting other moms, and the occasional glass of wine in the evening, it's only thanks to a bit of multitasking that I still manage to read a newspaper or write an email. Sweet life, seems gone. And yet, happiness is all around.

Just happy

Can't really say why or about what, but woke up this morning with a feeling of just being happy and content about how things are. Looking at Mia, as she is smiling away in her cradle next to me, she must have the same feeling, maybe even knowing less why so than I.

Seven weeks

Realizing that all latest entries talked about Mia, I promised myself that the next entry would hve to be about something else. After all, I assume that not all readers of this blog dream about being parents (anytime in the near future). Who knows, maybe it's already too late and I have lost those readers already with my onesided updates of Mia ;)

But given that Mia is turning seven weeks today, I take it as impulse to write yet again about my life with her ... to start with, I should say that it still feels new, different, unknown. And at the same time my former life without child seems as far away as my kindergarten years. Ok, there are few more memories than kindergarten swirling around in my mind. But what I would like to say is that Mia is taking up quite a bit of my mind. In fact, it has been interesting to observe, how slowly, without consciously noticing it, Mia became the most important thing in my life. Before delivery, I kept on telling myself, that there are other things that will remain the same important, like work, or finding a partner one day. Having been with Mia for seven weeks, I have to admit that work, though still important, and partner, though as a project not erased completely, have turned second and third on the importancy list. And that Mia is on top of it. That she co-determines the thoughts about work and partner. Few days ago I got to know about a position in Myanmar. My first thought was "common, apply!", and my second, more intense thoughts were "will there be a nanny? will I be able to leave Mia with somebody else for few days when I have to travel to the field? will Mia understand if she is with somebody else for few days? is hopping from one country to the other the right lifestyle for a child?" I also started thinking about my own childhood, how much I enjoyed sitting on "my" apple tree after school and observing the world like a bird. Or going on walks through the forest; constructing tiny houses with twigs and leaves; being dragged up mountains - and despite the initial protest always feeling a flash of happiness when I reached the peak; jumping over the fence to play with the kids of the neighborhood. Surely, childhood in the place where I grew up wasn't just idyllic; I often read books from faraway places and wished to be there - in these unknown countries. And now I am here, with a child on my own, wondering what's best for her. An unspectacularly, but steady childhood in Italy, or a probably more spectacular, unsteady childhood in unknown countries? And what's best for me? Would I be able to take back on my own goals, for the sake of Mia? Would I be happy living the rest of my life here? Not that I give the rest of my life (beyond the next two three years) much thought. But sometimes, at night, when Mia is giggling, drinking (milk, just for clarity) or screaming away instead of sleeping away, these thoughts come to the surface. Same as the thought about partner. I don't mind being a single mom for the time being; chances are high that I will remain single for the rest of my life if I continue living in Suedtirol. Knowing that children come through us, but don't belong to us (did I mention that before? The title of a poem by Khalil Gibran, which I once wrote my mom on a birthday card ...), a partner would probably be a project worth it.

I am sure the reader of this entry (if anybody at all reached up to here in this entry) wonders if life with Mia is just about thinking. No, it isn't. Thinking has actually only taken up few hours in the past seven weeks. The rest was changing nappies, feeding, taking Mia for walks, trying to keep up household chores, going on walks with Argo, reading, meeting other moms for coffee in the morning, rearranging my flat to make it a bit more childfriendly, and lots of moments just looking at Mia, talking to her, making her smile, wondering if these enchanted moments will ever leave my memory again. There were also few downsides. Like overdimensional breasts (can't udnerstand why anybody would want to pump silicon into her breasts!), double as much laundry, 99% evenings at home, not being able to go trekking, ... luckily, the sunny sights have way outweight the down sides so far!

Ok, I should probably come to an end now. I am actually about to go on a first weekend trip with Mia today in the afternoon until Tuesday. So most likely, the next post will again be about Mia - in Paris :)

Besides smiles, she's able to produce a gazillion of different facial expressions. It's just amazing watching her.

