Dear Darla Diaries

international relocation: unexpected challenges

or The Things Your Mama Couldn't Warn You About

As we get settled into Deutschland one stockinged foot after another, I'm time and time again reminded of how the way things are versus how we assumed them to be. Life hands you challenge after challenge that were not at all the top of the priority list when we started weighing the pros and cons of the assignment. LIfe is funny like that. I've compiled a list of what some of things that have come to light over the last 18 months that I would recommend being aware of, before they make you aware of them. Not all of these are uniquely military, that was just the specific environment that brought us across the pond. Many of these hold true to our civilian - military support friends that live here on their dime and some without any kind of military support (we have a few perks.)

 

You think: Can I drive my car? (What kind of license might I need? Are the roads any different? Do we have transportation? Does the government ship/what will the shipping cost be? Is it worth it just buy a 'four-year' junker?)

You realize: Car repairs! Oil Changes! Maintenance Oh My! If facing a language barrier isn't hard enough you rely on a lot of hearsay on what's the best local mechanic, the pain of unfamiliar oil change setup, how much you have come to rely on the local US tire store-speedy lube-local mechanic duo. This ain't Walmart. Over here you force-enabled to become a basic parts and labor mechanic whether you've ever desired it or not. You are also faced with the realization that some of the mechanics speak enough English to communicate it is Broken! and you need to Fix It! but they only deal in the local cash currency and they expect them at a completely different rate than Please Hurry!

 

You think: It's a house! Four walls, bathroom, living room, kitchen, check!

You find out: First, the Germans often lease out completely bare apartments. And by bare the locals expect to furnish their own kitchen, sinks, cabinets, dishwasher, etc. Often times you can get lucky and get an 'Americanized' semi furnished setup but you will still get to invest a penny or two in freestanding wardrobe closets (schranks) and shelving oh my. There isn't such a thing as a 'closet' here.

Also: LIGHT BULBS. They have nipple size, wattage size and light saving for e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. The light bulbs on all four of stair well landings are such a pain that I haven't replaced a one of them for 6 months. I plan on putting a basket of bulbs with a bow under the tree addressed from Santa to Me. When Husband asks Why? I can tell him: Santa said for Xmas my knight-in-shining-armor would install them.

Third: yard care, nap hours, tradition. It is practically biblical in the villages to respect the daily quite hours from 1-3pish and EVERY SUNDAY. American habit may be to mow the lawn or rake the leaves after church but here you won't hear a whisper on grass, unless it's the neighbor girls playing faerie in the laurels. Sunday also includes store closures. You don't realize how habitual a quick Sunday afternoon grocery run has become until you remember week after week that it's on base, with 5-thousand-other-panicked-folk or not at all. The later often outweighs the former. You can get by without many things to avoid madness.

 

You assume: Internet? It isn't the stone age, of COURSE our house will come with high-speed internet.

You find out: WRONG. Although we have gotten lucky it is fairly normal to move 5 minutes into just about any village and hit a dead spot for 95% of the cell service as well as creepy crawly stone age connection speed. It's very hit or very miss and there isn't a damn thing that can be done about it. Wireless clouds are heresy since they also have hugely monitored piracy laws and personnel internet service is locked down tighter than Fort Knox.

 

You think: TV. Of course they'll have some form of television. Hopefully something English speaking or we can get a Satellite!

You discover: The military has a form of satellite setup. There is also a second setup. And just like in the states when they change positioning and you should only have to move your satellite a 'hair' it will, in fact, take 24 wasted hours, 13 men and 4 months of rejected calling/contacting/emailing before you will get in touch with a professional. Who will charge you a mere $125 for a house call to hopefully fix the tv so you can once again watch Good Morning America and 2p (thank you time change.)

 

It's the little things that drive me batty. I won't even get started with the WhyGodWhy!! that involves cell phone contracts and the kidney donation involved with each and every iPhone or decent smart phone. Maybe another blog.

big fat stupid diet head

Oh blog, I haven't written for awhile.

I missed you.

I have all these lame excuses about sleeping, working graveyards, spending endless hours playing hospital-shuttle-driver for the mom-in-law, briefly coercing with the new WoW Cataclysm ... but in the end they all sound like excuses.

I know you want to hear about my life and breath and dysfunctionality.

I know you miss our utterly random discussions and constant topic hopping.

I know you miss slapping yourself in the forhead during those 'duh girl!' moments that on occasion I miss entirely.

I know you miss my runonsentences, poor punctuation and atroscious paragraphs.

This is me catching up. Here goes nothing.

I finally went to the doctor to check on my stupid old lady wrists and my continual and perpetual sinus allergies. The lovely Dr Odawa confirmed a few things I already had an inkling about. My carpal tunnel is very very angry and my sinuses don't play well with others. He prescribed a brace, some anti-inflammatories and a long awaited prescription dosage of allergy meds. Apparently not only were the OTC meds not working, but I was overmedicating.

Buzzkill.

A dear friend returned. I, however wasn't aware of his freeloading status until the nurse so sweetly pointed it out. Welcome back HighBloodPressure. You've been missed.

