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I'm tired of Post Partum Depression. It's out of the Header. Pretty Soon out of my life.



Guten Tag, PPD.

Easy (Free) Rider

This posting is dedicated to the moocher. We all know one. If we're really lucky, we have a realtive who is a moocher...someone looking for a free ride at all costs (excuse the pun).

I am lucky enough to have a family mooch. So is my husband. But that's for another blog entirely. The name of my free rider will remain anonymous so as not to embaress certain other family members who gave birth to her and also have an inkling of an idea of something called "responsibility".

Anyway, don't you just hate it when you open your home and your heart to someone who needs to catch a break in life and then that person takes advantage of your kindness and leaves you with a $120.00 phone bill? I'm living in Zurich, people. One of, if not theee, most expensive places to live. 120 gets me groceries for a FEW days. But I digress...

So, no...my feelings aren't hurt. And I'm really not that surprised now that my hindsight is perfect. But I have to wonder...did she think we weren't going to get a phone bill-or even look at it, for that matter? It's the arrogance of the mooch that gets me. The aura of entitlement that surrounds them and enters the room before they do.

The free rider leaves an especially sour taste in my mouth. We all have our pet peeves when it comes to certain people. The freeloader is mine. I have no time or inclination for damning the man at other people's expense. Don't get me wrong..I damn him every chance I get...in a very "not wanting to step on the toes of others while I do it" kind of way.

The person out there right now...and you know who you are...who left me with the bill has a thing or two to learn about....well, everything. And to quote a very wise young man I know by the name of Max Owen, the Karma Train always comes around and makes its stops on time, my friend.

Tunnel of Babel Update

Just a quick update on the multicultural construction taking place outside our flat. Things are getting interesting as you can see:


Yes, that is a Swiss Umbrella hat


Striking his best catwalk pose

That's it.

Just a quick word on the New Nazi Youth

I could really do without running into these guys while I'm doing my grocery shopping.

Let's just say it's a little disturbing to be picking out produce and turn around to see a gaggle of shaven tatttoed heads in cammo. Are they making chicken soup as well? Is that why they are in line for the carrots too? I never thought of what Nazi youth eat. Hitler was a vegetarian. So I guess carrots aren't that out of the ordinary for them to be waiting patiently for.

Anyway, I wasn't betting on having to elbow my way through groups of these guys to get to the cash register on a regular basis while living here.

I mean, do the KKK wear their sheets to the local drug store to fill their prescriptions? No. They save their linens for special occasions so they don't freak out the locals as they run their errands.

An Ode to the Migraine

This is day three of my latest migraine. Let's see...I started receiving the gift that never stops giving in my early twenties. There are many different kinds of migraines.

My fave is the one where your eyesight just magically and suddenly disappears in one eye....whilst driving.

There are the migraines where sound just sounds evil. And where sunlight is the kiss of death. I usually suffer from the latter. And the occasional blinding kind, which the first time I had, I thought I was having some kind of religious experience.

I've tried the myriad of migraine meds available. Their side effects were worse than the headaches. One medication was actually mimicking stroke-like symptoms in my body such as slurred speech and loss of feeling on one side of my body. When my neurologist told me not worry,that there were at least twenty other meds I could try, my reply was forget it. I'd deal with the pain in my own way. Right now that means swallowing 4 motrin at a time, which has a disaterous effect on one's stomach in the long run. And let's just say that I am in the long run.

Many, if not most, migraine sufferers become drug addicts. One will do anything to stop the pain and get on with their lives when all other avenues have failed. At one point, I was on a prescribed barbituate. Fortunately (I guess) I was not allowed any refills...without more pictures of my brain being taken first, which I put off because of pregnancy.

We don't want to be dependent on drugs just in order to accomplish our normal daily activities. Unfortunately, this happens all too often and we will do anything to get our hands on a real pain killer....lie and steal if we have to.

I'm convinced that my doctor knows nothing. She was more concerned about the shape of my tongue and the beauty mark on the inside of my toe than my head. The only person who has really helped me is my chiropractor. Who I am seperated from at the present until dec. Hence the return of the evil war raging in between my ears.