A smile

Is there anything more beautiful than a children's smile? Mia discovered that she is able to smile few days ago, and she's so happy about this discovery that she just can't stop it once she starts to smile!

Sunday afternoon - Mia @ 5 weeks

Little more than five weeks have passed since Mia's birth. With each more day to pass, we seem to get more accustomed to each other. For instance: she let's me have my breakfast and newspaper read in the morning, while I take her on fun trips such as to the nearby lake in the afternoon. Just one of our little and silent compromises which make our joint life even more enjoyable :)

Second best option

We are not together, yet good friends - the second best option after a happy relationship, and way better (in my eyes) than a forced relationship "for the sake of the child". Personally, I believe it's easier for a child to handle parents who are just friends than parents who stay together without really wanting to be a couple, usually breaking up after having it tried for a few years. Call me a coward or a lazy girl for not giving the relationship a second chance, but to be frank, I wouldn't want to risk the friendship over it.

And all those who have made comments over the past few months such as "a child needs a father" I can only reply once again: Mia has a father who - I am sure - will be an excellent dad, even though he might not always be living in the same place. And to all those who think being a single parent is tough: so far, I can't complain :) Living with Mia has so far been just as easy as carrying her in my belly ...

Three weeks of Motherhood

For three weeks and one day I have enjoyed motherhood now already. The change from being a single with a growing belly to being a mom with a amazing baby is also the main reason why I have admittingly slacked off on updating this blog. To be fair to myself, I have tried to update the blog twice: upon completing the first week of motherhood, and upon completing the second week of motherhood. Unfortunately, I have never gone farther than writing down the headings "one week of motherhood" and "two weeks of motherhood". Assuming that all of you know the basics of mathematic, I have decided not to post these heading-only updates to remind you of how long I have been living with Mia.

So now it's three weeks, and I am finally on the right track to go beyond the title of a new posting.
But not knowing how long Mia will continue to curl herself peacefully into her dads arms (who has come all the way from Afghanistan to do exactly that: let Mia curl herself into his arms), I will keep this post rather short and give you a brief balance of the past three weeks...

• average night/day hours Mia sleeps: 18
• average night/day hours I sleep: 5
• average number of hours I spend breastfeeding Mia: 5
• amount of weight Mia has already gained: 800 gram
• amount of kg I have lost since the delivery: 10
• Mias average daily diaper consumption: 8
• number of smiles Mia has given me so far: 3
• number of smiles I have given Mia: uncountable
• number of books I have managed to read since Mia's birth: 2
• number of facial expressions Mia is alraedy able to make: uncountable. She basically presents a different expression every time I am looking at her
• number of times I have taken Mia on a walk (or rather push as Mia is obviously still enjoying such trips while lying horizontally in a babystroller) through the forest: 3
• number of times my mum passes by my flat each day to "have a look at Mia": I stopped counting.

To be continued... more insights on how it is to suddenly have a baby to take care off will follow...

Mia

Following the longest nine months in my entire life, Mia Nourida was born (naturally) last Friday, 8th May. While the delivery was way more painful than I had expected it to be, my life with Mia has been way more easy than I anticipated it to be, at least up to now: in essence, she is sleeping (three hours at a time), followed by a short cry, then she gets her diapers changed, fed, hold for a few minutes, before she falls asleep again :)

