creative.mother.thinking

explaining my life to strangers

Blog me!

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Since I’m not able to attend BlogHer conference, I’m doing this just for fun. (And I’m pressed for time, so I’m not tagging anybody. Feel tagged, if you like.)

1. When did you start blogging and why? Or Talk about your blog. What can I learn about you in under 5 minutes?

I’m not good at “under five minutes”, but I’ll try. I started my blog in August 2005, but didn’t post more than twice until February 2006. I like the chance to write regularly about the things close to my heart. This includes making music, self-improvement, parenting and whatever else comes to my mind.

2. How do you use blogging to build friendships?

I’d like to use it that way, but it didn’t happen yet. Once I went to a blog reading in my neighborhoos, but I was too tired and too shy to talk to anybody. I guess, I’ll have to work on that. I’m reading a lot of blogs, and try to comment.

3. Who do you read every day, rain or shine?

Mary Tsao, Christine Kane, die Kaltmamsell, Kluges und Scheiß, Chris, Jory DesJardins.

4. How would you describe your writing style?

Strange, clumsy, personal. A little handicapped by the fact that English is not my native language. But my German blog is strange, clumsy and personal too. (Oh, and I’m using too many parentheses.)

5. How do you feel about meeting bloggers in real life? Are you nervous? Will you have great expectations? What do you hope to take away from the BlogHer experience?

I’d love to go to BlogHer. I really wish, I’ll be able to attend BlogHer 07. Of course everybody will be nice, witty, and intelligent. I’d hope to find people who don’t think blogging is weird.

6. So soon we’re going to meet each other at BlogHer. Important question. How do you party?

If I would be there, I’d drink and talk too much. If there’s the right music, I dance, if asked, I sing.

7. What is your favorite thing that you wrote? What got a strong reaction from readers? Links please?

My favorite things that I wrote are: inner parents and inner children, real musicians, and my funniest to date about buying a bra. I rarely get comments, but my series on dieting was read extensively.

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My sister’s wedding and me (part 1)

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I know that I’m owing you an entry. Yes, my sister got married, and yes, I was there. And it was very nice and unexpectedly harmonious and heart-warming. Since then (and even on my journey there) I have tried to write an open letter to my sister or something deep about weddings or marriage in general, but it just didn’t happen. So in my usual excessive manner I wrote this report on „How I went to my sister’s wedding.“

About ten days ago I went northwards, packing took longer than I wanted, but still left time for a workout and a singing warm-up before departure. I realized how much has changed since I had a baby, because I could stroll to the train with only a big and a little backpack, read a book on the platform, buy a croissant, there was no stroller, nobody to rescue, no debate about feet on the seats or hiding under them. And for almost two days not a single person grabbed my pants while shouting „Mama! Mama! Mama!“ Wow!

Taking the train was marvelous. The train half empty (no world cup fans!), I had a seat in the no-cell-phone-area, something I never take, when traveling with child, and it was really quiet. (Yes, there really areas where cell phones are banned on German trains. Just imagine.)

Contrary to my expectations it was my brother-in-law who met me. But then it was really nice, and gave me a chance to talk to him. We went to their apartment, where everybody was waiting for me. Or so I thought. But then we sat there and did nothing. By then I was really hungry, because it was half an hour past my regular dinnertime.

The whole wedding party spent the evening together: the bride’s parents, the bridegroom’s parents, one sister of each, one friend of his and two of her. That was all.

I had a little moment of panic, when I was told that there was no room reservation for me. Fortunately, they only mixed something up. Nice rooms, btw.

There was food and drink, solid German food. My dinner, for example consisted of steak, green beans and roast potatoes. The service was not as good as the food, part of our order got mixed, and the drinks took ages. I was the first one who went to bed. It seems that everybody waited, because they didn’t know who would pay the bill. Dinner before the wedding is not exactly traditional. Well, as I tried to get the bill, my father told me, everything would be on him. Generous.

It was also me, who asked my sister when we had to leave in the morning in order to get to the wedding on time. My sister said 15 minutes before meeting time, her fiancé said 20. But when my mother turned to me and asked, what they had said, I didn’t hesitate a millisecond, before saying, „Half an hour before meeting time, Mama.“ Ah, back with family. My sister and my father, upon hearing this, didn’t even blink. You might guess that my mother is not known for her punctuality. By the way, the next morning my parents and me were the last to arrive.

(to be continued)

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I thought I’d just buy a bra

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First mistake. Second mistake: I thought it’d be easier not to got to big city but stay in the suburbs. So I went into the local dessous shop with an extraordinarly dumb name. I go there with the top that I’m going to wear to my sister’s wedding and say that I’m looking for a matching bra, no see-through straps, not beige and not white. The sales woman looks at me and says,

“You’re probably a 75 C.” (Note to reader, these are German sizes.)

“I’m not sure, I have lost a bit of weight recently.”

Then, what is she bringing for me? Right, a couple of white or beige bras with see-through straps. With padding. Some have straps you can take off, which leaves you with a cup that stands away from your breasts. Funny sight. And which size does she bring? 80 C. Me:

“I’d rather have a 75, please.”

“But then it’s so tight.”

“But I’d like one in 75 anyway.” (So that it’ll still fit, when I continue losing weight.)

“But it’s better if it isn’t so tight.”

After I insist, she brings one in 75 C. Me:

“The cups are too small.”

“I already told you it’ll be too tight, I’ll bring you the 80 C.”

“Please don’t, it’s the cups that are too small.”

“But that’s C, you had C in the other bra as well.”

Um yeah, but 80 C. At that point I should have left the shop immediately.

