Like Royalty

My childhood was charmed.  The first eleven years of it were especially wonderful when we lived in Village Green.  Village green is the name of the trailer park we lived in.  It was all so much like a dream.  Or a reality TV show.  Maybe some of each.  But I loved it.  

I recently decided to look up our trailer park on Google Earth.  Okay, that feels weird.  We never called it the trailer park, we called it the trailer court, so let's just get that out in the open so I can stop trying to remember to keep from typing what is actually coming out of my brain after long years of usage (i.e. trailer court) and translating it into the-rest-of-the-world-ese.

So Village Green was the trailer court (sounds so much more regal and so much less "white trash"*) in which I grew up.  And I decided to find it on Google Earth.  

I entered the address: 222 N. 1200 W., Orem, UT, and here is where it took me:

 I stared and stared at the area directly above where the address is written and couldn't for the LIFE of me make sense of trying to wander through those streets.  Wait.  Where is the park?  Where are half the streets?  And what, pray tell, is that huge parking lot to the left of it?  I don't remember any business in the area large enough to require such a huge parking lot.

I seriously looked up and down the street and zoomed way out and back in again.  I made sure I was looking in the right area compared to Trafalga Family Fun Center, which was just down the street.  Yes. this was the place.  What in the world happened?  Where was the place I had grown up?

Then, after turning the map and thinking and thinking for far more minutes than I care to admit,  I took a closer look at the parking lot.

Yeah.  Duh.  Not duh ME, of course!  Duh, Google Earth, who wrote my address out under the adjacent neighborhood.  How was I to know that the parking lot, which happened to be located exactly where I remembered the trailer court being, actually WAS the trailer court when the address was written so far off?  Sheesh.  

Once I got over that (I feel like an idiot again just thinking about it), I starting wandering in my mind through that trailer court.  And it was all there.  All the places I rode my bike and the hill on which I'd wiped out on my roller skates countless times.  My best freind's house and the park.  Oh, but the pool.  Looks like the swimming pool is gone.  Other than that, it looked like home.  And then I found home.  

In the lower left hand corner, with a brown roof, was the double-wide I grew up in.  The one that started out as a single-wide and, as our family grew, was transformed into a double-wide by my dad, who can do anything. 

Oh the memories!  Thousands of them flying at me in the most random of orders.  And so I realized that I need to put them down.  And so I'm going to.

This is the first of a series I will be doing about life in the trailer court.  I can't wait to get it all out.
*For the record, I really hate the term "white trash", especially when used to describe a person for the same reason I despise the term "loser".

For Your Convenience

While in California a few months ago I had the pleasure of holding Spencer up to a drinking fountain and letting him run the water over his tongue and down his chin.  I suppose every American mother has experienced teaching their children to drink from a drinking fountain.  It's so funny how difficult  something so simple can be.

And what's really funny is that NONE of my kids know how to do it.  This is crazy.  (Although Evie claims she pretty much got the hang of it during her month in New Jersey last summer.)

When I first met my in-laws, when they visited us 13 years ago in Provo, one of the things that shocked me was the fact that my 11 year-old Polish nephew had absolutely no idea how to drink from a drinking fountain.  I'd never met anyone that was out of diapers that didn't know how and it was hilarious watching him try.

Now here I am with four children of my own, all out of diapers, who are also fountain-drinking impaired.

If you've spent any time in Europe you probably understand why.  No drinking fountains.  The nearest one I know of is 9 hours away in Freiberg, Germany, at the temple (just one of the many things I love about going to the temple).

No, one must purchase water.  Always, always purchase water.  No free tap water in restaurants, no place to catch a quick sip in the mall.  NO FREE WATER.  I miss drinking fountains and their convenience.

But there's something over here that I love almost as much.  While in Łódź recently we drove through the streets at night and I saw these little bonfires placed randomly on the sidewalk.  I thought that was so weird.  Greg told me they are simply for pedestrians to warm themselves at.  "How cool!"  I thought (ironically).

Apparently during the time of martial law in Poland from 1981-1983 koksowniki were "invented" (?) mainly to keep the militia (during that time the police were referred to as militia) warm as they paced the streets making sure people were keeping curfew and other communism-imposed laws.

Fortunately the militia and the curfew and the communism have gone the way of ... other Polish-repressing bad things, but the coal bins?  They're still here.

And I'm glad, because while we were out at the optician and getting Spencer a passport we did a lot of walking.  It was well below zero (in both Fahrenheit and Celsius) and we froze.  I was shocked at how quickly this thawed us and how wonderful it felt.

.

Almost as shocked as I was when I first watched my nephew at a drinking fountain.

Home Sweet Home Away from Home Sweet Home

What a vacation!  Spencer and I bounced around from Micah's to Dad's to Anne's, to Jon's to Ben's then back to Anne's and then Dad's in the space of 2 1/2 weeks in California.  I realized a lot of things while we were there.

I realized/learned/decided:

• that I love America as much as, or maybe even more than I remembered.  
• that I love my brothers and sisters very, very much and am grateful that they married such awesome people and gave birth to such lovely (seriously gorgeous), intelligent and fun children.
• that family gossip will never affect me much again.  I feel like I "get" everyone in the family.  And love each of them a ton*.  Oh, I already said that. (*that's 2,000 pounds of love each.)
• how people can live without cooking.  This has always been a mystery to me.
• that minute rice bears virtually no resemblance to actual rice.
• that it was a very, very good idea to take Spencer with me.  
• how different every family is.  I loved spending time in so many different homes.  
• that I am not a good conversationalist, but decided it's okay because silences were never awkward.
• that I am lucky to have the parents I do.
• that I have it in me to forgive a sister for having a cupboard full of bags of chocolate, vanilla and peanut butter chips which have EXPIRED.  It took me about a week, but behold, I did forgive.
• that, as a guest, I am terrible at helping with dinner prep/cleaning.  This bothered me, but not enough for me to overcome my insecurity and get my rear up and give it a try.
• (or rather confirmed) that for me, sitting around at home with people I love is usually as fun or enjoyable as going out to do something with them, and often it's more enjoyable.
• more about what kind of person I want to become from being with so many people I admire.
• that everybody makes stupid mistakes or bad choices that cause crisis in their lives.  And that it's okay to just learn from them and move on.  And that it helps to get sympathy from those around you.
• that arms do not actually fall off from carrying a toddler for long periods of time.  Even if you keep expecting them to.  And pretty much wish they would.

Plus a billion other things that kind of made me a little bit of a new person.