Nachtbuch

Wenn man Nacht für Nacht von jemandem wachgehalten wird, scheint irgendwann die Idee eines Nachtbuchs, anstelle eines Tagebuchs, irgendwie naheliegend. Während bis vor wenigen Wochen noch der Großteil der Nacht dem Schlafen und Träumen gewidmet war, unterbrochen lediglich von gelegentlichen Ausflügen auf die Toilette, sind mittlerweile die Ausflüge zu der Toilette zum festen Bestandteil geworden, und die Zeiten während der Ausflüge zu schlaflosem Wachliegen. Was eben zu der Idee verführt, das Nachtbuch, dessen erste Seite bereits in mehrfacher Ausführung in meinem Kopf existiert, niederzuschreiben. So ganz klassisch, mit Kugelschreiber, auf echtem Papier. Um die wachen Stunden während der Nacht eben nicht mit Gedanken- und Bauchwälzen zu verbringen, sondern sie dazu zu nutzen, etwas Bleibendes zu schaffen. Leider wurde meinem Vorhaben, hundertfach durchdacht, ein jähes Ende gesetzt; denn anscheinend, laut morgendlicher Zeitungslektüre, liegt das Buch und das nicht digital Erhältliche ohnehin schon mit einem Fuss im Grabe. Und digital ist eh schon mein Blog. Also, kein Nachtbuch, dafür ein Nightblog? Zeit, Namen des Blogs zu ändern? Irgendwie bin ich ja eh schon längst heimgekommen - angekommen.

Gelassenheit - das dazupassende Bild

Gelassenheit

Es ist das Lassen das zur Gelassenheit führt.

Wiedermal was nützliches, das ich von Ö1 heute morgen erfahren habe, über einer Tasse Kaffee, einer Zeitung in der Hand, die Reste von Marmeladebrot im Mund, den Blick hin und wieder nach draussen schweifend wo erste Sonnenstrahlen die Grüntöne der Berghänge aufleuchten lassen. Bei soviel Weisheit schmeckt das Frühstück gleich noch mal so gut.

Double standard

It seems that my parents are applying quite a few double standards when it comes to what their pregnant daughter should and should not do: A four hour trek two weeks before the delivery date is a definite should, while going out in the evening to catch up with people, take a sip of wine and a glass of mineral water is a shouldn't. Walking my dog through the forest is a should, while walking doing some shopping in the afternoon is a shouldn't. Cleaning my flat appears to be a should as well, but sitting a couple of hours in front of my computer is a shouldn't. Watching movies that have some bloody scenes in them are a defenite shouldn't. So far, we reached consensus on the should part; the shouldn't part could do with some few more solid arguments from my parents side...

Despite the should and shouldn't, as well as the rain, we all enjoyed the trek - including Argo

The obligatory cup of coffee after lunch - a "must" all members of the family do agree on - regardless of altutide, weather and level of exhaustion.

Willpower

When I saw these two blades of grass, growing straight through a fallen down leave, I couldn't do else than to think about my baby; that I would like her to be the same upward looking, straight forward, and creative in finding solutions to whichever challanges she might encounter. I tried not to see the "with the head through the wall" analogy in this little scene along the wayside, which would fit rather well to my own personality.

Moving in

About two months ago, I moved into my own flat which I had previously rehabilitated. Until recently, I have managed to somewhat get furniture arranged in a way that the flat appears both cosy and convenient. This harmony was completely storted when I yesterday moved in the last remaining piece of furniture: my contrabass. I call it furniture on purpose, as I haven't played it in about five years. And yet, all those who have ever read "the contrabass", a monologue written by Patrick Suesskind, will know how dominant this vocal piece of wood can be. It's not like a flute which you can simply store away and forget about. Or a normal violine which you can pass on to your cousin, so that other parental ears somewhere far away get tortured instead of your own ears. Or a guitar, which - once learned how to play few accords - will make you the star of the evening for at least the length of one song, no matter how bad you actually play it. No, a contrabass remains part of your life, once you have decided to get one. I am still hesitant to blame it for failed relationships, as Suesskind does in his book, but my contrabass has certainly caused me troubles, too, especially in moments of moving from one flat to another, or worse, from one city to another. I remember people asking me all kind of funny questions whenever I travelled with my contrabass, well protected in a coffin sized black cover. There were times I considered leaving it behind - and yet, something inside my heart and mind has just never managed to actually accomplish the abandonment of my bass.
Since yesterday we are reunited. While Mia has already enjoyed listening to its out -of-tune sound, my own mind once again is disrupted over the question: where to place this overdimensional instrument? First I dropped it in the room which I currently use as a storage - but later on felt ashamed to leave something that was part of my life for many years laying next to lumber. In a sudden trace of enthusiasm, I moved it out of the storage room today; and an odysse through my (little) flat started. Several places in the living room were tried out, each time resulting in the Diderot effect, meaning I would have to move everything else + get some new furniture in order to have the bass fit in. Considering my empty wallet, I moved on to the kitchen - but obviously, a contrabass just doesn't belong to a kitchen, after all, it's a music instrument and not a cooking utensil. Before considering the last option, to simply get rid of it again, I decided to place it in my sleeping room, squeezed between cupboard and diaper changing table. So Mia can look at it while getting her nappies changed, allowing me to join the club of crazy mothers who believe that playing a Bach suite is more important than learning how to walk around on two feet ;)