(For co-reading men: The number represents the measurement around the body under the breasts in centimeters, the letter represents the size of the cup with A being smaller than B. Now for the catch: Women with wider rib cages usually have bigger boobs as well, so the cup of 75 C is as big as the cup of 80 B. So 80 C equals 75 D. Men don’t have to know this. But women who work in dessous shops do.)

At last she wanted to tell me that a brown, padded monster with fake printed black lace would be perfect. She even would have sold it to me without the matching string. Sadly, that bra was: double the price I had wanted to pay, extremely ugly, and – too big. The fact that a bra holds somehow and keeps the boobs from spilling out when you’re not leaning over does not mean that it fits.

I uttered a lame “I have to think about it, because it is a little too expensive” and fled. (To be true I uttered an even lamer “I have to ask my husband about this.” I lied.)

1 1/2 hours wasted and no bra in sight. (During those 1 1/2 hours I dressed, undressed, put the top on, undressed … )

Home, eat ice cream.

After the ice cream I tried again. I went to a shop my MIL knew. They have Triumph bras. Nice. In the hour I spent there I didn’t see a single sales woman. They had a sale and it was quite crowded, ‘though. Most of the bras were not quite what I wanted, more in the line of what my granny would like. (At least nobody tried to sell me a string.) By the way, my bra size is (but you already guessed that) 75 D. The first thing I did was buy me a black sports bra like the others that I’ve been wearing exclusively for years. (I have a white one too.) Since I’ve been shrinking the ones that I bought while still breastfeeding (90 C) don’t really fit anymore. (And the Intermezzo in the dessous shop showed me why I like to buy my bras in the sportswear shop.)

I love these bras: they don’t pinch, they’re comfy, you don’t have to fear your boobs falling out when you lean over, they don’t have seams, they’re looking good, and I don’t have to change when I’m doing yoga, or something. Only their broad comfy bra straps don’t look good under a tank top. But I would have worn it anyway if my eyes hadn’t fallen on another table with bras on sale. Now I have a turquoise bra with wires too! Sadly the cups are a little too small (75 C), but the top I’ll be wearing has ruffles in all the important places. (Um, I know. I wouldn’t have thought there’d be a time when I’d be wearing something with ruffles, flowers and bows, but trust me, it looks fabulous.) I trust myself to go on shrinking (and then it’ll fit), and it cost me only 10% of the brown monster.

I don’t know, why I’m still letting myself be pushed around by sales women, but if you’re going to buy a bra, read Bitch PhD’s tips about the right choice in bras, part 1 und 2 and this thing by Oprah.

Improvements

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When you’re getting a homework assignment from two different sides at once, you know you have to do it. Both Chery Richardson and FlyLady were asking us to write down what we have changed for the better. Since I haven’t done this before, I’ll include things starting last year as well. First the Flylady-related improvements and then the rest:

1. Sink is shining almost every night.
2. I’m dressed to shoes every day before breakfast.
3. I’m “doing” the kitchen every morning and I “swish and swipe” the bathrooms.
4. Laundry is under control.
5. “Homeblessing” gets done almost every week.
6. I’m going to bed on time – almost.
7. I’m eating less sweets and have stuck to my “only one bag of potato chips per month”-rule since May.
8. Since November I’ve been practicing the piano almost every day. There have been only two or three weeks, where I dropped down to one or two times a week.
9. I’ve been starting to practice singing again, ‘though irregular (mostly due to throat problems).
10. I’ve started to play the guitar again and have been playing every other day. Sometimes more. I’m getting calluses on the fingertips of my left hand. (That’s good. It means, guitar playing won’t be hurting any more in the near future.)
11. I’ve been meditating for at least ten minutes every day since I started last June.
12. Since February I’ve been blogging two or three times a week.
13. Since you’re wondering where I find the time to do all this: I’ve reduced TV and computer time. I stopped reading fashion magazines and those that you get for free at the health food store.
14. Since December I’ve reduced drinking alcohol to weekends.
15. Since applying the principles of “Playful Parenting” I’m yelling less at my son.

Not bad, isn’t it. I give myself a pat on the back. Now I only need to make a list with my goals for July.

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Why I’m glad to be a grown-up

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The other day I had a conversation with a student. She told me that a couple of her teachers had said she and her classmates should be glad to be teenagers. “Just wait till you’re grown-up, and you have to do some silly job all day long, and are oppressed by your boss! At least now you’re having one or two subjects at school that you like.”

Hm. First, I have to say that I’m feeling sorry for those teachers. If they’re as unhappy as that, maybe they should change their life. But then I had to tell my student this:

While there are people for whom childhood and teenage years mark the best part of their life, I’m really happy to be a grown-up.

The thing I like the most is the degree of freedom and self-reliance. Freedom and responsibility are going hand in hand, and I actually like being responsible, too. For myself and for my child.
In the process of growing older, I have become happier and more content. My childhood and teenage years were full of anxiety and insecurity. When I was about the age of my student, I longed for:

  • somebody who loves me and with whom I could have great sex
  • to become a musician
  • to be cool and accepted
  • to have nice clothes (okay, make that cool clothes)
  • to feel good about myself and the way I look
  • to have curly hair
  • to have at least enough money
  • intellectual and emotional stimulating company

And now, as I write this, all of this has come true. Apart from the being cool and accepted part. But then, there are people who think that I’m cool. (And no, I didn’t have a perm, it did turn out that having straight hair with strangely unruly bangs translates into really having wavy hair. Duh.)

So, for all the teenagers out there: Don’t believe that life only can get worse. Please. It’s up to you to make a difference.

And to all the grown-ups: If you’re unhappy, please remember that you have a choice.

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