And the fact that I would go through what it took to get us home all over again* -- twice, even, if necessary! -- says everything about the trip.  It really was one of the best experiences of my life.  And I'm still happy to be back home.  Home away from home.  Together with my family, away from my family.  Actually, those last four words are the not-so-happy part ...
*story to come

The Hardest Thing

I'm currently in the middle of a week spent with my in-laws (mom, dad and sister).  I love them dearly and they are good people.  It's hard for me to be with them, though, without aching to live in a place where my own parents could be an influence on my children, at least a few times a year (or even once a year!).

My in-laws smother the kids with kisses and affectionate talk in altered tones.  They are always ready to help the older kids with homework and play the little "games" I don't have patience for over and over and over with the little ones that the kids giggle and giggle and giggle about ("Oh no!  Where did Aaron go!?!" x 500).  They take the kids for long, long walks and feed them lots and lots of food.  I'm so grateful for all of this (...almost always).

With my dad they would have a very different experience.  He would get down on the floor with them and play and wrestle.  He would show them things and... well, the fact of the matter is that I don't know exactly what he would do because it's been so many years that it makes me cry to think of it (almost 4) (excuse me while I wipe my eyes and blow my nose).  His wife would ask the kids questions and be infinitely interested and plan craft projects and make yummy food for and maybe with them.

 My mom would read them book after book after book.  She would point out interesting things and teach them words and concepts. She would teach and teach and the kids would feel her love for her God and His plan and her Savior and His sacrifice every single day.  She would always give them something interesting to do.  She would reprimand them when they needed it.  She would sit back and watch them interact with each other.  And she would laugh.

The things Greg's parents do, my parents would do very little of (or in more moderation).  The things my parents would do, Greg's parents do very little of..

I am so, so grateful my kids have loving grandparents living close enough that we see them many times a year.  But it's hard to express how difficult it is for me to have my kids growing up largely without their other grandparents.  It's probably the hardest thing about living here, not to mention what usually REALLY gets me: all the things my kids do and say and ARE that my parents can't experience.

And don't even get me started on aunts and uncles and cousins.  They see their Polish cousin (yes, without an "s" on the end) on Easter and Christmas.  He's 23.  They pretty much never get to see their (soon to be) sixteen other cousins, who are ages 13 and under and some of the cutest, smartest little people in the world.

I just had to unload.  I know it could be worse (My parents are still alive!  And I get along with all my siblings!  And many Americans don't get to see their family often, either! etc.) but sometimes one needs to throw oneself a pity party.  Sorry if I got confetti in your hair.

The Best [Decorations] in Life are Free

I have often lamented (but successfully kept myself from dwelling on) the fact that the change of the seasons just isn't celebrated in the same way here that it is back home.

At this time of year I love when people talk (or write) about taking their children to pumpkin patches and cider mills. Who doesn't love pumpkin patches and cider mills? I know I do!

So I consider it rather (extremely) sad that none of my kids have ever been to either. The closest we have gotten is rummaging through a smallish box of misshapen, mostly pale peach colored pumpkins at the grocery store, which somehow feels less festive than strolling through a pumpkin patch.

When summer ends back home, you know it. (even if the weather is still scorching) Everywhere you go you find seasonal decoration. Brightly colored leaves hang from the ceiling in grocery stores, shops have harvesty window decorations and, of course the candy aisle reflects the changing seasons with fall colored packaging and Halloween candy.

In Poland you will find none of those things*. You are not hit with "It's fall!" in every store, office, library or school where you may be running errands. I miss being hit like that.

On the other hand, Poland does a pretty dang good job of decorating for fall. There may be no autumn ambiance indoors, but you feel it everywhere else. The air is crisp and mornings are often foggy (oh how I love foggy mornings!). The beautiful trees that I admire year round put on their most colorful apparel. Showers of leaves fall with every gust of wind and those leaves, horse chestnuts and acorns crunch underfoot everywhere you go.

I miss the human-enhanced sense of fall back home (which I know is accompanied by the beauty of what nature has to offer), but I also love the purity of the fall that is experienced here and find that it is enough.

Of course Halloween is a different story. Well, the same story, too, I guess. There are no Halloween decorations. There is no Halloween candy. There are no corn mazes or haunted houses.

But we do have these.


It takes a little time but admittedly very little effort (and no money) to have a collection of the best, most authentic Halloween decorations possible. Most of the time they are invisible, but go out in the darkening, chilly and misty evening and you will find them delightfully beaded with moisture and creepy as can be.

Also, I promise if I ever feel the urge to post any more pictures of fences I will start a separate fence blog on which to post them. (and I believe Erin asked what our fence looks like. Now you know. Boring, but pretty great for Halloween!) (and people keep asking if they're real. Yes, they are. Aren't spiders awesome?)

*at least not in our medium-small city

Defining "My People"

So, I miss my people. The people of mine who I miss the most-- sometimes more, sometimes a lot more and sometimes not quite so much more, but whom I always feel the lack of--are my family. Those people really belong to me and should live closer.

But there are other people I feel rather possessive of. Millions of them. I will explain.

As I put my carry-on in the overhead compartment of a plane that will cross the Atlantic to my Patria, I hear numerous loud conversations going on. This guy is telling his neighbor about a show he saw in Las Vegas, that lady is explaining to a man about a rude person she met while on vacation. Over there a man is laughing boisterously as he tells a story about a family member. It's a bit of an overload for me. I didn't really want or need to hear any of that. It almost seems rude to bombard strangers with personal stories, loudly told, and yet I sit down, listen, and smile broadly. I love these people. They are Americans.

***

As we unload our luggage in a hotel parking lot two young men come walking from the other end of the lot. When they are still quite far away I tell Ev, "those guys are Americans". I can tell because of how they look and. . . seem. They are casually dressed and seem happy and laid back. I cannot fully describe it. Soon we see they are coming toward us, and that they are former missionaries back in Poland for a visit. They are Americans.

***

Walking down the crowded streets of beautiful Krakow I come face to face with a woman and we do the side-to-side trying-to-get-out-of-each-other's-way dance. She makes eye contact, smiles and then we pass each other, without speaking a word. I lean to Greg and we say at the same time, "that was an American".

***

I meet people and within the first few sentences I speak to them I, out of habit, utilize verbal irony. They laugh, or smile or keep a straight face and respond with irony as well. They are Americans.

***

We've had mission presidents' wives from South Africa and then Denmark for the last six years. (I love and admire them both). But now we have a new one and after our first few minutes of conversation I feel like we've been friends for years. She is an American.

***

I get these people and they get me. That (obviously) makes them mine.

There's No Place Like It

I want to go home.

This is quite difficult because I am home.