Outside view on how best to spend the last weeks before delivery

"The next couple of weeks are a waiting game. Use this time to prepare your baby's nursery or to take care of tasks you may not get around to for a while after your baby's born. Take naps and catch up on your reading while you can. "

Seems I wasn't so wrong (and unique) with my own analysis of the remaining weeks before delivery. The paragraph above just came in this morning as part of an online weekly pregancy update. In a more detailed column, the online update further advices:

"Treat yourself. Use these last weeks (days?) before your baby arrives to do some things for yourself: • Get a pedicure. It's too hard to cut your own toenails now anyway. • Read a novel or go to the movies — these are two things you won't have time for after your baby's born. • Go out for a leisurely dinner with your honey. Chances are you'll be eating take-out and quick home-cooked meals for a while after your baby's born."

I don't think that I will take up on the first advice - the pedicure; the last 28 years I have done well without pedicure, and my belly's small size still allows me to reach my toes. Besides, I do think a bit of callus can't hurt if one likes walking barefoot in the garden. Being a single, the third advice seems a bit redundant, too. Remains just the second one: Movies and novels. Truely, I can't remember a moment in my life when I have read newspapers and books in such an amount as I have done over the past few weeks. And movies: I defenitely have supported the nearby cinema with regular visits. But whoever wrote this advice, seems not to have had 5 extra kgs lying on certain central organs like the stomach and guts when watching one of these never ending hollywood movies like "The Reader". There was more than one moment while watching that movie in which I considered walking out of the theatre, allowing my stomach to get relieved from the babies kicks and weight. If I where to add an advice to my online update: look out for shortfilm festivals! And an advice for non pregnant - yet cinema loving fellows: don't think you have to see the reader just because everybody else is watching it. Might be that I am not enough sentimental to enjoy these types of films, but thinking back of the movie, I would know better ways to spend few Euros.

Limbo

What a weird time; one more month to myself, and yet I feel like being stuck in a complete limbo. As much as my rationality tells me to enjoy life in singularity before it will forever turn into some kind of parental life, I seem to be unable to do anything else than waiting for the day when I will finally be walking around without belly, a child in my arm instead. Tragically (or normal??), as much as my old life is melting away between my hands, the void it currently leaves behind isn't filled by joyful expectation yet. Despite all the kicks that make my belly look like a football which is kicked from the inside, I just can't imagine life with a child, even though it is the one thing which I ever wished for in my life and the only thing I wouldn't want to miss in life.
Limbo. That's the only word that comes to my mind over and over again. Waiting, without really knowing what to expect. While the world around seems to already define me as a mother, I am frantically trying to find ways to stick to my previous definitions; the personalities I had and was over the past years. Knowing despite it all that I have already lost grip of my old life. There are moments where I wonder whether I will be a good mom, even though I am not willing to give up on the other things I believe in in life. Whether I will be a good mom, thinking that children are coming through us, but don't belong to us?
I remember that one of my few new year resolutions was to write only entertaining stuff on this blog. But now, close to the biggest change in my life, this resolution seems to be as far as ever. I am 100% happy about having a baby. But I would be lying to myself if I would try to present myself as 100% happy. Too many questions, too few answers. I am looking forward to the day when my mind will be kept busy by diapers, feeding, screaming. And to the day when I don't have to wait anylonger, but when I can actually experiment with finding ways to accomodate my baby, myself, the things I want to achieve in life, the little and big goals of my child, a bit of adventure, a bit of love, and uncountable other things, into a 24 hour day.