So, this is what someone looks like after three days of this nonsense:


Is that grandma?

That reminds me: A big shout out and thanks to Grandma Schieve for this family legacy.

Forgetting Meds, and Fanny Packs

There's a new trend amongst our European cousins. Seems as though the Fanny pack ( which never lost its popularity over here) is no longer resigned to the....fanny. The hip way to wear the pack now is slung over the shoulder.

I'm still not buying into it. The day I get a fanny pack is the day I get a mini van and paint some flames on the sides...HOT.

Oh yes, this morning, I think I forgot to take my meds. So I did what any responsible adult watching two kids for an entire day would do...I took them again, just in case...Let's just say it was a really good day.

Via Con Dios, Jess and Edison, and an Irish Blessing for the Lass

Yes, it's true...my Biff (BFF) departed this morning for the states.

Here's to the great times we had together. And here's to hoping we see you guys in Ireland come November for Sean's first birthday. Time to learn all the words to Danny Boy.

Here are some last pics and sad faces:





Why hasn't anyone told me that my head is John Mayer Enormous in proportion to my body?

Farewell, Jess:
May the road rise up to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face
And the rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

Minau (spelling?) Flower Island, Germany,and Schmetterlings

Friday 18, july 8:15 am....all kids dressed, fed and accounted for we catch train numero uno for the airport where we catch train numero due straight to Germany. Our destination? The Flower Island of Minau. Yes, we have been there before, but didn't get to experience everything and the weather this time around was gorgeous.

I'll be brief in the Hemingway Short Story Lean and Mean tradition (that was for you Ally).

Best parts of the day were mos def the kids on ponys and the Schmetterling Haus (Butterfly House). I took way too many pictures of those bugs but how often do you find yourself in a rain forest-like hut being attacked by the most beautiful little insects in the world?

Enjoy:


This guy has some important summer reading to catch up on.


Edison and Jess kicking it cowgirl style


Cate looking cutely confused.

All in all, you can spend the whole day on the island. It blows Boboli in Florence out of the water. As you can see:





And this is just the tip of the iceberg...this place goes on FOREVER. Worth Every cent.

That's all for now, my little Schmetterlings. See my facebook page for more butterfly redundancy.

Swoon

A Big Shout Out to my Jungfrau Peeps and the Asian Community

So much to blog about...so little coffee this early in the morning.

Sunday (two days ago) we finally made it to the top of an Alp. It was amazing...awesome (in the true meaning of the word 'awe')...it was a once in a lifetime experience. Do you know what's on top of an alp? Snow. Blinding, stinging, bright snow. And wind.

All in all, I probably stood out on Jungfrau with a screaming three year old for a good....five minutes. I have proof:

That's Cate under there. Needless to say, I was not dressed for the occassion.

There were tons of other impressive things about the Alp trip....catching six trains to get there and a beautiful landscape of mountains and waterfalls to gaze upon during the ride there:

Interlaken East, my future retirement community.

So, on said alp, there's an ice palace to walk through and sculptures to admire....and blood on the floor from previous visitors who have as we like to say in the house "ate shit" or wiped out. And yes, the double stroller was skating its way through the palace with the rest of us.

Personally, I had two favorite parts of the day. One was visiting with the husky sled dogs and the other was watching the asian sightseers being more blown away by my kids than than their actual destination for the day.

Could have stayed here all day. <3 He was kissing my ear. That's a lot of action for a mom of two.


Thank you so much ladies for keeping my little ones entertained in between train stops and a big thanks to your male counterparts for helping with that stroller...tool of satan that it is.

Loving up my little boy. He was way more cute than Jungfrau. You can't cuddle an Alp.

And finally, this one sums up the entire day for all of us:

Too much Alp for one day.

I do reccomend making it to the top of Europe, as they say over here. Take your kids, the double strollers, and a billion bags of snacks and toys. Do whatever it takes to get there and pray that there will be a thousand of our asian brothers and sisters to help. We couldn't have done it without them. Thanks, guys.