I love this place that I live. I love the slow pace of life, the simplicity of things, the lack of focus on things. I love the forest and its trees. I love having my in-laws near enough and far enough away. I love learning to make good food from simple ingredients because I don't have any other option. I love seeing my children embrace their nationality and watching them grow up in a different culture than I did, speaking fluently in a language that I still cannot express myself well in, connecting with their father because he understands It All.

Even the things that I don't like about this place I almost love. The fact that most restaurants are called "Restaurant" and most furniture stores are called "Furniture". The way teachers talk to their students. The fact that almost all lighting is either too bright or too dim and always overhead. All of the cakes that need about twice as much sugar as they contain.

I will miss it all one day if/when we move back. But still. . .

I want to go home.

I want my people.

I want my kids to attend a school system that I understand. I want to ride roller coasters. I want to have the option to buy American candy every time I go to the store (and then have the willpower not to). I want to have play dates with stay at home mothers and their children. I want to sit down on someones couch for book club and learn and laugh. I want to sing the hymns I love in English with a congregation. I want chain restaurants and end tables with lamps.

I want my people.

Is it possible to be happy in one place but want, really want to be somewhere else?

Home is where the heart is? Well, then I guess I have two hearts.

Halloween in Poland

Well, they don't celebrate it. It's considered a very pagan American holiday (which is pretty much what it is, except I think it originated in England). Still, you can find a few Halloween decorations and costumes in large stores and probably some teens "celebrate" it in bigger cities.

We always do something at home, since there's no trick-or-treating. A couple of years ago the kids had a party and invited friends from school. They were all so confused when they saw Evie dressed as a ballerina. Ballerinas aren't scary! They thought you have to be something frightening.

As I say, I always try to do something Halloweenish. This year we did the usual stuff, but the kids made almost all the preparations.

"We" carved a pumpkin: Greg (who hates Halloween) did the artistic part, the kids scooped out the "monster teeth" (all while I took a nap). Note the little hanging decorations the kids made a few days ago for the stairs.

We played Halloween Bingo by candle light: the kids drew the pictures on the cards (spiders, witches hats, eyeballs etc.).

We played with slime: I just put the potato flour and water and bowls on the table and let them make it for themselves (no green food coloring or anything).

As usual I hid the candy around the living room and they searched for it by candle light.

Then we watched The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and ate dirt dessert with worms.

And there you have a lazy mother's Halloween.

******

As a heavily (95%) Catholic country, they celebrate All Saints day on November 1st and the Day of the Dead (not sure if that's what you call it in English) on the second. This is a very lovely holiday when everyone visits the graves of their loved ones. The cemeteries are amazing, all lit up with hundreds of candles. Even though we live far from the graves of any family members, we always visit a nearby cemetery just to walk around. It's magical. Here's proof (from a few years ago):

It's also a big drinking holiday (any excuse will do in Poland :), and as it falls on a Sunday this year we'll be staying off the roads, meaning no going to church. This is one of those holidays that they give statistics on the news every night about how many drunk drivers were stopped etc.

But those cemeteries are gorgeous.

The Time I Had

The entire purpose of my trip to California was to see these two people

Micah and Heather. All I can say is they're lucky there's no limit on the amount of good looks that can go into a marriage because otherwise there would have been NO CHANCE for them.

get married in this place.

The Wayfarers Chapel. Probably the second* most beautiful place you could get married. IMO.

It's in Rancho Palos Verdes (CA) and the grounds are beautiful and are just at the edge of a cliff hanging over the ocean. It's GORGEOUS. Here's the groom's family, oldest to youngest, with parents as book ends.

This is on the grounds of the Chapel. If we all took about 20 steps to the left (our right) we would, every last one of us, trip over lots of flowers and greenery and then fall a long way down into the ocean. That's one of a few reasons we took the picture here and not twenty paces to the left (our right).

Afterwards the reception was just down the road at the Trump National Golf Club**. The day before the wedding the groomsmen played a game of golf there, presumably for purposes of bonding, or something (bridesmaids bonded at the super fun bridal shower). At a course like this, I think even I could enjoy watching golf.

The reception was in the building overlooking the course (and that incredible view). Every detail was perfect without it feeling at all contrived or stuffy or anything. Formal, yet extremely comfortable and friendly and happy, happy, happy. Seriously awesome. Here's all the family that were there for the groom (I love them, every one) at the reception. Sure wish Greg, Evie, Dave and Aaron were in this shot!

This collage will give you an idea of what a party it was (and especially how much my nieces an nephews loved it, adults were really partying, too, you just don't see it in these pictures so much) (That's me and my sister's on the bottom, me, Su, and Anne)

But there were other awesome parts of my trip! I didn't take any shots, so all that I have here have been borrowed or stolen from my brother's or I got them off my sister's blog (hence the collages, she ignored my request to SEND PICTURES! so I'm snatching her collages.

Here we are at my dad's wife's family's amazing condo which overlooks the beach (notice a theme here?) and which they totally let everyone stay in even with kids (lots of them).

And guess who else I got to see (meet)? This Lady:

And even got to play with her little boy.

Look at that face. I certainly would never accuse Melanie of lying (especially not after meeting her and finding her as down to earth and smart and nice as I expected), but after having spent a few hours with this extremely well behaved and super cute boy I just can't reconcile him with the boy who decorated the walls and bunk bed ladder that she posted about.

The trip was a blast. I will never forget it and I'm so grateful to my dad and Pam for getting me out there. Seriously. Loved nearly every minute, except when I was crying. Even then, I loved most of those, too. Here are some things that made me cry:

* Feeling the baby move for the first time (at the airport on my way there)

* The sight of (certain) trees (I love trees)

* The beauty of the ocean

* My 10 year old niece's amazing poetry

* Things my nieces and nephews said/ their cute faces

* How much I love my famiLee (siblings)

* What a pain in the neck my famiLee is

* Saying good-bye

I wonder. . . do you think I might be pregnant? (eighteen weeks!)

* Or the hundred and somethingth most beautiful, depending on how you look at it

** Wasn't surprised to find from their site that this is the most expensive golf course ever built.

Forgetting How to be Friendly

Every time I go to the United States for a visit I feel like I've come home (because I have, but it's more than that).  Even just boarding a plane full of Americans makes me happy.  They are loud.  They are happy.  They are friendly.  I love them.  (Even if they're sometimes a tiny bit obnoxious when you've been living in Europe for a while.)

When we first moved to Poland I was surprised and a little shocked when I passed people on the streets and said, "Hello." or smiled a little and they quickly looked away and sometimes gave me dirty looks.  It made me feel as though I was in a different world, one where nobody knew me, and everyone disliked me already, before they could have any reason to.  