Spring awakening

Not sure if I should take it as an indication of too much time at hand or rather as my own personal reaction to the spring awakening which fills the air these days: fact is, that I am spending considerable time watching the little bees that have taken over the blooming trees and bushs in our garden. Below few of my favourite snapshots of their daily busy bee schedule ... This one still has to learn NOT to fall of the flower when trying to get to its' sweet pollen

Expansions

Its growing, slowly but steadily. Apart from the fact that it appears to be a bit skinny on ultrasound, everything seems to be fine with the baby. Still one month to go!

Parental advice

Few months ago I read an article about the unwillingness of young Italians (aged between 20 and 35, often already working) to move out of their parents' home. The article concluded that the phenomenon of the adult son (it indeed seemed to be more of a masculin/son phenomenon) had become quite a problem for parents, for instance in terms of costs which an additional adult inhabitant adds to the household of - often already retired - parents. Besides, afflicted parents complained that their sons/children would simply not learn how to live on their own, thus continuing being dependent on their parents. The article, though informative on the problem side, did unfortunately fail to offer a ten step "how to get rid of your adult child" rescue plan for desperate parents.

I and my parents have lived through this battle the other way round during the last four months: the attempt to move together into one house again (or rather, to put it correctly, I to move into their house again). It was a number of coincidences such as my not entirely planned pregnancy and few less enjoyable stuff that happened in 2008 which led me to make the - admittingly not easy - decision to move back home again. Home, where I had moved out (without much hassle) ten years ago. The experminent had its' hickups for both sides; neither was it easy for me to get used to my parents again, nor was it easy for my parents to get used to me again.

What made it all somewhat easier was that we knew from the onset, that this situation would not last forever, and that - despite all the good will shown by both sides - sooner or later, each of us would have their own space again.

So, after a couple of months of re-arranging it, I have finally moved into my own appartment three days ago. My move was not so much promped, but at least joined by a discussion with my mom at the end of which we both agreed that it is really about time to have each our own kitchen and toilet again.

The appartment itself is supercute, just the right size for myself, a baby and occasional guests. There is only one catch to the new appartment: it's in the house of parents. And, it actually belongs to them. Given these two facts, I got - in addition to the appartment - an extrashot of parental advice on how to re-arrange the appartment. And they really didn't leave out any opportunity to place a little advice. Their advice ranged from big stuff ("get a new kitchen!") to little advice such as "it's better if you place the plates in the left cupboard, instead of the right". The advice usually started off (like a little alarm bell) with the words "If I would be you"... . "If I would be you, I would not put the bed on this side of the wall". "If I would be you, I would take the slightly larger table - just in case you get ten or more visitors at a time". "If I would be you, I would take a shelf that is only twenty cm deep instead of twenty two". And so on. One of my favourite advices concerned the toilet brush. Amazing how far parental advice and parental interests can range!

Last but not least, despite all the protest with which I tried to counter the parental advice, I have to admit that some of the advice was actually quite ok - even though I often pretended not to listen to the advice and instead fired off arguments about the fact that I am soon having my own family and that I am thus regarding myself old enough to do without advice. I am now for instance sitting in my cosy new kitchen, and a shiver goes down my back when I just think about the 30 year old kitchen that filled this room once. I didn't take up the advice on the toilet brush, though.

Ultimately, it seems that parental advice is something that doesn't end at a certain age. For parents, we remain children, regardless if we have our own children or not. Just as on the other side, as children we never seem old enough to be taken serious when attempting to criticise our parents' household (my mom would probably be huffy for days if I would criticise her way of arranging plates in the cupboard). Parental advice can bother at times, making us feel like children though we are adults who have lived our own lives (in far more risky places) and taken up responsibility over projects larger than the income which I will likely earn througout my life. And yet, even though it is hard - at least for me - to accept advice, believing that I have to do everything my way, there are some advices which, bluntly put, simply make sense. Somehow I wonder if I will be also full of advices for my own child once it is old enough to understand them?