Rick is Sleep Deprived & My Little Pony

So our three year old, Cate, has about a dozen My Little Ponies....big ones, small ones..(this blog has nothing to do with living in Switzerland, BTW. But it is about how having kids makes you completely crazy)

Each pony has its own name...and you're supposed to guess this name by an encryption on the pony's ass. These little symbols mean nothing to most parents. They make no sense to anyone above the age of four. (except Rick) They are mostly flowers and lolipops and ribbons. I know Flippity Flops name only because the symbol on her butt cheek is a pair of flip flops.

This morning (7amish) found me and Rick arguing over who is who. He claims he tells them apart through process of elimination. He has gotten all of them right, when we start to argue over Breezy Dreams true identity. Meanwhile, the three year old is standing between us confused and dismayed that she can't get her ponies away from her parents. At this point, Rick has accused me of hiding one pony to make his process of elimination faulty. (She had rolled under the couch, I swear).

First of all, the supposed breezy dreams has rainbow hair and the symbol on her butt is a flower...tell me how that means "breezy dreams". This is my argument. Rick has had enough and springs off the couch to google the pony. I have to take leave to the powder room. With the door shut, I hear a muffled "A ha!" from down the hall. Then a tap tap tap at my door while I'm finishing up. "Yes????"

"Did you know that there is a pony identification website???" He says.

"I had no idea."

He's waiting for me on the other side of the door, wiggling his finger at me to follow him. Sure enough, the pony in question is waiting for me on the computer and her name really is Breezy Dreams.

To which I say: Rick, you are sleeping in, tomorrow.

Swiss Line Dancing

Just a short note that I HAD to make when we stumbled upon some Swiss Country Western Dancers downtown this afternoon.

Take a Look:

As Rick said: These guys are hardcore. About 5 minutes later it started to downpour and the dancing continued.



Who knew that satan's favorite form of entertainment had made it all the way over here? Just when you thought you were safe from Country; it catches you unawares.

Again.... Skinny Jeans

I phoned my dearly beloved (why does that sound like I'm preparing her eulogy???? hmmm...) and explained that I finally went clothes shopping. (Which I despise) A couple weeks ago, I even splurged on some ballerina flats which she and apparently all of Europe are raving about. They are not the least bit comfortable, but I have to admit, my feet never looked so damn hot.

So, the first thing out of her mouth is "did you get some new pants?" What she really means here is: Did I finally brake down and get some skinny jeans? Of course, my answer is and always will be "no" to this question.

I have to be honest with you Ally: There aren't a whole lot of people over here wearing those things and I think I know why...two words: yeast infection.

In fact, I see more people donning the crunchy granola look of yours truly...except for the occasional mom pushing a baby carriage in stilletos and an adidas track suit.

What's my motto at all times, Ally....lest you forget.... Don't believe the hype.

My pants fit just fine, thanks.

Short Short Jean Shorts & The Ting Tings

This week, and the past, as the weather soared here in Zurich to a sweltering 35 degrees c....I learned something about European fashion and my usual flawless ability to hone in with my gaydar. (I wish there was a better word for this)...but I don't want to say..."and usual flawless ability to pick out gays"...but I guess I said it anyway so you know what I mean.

What I'm getting at it is sometimes (most times in Europe) when a man is wearing really tight short jean shorts he's not necessarily gay....he's just European....and trying to cool off.

Sorry I don't have any pics of this phenomenon but I do have pictures of Sean getting stuck under the kitchen table.

We found him here after a short search of the flat. He's pretty fast with the army crawl.

On a musical note: I think I really like the Ting Tings (We Started Nothing)..So you should like them too before they hit mainstream America and their imagination and talent goes down the toilet...thanks to the usual Radio Recipe.

So I would describe them as Debbie Harry meets Modest Mouse meets Joan Jett but in a really hip rockin way. Get me? Still, they are no Dave Grohl. But for me to reccomend a band, for those who know me, is a pretty big deal. ( God, I love Joan Jett)

Anyway, the lead singer is a really adorable blonde, so it's only a matter of time before the big THEY lure her into Britneyhood with $$$ and Vicodin.

The Ting Tings. Go.

Twitter

I'm doing the Twitter thing. I have no idea what this means. So, help.