While visiting in America someone stopped me in the middle of the aisle at the grocery store because they just had to tell me that my son  has the cutest glasses they've ever seen in their life and that he is just such a darling boy.  At the shark petting area of the aquarium someone comes up to me and asks if my sister's little boy is my son (she pointed.  She didn't ask, "Is your sister's little boy your son?" that would have been so weird.).  I tell her no, he's my nephew and she says, "Wow.  You guys have the exact same color of hair.  It's a really neat color.  It has just a little bit of red in it."  I love that these perfect strangers understand that I might care about something that they observed and so they share.  As if they know I'm a person too, and think I might be a nice one.  This is how it should be.

In Poland I come to a point where I realize that saying hello to someone you don't know just confuses them terribly.  "Do I know you from somewhere?" they're thinking, frantically searching their brains.  When people are searching their brains it sometimes causes them to knit their brow.  When people knit their brows, it sometimes looks like they're giving dirty looks.  Even if they're not.  I think I'm starting to get these Poles.  A slight upturn of the corners of the mouth is okay, though it's almost never returned.  Smile!  It makes people wonder what you've been up to.  Maybe I'm just making people wonder about me. . .

In the States I observe my sister laughing with other women who are also shopping for children's clothing.  I sort of wonder if their kids go to school together or something.  The next day while at the checkout stand in the grocery store the woman behind us in line says, "Your little girl lost a sock, it looks like."  I glance up and see that Su's little girl's right foot is socked, but the left is bare.  I turn my head slightly back to the woman and say, "Oh, yes.  Thank you."  without looking at her face.  I let Su know and she thanks the woman and starts talking about what might have happened to that sock and how it's terrible to get in the car and realize you're missing something etc. etc.  

I stand there, in between the two of them, while they chatter on as if they enjoy nothing better than talking about Beth's socks.  And I wonder what has happened to me?  Why didn't I at least look the woman in the face while I thanked her?  Have I completely lost my ability to engage a stranger in conversation or even to make eye contact?  Would I soon just start ignoring people that talked to me if I didn't know them.  Maybe I'd start punching them in the face?

Sheesh.  

All of that happened a few years ago.  I'm hoping that I've learned a little since then.  Still, it takes a bit of effort for me.  And I can't do it in Poland, although Greg sometimes starts up conversations and is nearly always conversed with (I think it's because he's handsome.  And smart.  And funny.  Oh, and his Polish might be better than mine.)

So, people, enjoy your fellow Americans.  And if you ever see a woman with once-blond hair with a hint of red in it in the store, don't be offended if she doesn't strike up a conversation.  And if you smile at her and she gives you a dirty look, forgive her.  She's probably just wondering where she knows you from.  

Polish Christmas Traditions

This post is in response to Sue Q's question last month.

Christmas in Poland (or at least in our smallish city) is a much simpler affair than it is in the United States. The holiday is observed with at least as much reverence as it is in the States, but there is far less hoopla surrounding it.

On the radio over the weekend one of the deejays was talking about how in Warsaw he has already seen people driving through town with their tree strapped to the top of their car. The tradition is that you put up and decorate your tree on Christmas Eve, and we had more than a week and a half to go!

Stores do very little (if any) decorating for Christmas, just something simple and nice. You don't see Santas all over town. Hardly anyone decorates their houses with lights, and no one decorates it with anything besides lights. This makes it a real treat to see a house lit up. I've gotten used to it, and I actually like it (I really, really missed this the first few years here, and still do).

The most celebrated part of the holiday is Wigilia--Christmas Eve. On Christmas Eve, as I say, the tree is decorated. Then, when the first star appears, there is a big feast. Tradition calls for 12 dishes to be served for this meal, so I think the Poles have Americans beat for amount of time spent preparing the dinner. There is meant to be one extra place set at the table for any poor wanderer that may chance by and be in need of a warm meal. Also, there is a bit of straw strewn across the table and then covered by the table cloth to commemorate the birth of the savior in the manger.

Before the meal is eaten, Poles have a custom that I think is wonderful. There is a large rectangular wafer (about the size of a face card) that is embossed with a Nativity scene. The eldest member of the family breaks this wafer into pieces, giving one piece to each member of the family. Then each person goes around to the others exchanging broken off bits of their wafer along with hugs and well wishes for the coming year. Very often the wishes are almost memorized, "I wish you health, and happiness and success in your endeavors. . .etc." but they are taken quite seriously and there is a wonderful spirit in the room during this exchange. It is during this exchange that people often shake off grudges and forgive past wrongs. It is really lovely and sets a beautiful mood for the meal that will be eaten together.

As Poland is ninety-five percent Catholic, this holiday (Christmas Eve) has been a day of "fast" (no meat) for generations until it was changed just a few years ago. This means that the big meal is comprised in large part of fish. About a week before Christmas, stores put up pools full of live fish. Big ones. You come in and choose and buy the one you want, and it is perfectly normal (and also completely hilarious IMO) that many Poles have fish swimming in their bathtubs for days before Christmas so they can have fresh fish for this meal. Of course, this causes those of us who don't appreciate sea food to feel less than excited about the dinner. Fried carp. Pickled herring. Stuffed pike. Makes some people's stomaches growl and others' turn. At least there are other delicious dishes served alongside the fish. Things like borscht, cabbage with peas (which is absolutley nothing like what it sounds like. At all. It's extremely delicious.) and pierogi. And for dessert there is the famous poppyseed cake I've written about before.

Later there is present opening. As long as I've known them, Greg's family have opened all the presents on Christmas Eve. There is no "exchange" of presents. The gifts are marked with the name of the person it is for, and they are handed out in a general way (usually our youngest child does it). It is said that all the gifts are from Santa. This means that you can spend as much time as you like finding the perfect gift for someone, but they won't necessarily know that you're the one who bought it. I love this tradition, as it demands that we seek no glory in our giving. I also hate this tradition as it demands that we seek no glory in our giving. I think it is more normal to open most of the presents on Christmas day. The 25th is Christmas day and the 26th is the second day of Christmas. Apart from visiting family members, I am unaware of any traditions observed on these two days.

So Christmas is a time for family to be together. It is a time when people spend days cooking in preparation for the Christmas Eve dinner and then spend a memorable evening enjoying it together. It is an evening of singing Christmas carols together and sharing gratitude for the birth of the Redeemer.

I have never been home for Christmas in the eight years that we've lived here, and I have become used to the Polish way. There are many things I like about it. Polish Christmas carols are absolutely beautiful. the music as well as the lyrics. There isn't all the bustle and stress that you sometimes feel in America (althought there are things I like about that as well). Still, in our home I keep most of the traditions that I knew as a child. "Santa" fills stockings and we read about Jesus' birth in the scriptures. We play games or watch a Christmas movie in the evening. But I am glad that we also stay with Greg's parents and share in their Polish traditions, as well!