In the states, about two years ago, we first met. Luckily at that point I was hardcore CrossFit [see the links over on the left if you don't know] and had a uber obsessive BFF who knew and agreed to all our self induced pain and agony. I was also trying to get pregnant and watching a myriad of things. Together we were ever to keep HBP to random and infrequent visits that kept everyone happy.

Once again, excuses. That is my justifaction for falling off the exercise wagon. That and relocating, new job, new country, wah, wah wah and a slice of peanut butter pie.

I now own my first blood pressure cuff. I also am the proud owner of a struggling and evasive low sodium - low fat diet regime. Go team. The doctor, ironically, didn't give me further instructions and g.o.ogle is proving taxing at best, but I'm working on it.

Does anyone besides me realize how boring plain tuna with a touch of mustard, fruit, plain raw veggies and cold dry Kashi cereal can be?

I did discover interesting facts with my new HBP LSLFDiet: eggs cannot be your friend. I was a bit ignorantly eating egg white omeletes because of the fat content in them. The sodium in the egg whites (thank you IncredibleEggSite) however, more than makes up for the lack of fat. In fact it seems like it would be healthier to just eat the YOLK in my case. So I've cut out 98% of all "sodium" things but turn around crippled myself with an EGGWHITE??

Thank you internet. You are a true friend indeed.

My next stop may have to be to nutritionist for tips and points.

In the mean time dear HBP ... watch your back. I'm coming for you with a passion, a scale and a fistful of sharpened carrots.

p.s. Dear g.o.ogle I'm sorry I doubted you. I just stumbled upon the DASH diet. Also known as  "the DASH diet (Dietary Approaches to Stop Hypertension) is a diet promoted by the National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute" per Wikipedia.

And to answer your unspoked question dear HBP, yes I do tend to draw the cart before the horse.

Egg, you are still off the menu in your natural form.

Baked goods, you are back on the bandwagon. Thank you MayoClinic for the delicious recipes and diet tip plan!

weekend light reading

Sarah, the ever impressive Grok and also struggler at infertility, posted a great piece on first month with baby. I Grok Motherhood. It wasn't exactly what she had in mind when she heard "childbirth would be hard."

My husband remarked that a woman goes through the most pain she will ever experience in her life and simultaneously gets slapped with the biggest responsibility she's ever had.

Angel also did a great piece on motherhood. Her knucklehead is 19 years old and ever becoming the man.

You know those moments when, as a parent, you look at your baby and realise he or she isn’t a baby anymore, but a young child? Or the moment when you look at him walking into the school gate and he’s suddenly so tall?

I had one of those moments.

will sulfa please raise his hand

Another doctor's appointment today. Very interesting results. Apparently I had almost all the symptons of Hepatitis A the last few weeks, with the exception of being jaundiced, but but BUT the Hep panel keeps coming back to negative. So I do have it but I don't?

The trick with Hep A is that you can contract a virul version of it from meds.

The doctor believes now that all my drama was med induced. From meds he prescribed me three weeks ago ... for a SI.NU.S INFECTION! Brilliant. I knew I really was an episode of H.ouse.

Excessive weight loss: i.e. 16 pounds in 10 days. Check
Excessive temp for 4 days: Check
Fatigue: Check
Vomiting: Check
Full body rash: Check
Elevated liver levels: Check
Swollen and aggravated liver: Check
Hepatitis A: Inconclusive.

What sucks is I've seen this doctor nearly a half dozen times in the past 3 weeks. I like him. He's terribly nice ... I'm just not a fan of another drug induced allergic reaction.

So as always there was another life lesson to be learned: don't take drugs. Or maybe it's just stick with ibuprofen.

keepin' it real on the money front

It sucks when you have to admit that you suck. Especially when it's something that seems so basic and so grade school. I suck, absolutely suck at balancing a full time job, being a wife, hooking, blogging and being the numbers maestro. The financial wizbang of the house. The number cruncher to hammer out the bread and butter. The thumb sucker that's hiding under the desk of bills and paper pile and beating back the tape register with a plastic spoon. Back you evil monsters, back! You want my kidney? You can't have it! I gave it to you last month and I need the last one. How about a spleen? Will a spleen work? Is it really worth enough money?

So in the twenty-four hours between Wednesday night and Thursday night I went from wanting to get a huge crazy afro curl perm and physically pulling my hair out by the fistful and banging my forehead against my keyboard ... oops wood coffee table cause can't afford to replace the Powerbook. Why oh why, for the upteenth time I ask you, can't the transactions clear the bank THE MOMENT YOU SPEND THEM. See they've got me so crazy my caps LOCK is stUck ON!!! The we--todd-it Bank of America loves to pull these little pranks where a slew of random petty, under $10 transactions pop up nearly a week after they've spent.So when I skim my online banking I may see it, then it'll "disappear" when it goes from posted to pending to someone hand me some lube for the love of mike! It's just so frustrating to have to think that I'll be forced to feel the pressure of going back to a friggin' paper banking register. I went straight to online banking because it eased the pressure of the tumerous ache that never seemed to go away, especially on late working nights when the lava pile of unprocessed receipts would glare accusingly at me from across the room. I slowly but surely thought I had it down to a science. I'd check the balance a few times each day and it all looked kosher. Of, since things never seem as they appear in my life, I should've expected this little sabotage bull shit.