Finally something against identity crisis

These days, during my (admittedly frequent, but short) stopovers at Facebook, there are two things that catch my attention the most:
first, the new layout which seems to give headache not just to me, but to more or less everybody who is using Facebook;
second, the sheer endless amount of "who are you" quizzes that one can play and, thanks to the genious inventor of these games, find out who he/she really is (20 or more years of life didn't seem sufficient for many of us to find out who we really are, or at least who we really aren't).
These quizzes started off some time ago in a quite conservative manner: the "where should you be living" quiz was the first one which I spottet. Not many hours (it's seconds, minutes and hours that count on facebook - days as a concept of time keeping really seem old fashioned compared to the speed in which this "social networking tool" is sucking us all in) passed, before the available quizzes ranged from utter nonsense to nonsense. The eighties for instance seem to be a popular theme for quizzes: already two of that kind have come accross my eyes: "What eighties band are you" and "what eighties wrestler are you". For my part, I know that during the eighties, I was just a child dressed in - by modern day standards - way to colorful dresses, topped by a ponytail that was "modern" by then. Those where my eighties. Quizzes such as "what painting are you" or "what philosopher are you" seem a little attempt to have the academics among us buy into this "who are you" game, too.
But there is also some more useful things one can find out with the help of a little quiz. For instance "what beer are you". That knowing, there will be no no longer embarrassing moments of silence when the barkeeper asks "what beer do you want" and you (in that case, I) stare undecided at the various drafts and bottles behind the bar.
There are also few quite useless quizzes (that top the eighties quizzes), such as "who would be your celebrity boyfriend". I stopped dreaming of becoming a celebrity girl fourteen years ago, when, during a concert of my by then favourite band, the Kelly Family (remember that long haired Hippy family that toured around Europe in the nineties, making everyone believe that life as a family with the same size of a football team can be fun?), the second youngest (and most adored) family member, by the name of Paddy, didn't even look at me when I hysterically tried to scream my way up to the stage (and into his arms)? Since then I know that I am just not made for celebrity boyfriends.
What defenitely adds to the entertaining level of these quizzes are the discussions that erupt like little explosions of outrage once people know what painting they are or what place they should live in (though, the latter one tends, in some cases, to re-awake long forgotten dreams of a life elsewhere...). Once people know who they really "are", they start arguing why they think they "are not" what facebook tells them they "are". After a first re-assessment of the quiz result (all done, of course, in a way that everybody can see result and own re-assessment), friends start adding their own comments: why they think the result fits or doesn't fit to the person, and why they think the re-assessment is right or wrong. And on it goes, until the discussions are satisfied (with a varying degree of satisfaction by the quiz taker and his/her friends who helpfully commented on the result). The next quiz already waits.
Personally, I haven't taken any quiz yet. Even though I would have the time to take quizzes, now that I am on maternity leave and "only" fixing my new flat and my messed up computer, while learning a bit of italian and simply enjoying the spring. Indeed, there are many things which I wonder about myself. For instance, why I am not able to have a normal, harmonic relationship, but very well able to get pregnant (ok ok, the answers to these two questions probably not lie that far apart..). Or why I just got my own flat in South Tyrol, with a wonderful garden, next to the forest and mountains, and yet wish for nothing more than a life abroad? Or why I get anxious when everything works out just fine, whereas I enjoy situations where it's just chaos around me? Knowing that there are too many questions on my mind, for which neither I nor facebook might know the answers, I decided not to take any of these quizzes. At the end of the day, I am who I am, with or without answers.
Concerning the quizzes on facebook, I am waiting for the day when quizzes such as "what toiletpaper are you" or "what fast food are you" are popping up. I promised myself that that will be the day when I will say good bye to my facebook account.

Lake Garda - again

I apologize for again uploading pictures from Lake Garda. I just can't stop it. By the way, it isn't just me who enjoys trips to Lake Garda. Argo, the dog on the picture below, is usually the first one to jump into the car as soon as he senses that a Lake Garda trip is about to take place.