Polishing My Children's Americanism

Moody asked: How is growing up in Poland going to affect your kids (meaning what kind of person they will become), vs if they were growing up in the US?

My kids won't be as used to meeting and making new friends. Their first three years of elementary school are spent with the same teacher. Their first six years are spent with the same set of kids. They are not forced into a new environment every year. I both love and hate this. Still, my kids are pretty outgoing, and I hope they can hold on to that throughout their lives.

My kids will (do) have stronger shoulders and backs than American kids. There are no desks, just tables and chairs, so the kids have to carry all their books and supplies to and from school every day. Now that Evie is in fourth grade, she changes classrooms every lesson (all the same kids stay together, they just move from room to room) and lugs all her books around to each one.

My kids eat fewer processed foods. They don't have all the interesting and fun snack foods that you have in the States. There are maybe two or three different kinds of crackers (Oh how I miss Cheez-its and Wheat Thins!) no fruit snacks and hardly any freezer stuff like corn dogs, bagel bites, and chicken nuggets. I mean, they have chicken nuggets of some sort, but like a tiny box of them. But I think I wouldn't buy them much even if I lived in the States.

My kids will never learn how to drink from a drinking fountain. Seriously. They love them so much and practice every time we see one when we're in the States, but they both still are about on the 18 month old level (loud slurping noises, tongue often seen outside of mouth [lick, lick] water all down chin/in nose etc.) I've demonstrated countless times, but really, how do you explain, "purse your lips, sort of close the back of your throat with your tongue and then suck a little bit at a time. . .?" It takes loads of practice. (nearest drinking fountain is in the Freiberg, Germany temple)

My kids will always get an A in their English classes. Last week David had a substitute in his English class and she was holding up pictures of animals and the kids were supposed to call out the name in English. Amidst all the calls of "Dack!" There was one little boy who called out, "It's a duck!" The teacher stopped, put down the picture and said, "David!! Do you know how to speak English?" (only she used a slang word for talk which means more like chatter or blabber or something) And she was so excited when he said he could (but she kept speaking to him in Polish about it, even though he answered her in English).

My kids might stand out more than kids in America in terms of their culture and religion, and learn to defend and talk about it at an earlier age. Everything from why they aren't bundled like an Eskimo to why they don't want any tea, thanks, to why they don't attend religion classes etc. Evie has had a teacher ask her how she knows that her church is true and after Evie explained about the Holy Ghost, her teacher told her that those are just her own thoughts and feelings. She has had a caring friend ask why she doesn't pray, and has explained that she DOES pray, just in a more "talking to God" sort of a way. Since then she has had enough birthday parties with blessings said over the food that all her friends understand that she does pray. And more often than they do. (I know kids everywhere have some of these opportunities, of course)
When we visit Greg's parents (they are Catholic) we always ask a blessing on the food. His dad calls on one of us, my father and mother-in-law never say the prayers, but my FIL always lets us know that this is how it should be (meaning that even though they don't do it themselves, and never have, he feels that it is right). We also read scriptures and have family prayer with them in the evenings and they are surprised and delighted by how much the kids understand.

My kids will have to work harder at honesty. Honesty is just not highly valued in this country yet. There is still lots of corruption left over from Communism and the "take what you can get by whatever means necessary" attitude is still very prevalent. My children stick out like a sore thumb on this issue, and I know they will have loads of temptation (I know they would in the States, too, but for sure it will be harder here). I think they're up for the challenge, though. I wrote about dishonesty in Poland/the kid's school here.

So these aren't maybe about what kind of people my kids will be because of growing up in Poland, but it hopefully gives you an idea. I hope that my kids will be both tough and tolerant. Tough enough to stand up for themselves with all the teasing and trials that will come from having a Mormon American background in such a Polish Catholic country and that they will learn love and tolerance for the really interesting religious beliefs and customs of the people around them.

Sophistication

**Time again to revisit Sophistication. Numbers 10-12 are the additions this time.**

After we had lived in Poland for a while I got back in touch with an old family friend (their family are friends of my family). I had lived in their basement when I first moved to Rexburg to start school. They are a family of intellectuals (Dad's an English professor and they're all very smart). I have always felt just a bit intimidated by them, even though they're the nicest people on the planet. When I lived there, my intimidation was tempered by the fact that they listened to Snoop Dogg, watched and quoted the Simpsons non-stop and made lots of delicious brownies. Who can be intimidated by anyone while eating brownies?

So this woman asked if I was getting all sophisticated, living, as I do, in Europe. This question obviously struck me, since she asked it about 6 years ago and I still remember it. I suppose I started thinking that maybe I should be getting sophisticated, living, as I do, in Europe. This is my inspiration for this post. That and the fact that I only ever post about things that are very important. Or let's just say important, ranging from rather to extremely. And relevant to my readers. That's another thing I value. Relevance.

So I've decided to start a running list of important things I've learned, living, as I do, in Europe. My hope is to gradually reveal the level of sophistication I have achieved. I will add things to the list as I remember them and re-post the list showing my updates. I'm pretty sure you are all on the edge of your seats. Here it comes, in no particular order:

1. Smiling at strangers doesn't always give them a feeling of common understanding with you. Some places it's more likely to make them afraid of you.
2. You can make a cereal that tastes almost exactly like Reese's Peanut Butter Puffs (not available in Poland) by stirring your dry Cookie Crisp (available in Poland) with peanut butter (available) and then adding your milk (also available).
3. Children (especially babies)whose ears are not covered if there is a breeze and it is below 75 degrees outside, will almost surely die. If they don't, at least their mothers will from the deadly looks they are given by more experienced mothers. This has improved in the years we've lived here, and now people just mention over and over that, don't we think our kid needs a hat?
4. Hershey's chocolate (milk and dark) bears little resemblance to real chocolate. It's brown and it's sweet, but beyond that, different. Not bad, just different. I'm not such a snob that I won't eat it. It's a tasty, American, chocolate-like candy.
5. Getting from one city to another 75 miles away doesn't have to take an hour. It can take two or three.
6. Children should sleep without underwear. I'm still not clear on why, I just know it's weird for them to sleep in their underpants. And if you're LDS and your kids sleep in their underwear? Hmmm.
   
7. It's possible to spend an entire summer walking down sidewalks and never once have to detour into the street to avoid getting sprayed by a sprinkler. Or: It's possible to spend an entire summer walking down sidewalks and never find any refreshment from the heat in the form of sprinklers directed almost completely onto the sidewalk. (maybe this has changed in America now that people are loving Mother Earth a bit more).
8. Babies need tea. They should drink baby tea (fruit and herbal) every day from their first month of life.
   
9. Children should NOT drink cold drinks. For children under 3, "cold" means room temperature or colder. For some older kids, room temp might be okay, but it's safer to warm the beverage, like you do for the younger children. Cold drinks give kids (and many adults) sore throats. (This is true! Since drinks are always warmed for children, they can't handle cold ones.)
10. On a long drive, when you gotta go, you gotta go, so there's no need to wait for a gas station. Just pull off the side of the road and do your thing right there. You don't have to worry about covering yourself, or walking 5 paces from your car into the forest through which you are driving. And also, kids should learn to pee on the grass at the park.
    
11. Cakes that taste any sweeter than a typical store bought hamburger bun are "too sweet." Or at least "very rich." (more opinions on Polish cakes here.)
    
12. There are entire grocery stores full of food, good food, that doesn't have brightly colored packaging, or big bubble letter words, or all the reasons you should eat it listed on the packaging. (when we first came here I thought it was so sad and boring, now I think it's really funny when I'm visiting the states and see all the stuff you guys have there. Seems silly after you've been away from it all for a while)
    

That's it for now. I'm sure I'll be coming up with some EVEN MORE sophisticated things that I've learned over the years.

How We Came to Be in Poland and Q&A

We boarded a plane headed to Warsaw, flew for many hours, and arrived. That's the version for those who lack either the time or the desire to hear the details. For the others there's this:

Greg was baptized into the church in Poland at age 19 (YES this is where the story begins. Leave me alone!) and anxiously waited out the year before he would be able to serve his full time mission. In his interview with his branch president, he promised that after his mission he would return to help the Church in Poland. While he was serving in Chicago, Elder Oaks visited for some sort of conference and chose, on Sunday, to attend the tiny Polish branch in which Greg was serving. In a discussion between the mission president and Elder Oaks, it was decided that if he wanted to, Greg should attend university in America before returning to Poland. With this endorsement and his continued promise of returning to Poland, Greg managed to get into BYU. It CERTAINLY didn't have anything to do with his previous academic record. (Oops! That "certainly" wasn't meant to come out so very capitalized! Sorry, dear! And it's only because he had been a rebel without a cause. Once he had a cause, he turned all academic)

So while he was attending BYU we met and were married. In Provo, we had some friends who were in a similar situation as us: he was Polish and she was American and he had just graduated from BYU. Our friend found a job right away and moved to Poland to work for a company that was based in Provo who had a factory in Poland which made frames and bodies of a '60's sports car replica. Greg spent a frustrating summer trying to find a good job in Utah while also trying to keep us afloat with various in between jobs. One day, after our friends had been in Poland for about 3 months, the guy called from Poland saying that his boss was considering hiring another Polish guy to come out from America, and would we be interested, if they decided to hire? We said yes!! with much surprise that this could happen so suddenly,but still thinking it was not all that likely. Um, within 9 days we were on a plane headed to Poland for an undetermined length of time*.

Well, I can't really say undetermined, because our plan was to live in Poland for one or two years and see how I got on. The implication was that after a year or two we would have done our time in Poland and would return to live in the States. We spent our first 4 years of living in Poland telling anyone who asked that we were going to be here for a year or two (or another year or two). At that point I finally had an experience that woke me up to the fact that we were meant to be here for at least a while longer, and to stop living/talking as if we might return to the States any year now. Since then I have thought very little about moving back.

Still, as the kids get older, I long for them to have some of the same experiences as I did growing up. We wish we could live closer to aging American grandparents (KIDDING, mom and dad!! about the aging, not the wishing) and beloved cousins and aunts and uncles. We've lived in Poland for eight years now. We all love it and will surely miss it if we do move back, but as the teenage years approach, I've been thinking a little more about the possibility. Then I had another little wake up experience (briefly mentioned in the comments of this post) and I'm once again on board for living in Poland as long as we're supposed to.

* The biggest tragedy was that my mother had moved from California to Utah literally DAYS before we found out about this job, and I was her only child living there, so we just up and left her!)

In case you wonder about some other things here's a bit of Q&A:

Do you speak Polish?
Not if I don't have to, which is why my Polish is so terrible. Before we moved here I had envisioned myself living in Poland and diving right into all the intricacies of the language. Apparently The Secret doesn't always work. I can understand probably 90% but my grammar is not good and my decent accent rarely comes into play, as I avoid speaking like the plague. Of course I can speak and do fairly frequently (or am forced to), but I do not express myself well, simply because I have not taken the time to do a little bit of studying. (Polish is a very difficult language for English speakers to learn. Particularly lazy English speakers.)

Does your husband's family live nearby?
They are about a 4-5 hour drive away. This is unusual in Poland, as nearly all Poles live in the city in which they were born and rely pretty heavily on their parents for support and help in raising their own children. We try to visit them every month or so. (And I love them! They're amazing.)

Were your children born in Poland?
Ewelina was born in Provo, Utah, and we moved here when she was 10 months old. Both David and Aaron were born in small town Poland, with the help of some great doctors and nurses in some (2 different) not so up-to-date hospitals. These experiences helped me realize a possible reason why most Polish families have only one or two children: NO ANESTHESIA!

Do your children speak both languages?
Very fluently. I'm only adding this question because people always DO ask it, although it seems fairly obvious to me. I speak English with them in the home in their formative years (Greg does too) and Greg speaks some Polish with them, and they hear it outside the home. I would say when they are under 4 years of age, their English is better, but the Polish catches up shortly thereafter.

What kind of school do your children attend?
They attend a normal Polish school, which is why David's English teacher pronounces "footprints" "feetpreents." They have an English class twice a week with their regular studies. We make sure they don't correct their English teacher, although it's a little upsetting when they come home and tell us that their teacher was teaching the kids how to make the "th" sound using a Polish "f" which is pronounced exactly the way an English "f" is pronounced. She had the kids repeating that "f" (th) sound over and over.


What do you love about Poland?
Oh, LOTS of things. Food, landscape, slow pace of life. Many things! I plan to write a post about this in the future. (update: I did write a post about some of the things I love about Poland. To read it, go here.)

Do you visit America very often?
We have been very blessed to return for a visit about once a year (Greg's bosses pay our airfare, as a sort of yearly bonus, and we love them for this). Generally I just travel with the children and Greg stays behind, but he has been with us twice, after we'd lived here for 6 months and then again about 2 years ago. We try to see as many family members as possible when we visit (they're in Maryland, Utah and California). We often just go to Maryland as it's much closer to Poland, and other family members visit us there, but every other year or so we travel across the country as well. It gets pretty crazy, but we love it.

There you have it! All you could ever want to know about our coming to Poland. (or if it isn't, I'll answer questions in the comments)

Poland Progresses!!

On our little shopping trip this morning Poland taught me something. Did you know entire countries can teach you things? Well, all of Poland gathered itself together in our little town of Mielec and showed me something nice today.

Really, there was no big meeting in Mielec or anything. That was all a bunch of nonsense, but here's what I saw, besides that the weather accidentally thought it was November. Poland is becoming more and more westernized. That's what I learned (okay, I actually learn this over and over). Certain husbands of certain bloggers don't always love the way their country comes off in certain blogs. That's why I'm first going to say that Poland is changing so quickly. The economy is improving very quickly and since joining the European Union the improvements are coming at an even more rapid rate. On to my discoveries (given in long winded, Lisa fashion, try though I did to hold back):

1. I always try to buy my kids used clothing. There are a few reasons for this. First of all, I'm cheap and have a hard time paying even reasonable prices for something new when I could get something similar used and much less expensive. Also, this used to be the only way I could get American style clothing for my children. Poles just did NOT dress their toddlers in jeans and button down shirts*. As I say, you can buy those things now, but if I get them used I can get things from the GAP, Children's Place, and of course lots and lots of Circo stuff, too :).

Well, we used to observe little boys wearing pink or with shoes that had a unicorn on them****. It was pretty normal, especially for kids under age 4 to be dressed in clothes that Americans would definitely consider gender specific, when they were the wrong gender. When I asked for help in shops the ladies would present me all kinds of dainty patterned clothing for my little boy.

Well, today while the lady was helping me find some jeans for David she set out a pair that had some flowers embroidered at the bottom of the leg. I started to point to them and she quickly picked them back up and said, "Oh!! You probably don't want to wear those, do you?!" and started joking with David that he could surely wear them if he wanted them. She recognized that boys don't wear flowers. Of course I'm making this into a bigger deal than it was, but I was more surprised that she recognized it than I would have been if she hadn't.

2. Not sure if it's left over from communist times or what, but when you enter a shop in which you will be choosing your items to buy (as opposed to all those shops, still flourishing, in which you point to the food item you want behind the counter and the shopkeeper gets it down for you--missionaries in Poland used to call these "Poprosze stores" or "'I'd like' stores" because you had to ask for every item on your list.) so when you were in the self service type store, you HAD TO HAVE either a shopping cart or a shopping basket. Just running in to buy a candy bar? TAKE A BASKET. Or security might stop you and make you go get one. At best you would get suspicious/dirty looks from people. I've seen a few stores over the years that display a sign "Do not enter without a basket" but really, this is generally an unspoken rule. Everyone knows it and it's bad manners not to do it.

Today, there was a monster long line in the store we were going to. It was Aaron's nap time, with all that means to a shopping mother, and we only needed a few things. I had no change to use to get a shopping cart (you put in a coin to get your cart and get it back when you return it to the right place--great idea, eh?). There was no way I was waiting in that line just for change, so instead I had Evie take care of Aaron as we wandered around the store, and David and I just filled the cotton grocery bags I always have with me when shopping (except when I forget, which is only maybe 33% of the time) and unloaded them on the conveyor belt. We managed to do this with nary a sideways glance and even the security didn't stop us, although I think that's because they never saw us. (In many grocery stores in Poland you have security guards that pace the aisles with their arms folded across their chests eyeing everyone suspiciously. They are always dressed all in black and have those black leather army boots.)

The fact that both these things happened in the same outing means a lot. I give inward cheers when I have experiences like these. Still no sign of a drinking fountain or Golden Grahams, but excellent progress nonetheless.


* It used to be that it was difficult to find clothing for small children that was not brightly colored, or at least that didn't have a fluorescent colored animal displayed somewhere (think bright pink dinosaurs or construction-zone-vest yellow elephants with inscriptions like "You friend are kiss" or something). Clothing for older kids would just have funky patterns on them.

**** Four stars because I was so surprised. After posting this I went downstairs where David had just come inside with a neighbor boy who is a few months younger than him. This boy was wearing hot pink socks. Just for kicks I glanced at his shoes lying in the hallway; white with little purple flowers. No joke. Other than that he was dressed all boyish. I couldn't believe the coincidence!

Have Your Cake and Eat It Tuesday

Okay, so this isn't actually cake, but today is actually Tuesday, and since I came up with the name, I'm taking liberties and allowing myself the postage of recipes for any sweets without my having to change it to Have Your Cookies and Eat Them Tuesday. That really loses something, don't you think?

So these are cookies. I'll tell you all about how much I adore these cookies in a moment, but first I need to tell you about a very unfortunate side effect they have on me. When I eat them, I kick myself. And the more of them I eat, the more I love them and the more I kick myself. It's looks kind of stupid and doesn't feel great either. If you're thinking of making these, read further to see if you might be susceptible to these same side effects.

They are Chocolate Malt Sandwiches from Martha Stewart's website. I don't actually go onto that site looking for recipes, but I often find her recipes recommended on blogs I read. This one I saw at Cookie Madness. They are delicious. But then, I'm a major fan of malt. I make them and keep them in the fridge. They are so rich and sweet that even I can only eat about 4 of them in a sitting (okay, so that's basically 8 cookies, plus the filling, but whatever). Then I have to wait a full 30 minutes before I'm ready for another.

Do you know what it is about these cookies that makes me kick myself? It's not because I'm trying to keep myself from taking in the calories (heaven knows I'm not at a place where I worry about that as much as I should). So why the masochism? I'll tell you why.

When we were staying at my mother's house on our last trip to America, she had picked up a few things that I had requested from the grocery store. See, I try to get as much of the things that you can't get in Poland while we're in the States as I can. But I also have to make sure it will all fit in my luggage and not be too much for me to travel with (especially when I'm doing a marathon run of going back and forth across the country in two weeks, by myself with three children in tow). One of the things I'd requested this time was malt powder.

I love chocolate malts. I love Fuddruckers chocolate malts. I love Dalt's* chocolate malts. With curly cheese fries. After a tri-Stake dance late on a Saturday night. (I love that I wondered why my skin was never clear in High School.) They don't have chocolate malts in Poland. They don't even have malt powder. Oh, they have plenty of MALT. The kind you can drink even, if you know what I mean. But I'm not that kind of girl. So I'm left to make my own chocolate malted milk shakes. I don't do this a lot and they don't require all that much malt powder, so when I saw that my mother had bought 3 containers of malt, I thanked her kindly but was afraid I couldn't/shouldn't bring more than one back with me because of space/weight limitations. Especially considering I was already bringing 8 pounds of brown sugar with me, among other things (guess how long eight pounds of brown sugar lasts at Lisa's house? 2 months? Maybe.).

Did you read the sentence before last? Three containers of malt! I did not accept them! I am an idiot! And now I am an idiot with no malt powder because I found this wonderful recipe, made it twice, and ran out. I could make these cookies 4-5 more times if I had had the foresight to accept what was already purchased for me! Kick, kick, kick!

*I just read that Dalt's closed in 2005!! This is a travesty! I will be in mourning for the next few days. I can't believe it. I just can't believe it. I seek the comfort of family and friends who have also loved that place.
If you give these cookies to your kids, they might react this way:

Then they might start in on them like this:

They might realize that there's some filling in there. Mmmmm:

Once they realize what it is they're eating they will continue to partake, now with only a slightly confused expression:

Chomp, chomp chomp:

Remember I said they were really sweet and rich?:

Your kids might really enjoy them, too. If you're nice enough to share!

Just My Type

I love typing! It's fun (or it's still fun, just like driving a car is still fun to me). In Poland people don't know how to type. I'm sure this is a gross generalization, and probably in the upcoming generations more people are learning, but generally speaking, in this country things are kept on paper (not printer paper, I'm talking paper and pen paper).

Of course there ARE computers. Lots of them. In fact you often see them on the news when they mention some government department and show a lady behind a desk pecking away with both her pointer fingers, often reaching over with her right hand to hit an "e". They actually get to be pretty quick at it, and it's fun to watch. It isn't, however, very efficient. And I think this country could be significantly more productive if people learned to type (this is probably an oversimplification, and of course many people own personal computers these days, as well). The problem is, they don't offer typing courses in school.

I took beginning typing in 9th grade. Mr. Shaw was a tall, loud, slightly obnoxious man with wild, curly black hair. We used typewriters (!). He would shout, " A! S! D! F! A! S! D! F!" and we would all feel awesome punching in the right buttons, as displayed on our grayish sheet of recycled type paper, without even looking at our hands. Maybe he wasn't all that loud in real life, but he was in a room full of typewriters, and typewriters that were being used, so he HAD to yell. He spent all day yelling and probably went home and yelled at his family (without realizing it, I mean).

It was kind of hard to think about the letters sometimes though, because Mark Janji was in that class. And I could see him from where I sat. What a dream. He was tall, very thin, very tan, with light hazel (I think) eyes and dark wavy hair that he styled perfectly each day with the help of a half a tube of gel. And he had braces, and made them look amazing. I think I convinced some of the girls sitting around me to help me throw crumpled up used paper at him every day as a means of flirtation. How irresistible was I! He was neither smart, nor funny, nor especially nice, but he was something to behold. (what was I thinking?) So you can see why my earliest memories of typing are great ones. And it carried over when, the next semester, I took a word processing class (using real computers!) and still loved typing, even though Mark was not in that class.

I've mentioned before that I'm not the fastest of typers. I think I type 40-45 wpm. That little test in my sidebar ignores the law of averages. Of course I can type 72 words when it's for only one minute, typing some really basic words and I can try over and over. But my modest 40wpm is all I need, really. There's no real sense of urgency in getting blog posts typed up, or race to get emails written, and that's all I'm using it for.

This summer Evie has decided to start a blog. She would take her own pictures and dictate the text to me and I would do the typing. Then I realized that she should learn to type on her own. I found a great little On-line typing course (FREE!!), although I don't think it does enough repetition. It could be improved by a Mr. Shaw-like voice shouting out the whole, "A! S! D! F!" (or at least some more repetition of letters for practice on screen). My kids are just going over each level and stage more than once. And it may not come with a built in Mark Janji to bring in that added element of fun (or at least handsomeness), but it does have singing octopi and dancing sheep, which is all the motivation my kids need (actually, Evie turns the volume all the way down while she practices) It's better than a computer game to them! Great!

When David would read to me in the past, it usually went something like this: "Are you crazy question mark Don't eat the leaves exclamation point" Since he began this typing program, and has become more aware, it goes something like this "Are space you space crazy question mark Don't space eat space the space leaves exclamation point." Clown.

I told a friend of mine about this typing course and she's really excited to try it out. She told me she types one-handed and is interested in learning how to really type. That's great! I hope more people will learn and it will become a norm here, like it is in dear America. And then everything will improve*. It will be this huge upward growth thing and eventually they'll start selling things like chocolate chips, peanut butter cups, and cooking spray and have clean enough water that they can make drinking fountains available everywhere. And I will finally feel completely comfortable in Poland. So now we come to my real reason for wanting people to be able to type faster.

*Although the Polish economy is doing wonderfully at this point. And If this closing paragraph makes me sound like an arrogant or ignorant American, that's probably only because I kind of am, sometimes, fight as I will against it.

Miss America

I do. (Not I am.) Especially on days like today. I've always been a patriotic person, but living abroad has brought my patriocity to a new level. Now I don't just love being American and have a sense of pride for my country's history, but I also see more than ever where that history has brought us, and what it really means to be an American. That probably sounds a little silly, but it's true. I won't elaborate further because it's 11:43 and my bedtime is 10:30 and plus I hardly slept last night because of a lovely, but very loud thunderstorm.

As we do every year, we had a little devotional and talked about America's beginnings and our blessings. We also sang "America the Beautiful" with Rory the Lion (the patriotic, singing feline my mom brought to us 6 years ago) like we do every year, but this year we also got to read the words of that lovely poem and look at some beautiful pictures of scenes of America and it's past, in a book she sent this year.

It was raining all day so there was no barbecue. Okay, there wouldn't have been one anyway, but at least we had an excuse. We did have hamburgers, though, and the kids helped make some onion rings. Yum! And of course we tried to do some themed treats as well. I'm really not creative, but here are some of the things we came up with. It's hard to see in the picture, but the kids made these gigantic fire crackers which have bits of crepe paper as the sparks coming off the "lit" fuse.

Then we remembered about sparklers! We COULD have fireworks in Poland on the 4th of July, for the first time! I have a strange suspicion that this happens every year, the whole last minute, "Oh my gosh! Sparklers! We can do sparklers! Finally a 4th of July with fireworks!" thing. The kids helped make the jell-o and cookies as well as the onion rings. I was glad it was raining, because there was plenty to do indoors today!

I hope you are all having/have had a wonderful fourth of July and appreciate living in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave (if you do). Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue!

Or the Pink, White and Purple, if you're going by my jell-o. C'mon, we did the best we could with what we had. And I actually appreciate that there is no blue jell-o to be had in Poland.