If I could have one thing at the world I would have a personal financial assistant that I could hand all my deposits too and get an allowance for my gas, food and menial expenses from. Than maybe after six months or six years, when they've rescued my smallish disaster I'm always trying to dig out of, they can explain to me how to BALANCE it all. Any volunteers? I'd smother you and love you and clean your house and wax your baby. Anything! Too much begging? I don't know any other way!

Sometimes I just hate being an adult and want to throw a huge pillow throwing, plate breaking, stomping, crying, blubbering mess of a tantrum.

Halawa (body sugaring)

This post has been pulled at the blogger's discretion. Please see NewLifeOnAHomestead's link CLICK HERE for her rendition.

If you'd like the .pdf/info from the original post please email me directly. DearDarla[at]RocketMail[dot]com

xoxo
Darla

the waxed experience

With more than a little trepidation, I tried to beat my cold feet as I followed Shandi into the Spa Zaneida. My inner child was bouncing herself off the walls screaming DON’T DO IT! YOU ARE CRAZY! I pasted a smile on my terrified face and said hi to the ever smelling smiling aestithician. She was just as eager to see us as the day I made the appointment. You are too cute coming in to be together. I will take good care of you, she told us in her adorable little polish accent. That’s great, I thought, for a moment there I was thinking this might actually hurt.

I wandered down the hall to use the restroom and calm some last minute jitters. When I emerged I realized that Shandi had already been whisked away into the little room and I was left to my own devises and traiterous thoughts. I wouldn’t leave her, I couldn’t! I had gotten us into this mess and whether I wanted to or not, I would put on my big girl panties and get the bikini wax. I researched multiple sites to discover that wearing under through the procedure was optional and I was bit nervous to show off my girl parts to a complete non-medically-trained-professional stranger. Will she make odd comments? Did I forget some certain pre-wax ritual?

Within a blink of eye the little waxer whisked out of the little closed office and into the foyer to announce that she was done with my friend and I would be up in five minutes. Cold sweat broke out on my forhead. Is it your first time dear, she asked. This is too cute that you and your friend came together she repeated. Oh we figured who better to understand the pain than a girlfriend experiencing it with you. Well that’s just so lovely she cooed. Now it’s your turn  she chirped as the apparently pain free Shandi paid for her services.

love is a paradox

I did something I have rarely ever done on this blog - I pulled a post. Yesterday I tried to express my jumbled thoughts and feelings over a friends, somewhat complicated, relationship between two male companions. One is her husband and the other a best platonic friends with stunted sexual attractions that she recently gained. I think, in hindsight, I fumbled it up more than did it justice. So after a night's sleep I decided I needed to pull it from the public view. Thanks for the advice on the matter Angel, my lurvly South Africaan friend,  I did get your comment and appreciate it.

wee little entreprenuers

Our smallish Etsy store has been launched. OK, so at the moment it's really not a store but more like a store front with one item but if you have a notion and want to check it out click here! We hope to gradually fill it with all our tid bits. Oh sorry, I'm talking about we, meaning EM and I. We opened a joint store to give exposure to her paintings and jewelry and my crocheting, both our photography and whatever else strikes our fancy. It's exciting and nerve wracking and exhilarating all at the same time.

:: sigh :: Mr. D will be home soon and I get to explain why there's a smallish stack of lumber in the living room waiting to be assembled into a book shelf.

big stupid financial headache

Dangit all I feel like I'm regressing. Going backwards. Merriam-Webster online defines it as "c: reversion to an earlier mental or behavioral level ". That's me, reverting back to a former behavior.

In our pre-military days Mr. Darla and I both worked full time. He a 40-60 hours a week framing houses for a friends construction company while I worked 40-50 hours a week maintaining a local newspaper 's website. We tended to over juggle work with church functions, city sport leagues, friends, coworker parties and a variety of family visits and fun-ness. I used to constantly fight with the fact that though I be the multi-tasking queen I failed miserably with keeping focus on the finances. I was always a day late and a dollar short. What really sucked wasn't that the finances hadn't been available but I was always a Wal-Mart trip or grocery bag or tank of gas over the amount of money that was available to be spent at random. I used to swear to Mr. D that if I only had a little more time to balance it all up.

How can I be 28 and not be able to remember to pay the bills? Why do I always procrastinate when I try to merge a career, family, God and finances together?

I thought I had finally developed a habit to get past this hurdle. I took a sabbatical from work and became a temporary StayAtHomeWife. I balanced the check book daily and cleaned the house and snow scraped the drivey way and drove myself INSANE. Remember? And the bills got paid. So neat and so tidy. (The silverware drawer also got alphabetized and the book shelf was sorted by subject but who's countine.)

Than the boy left and I tightened my neurotic little fist around the bank account. We would not screw up just because he was in Missouri and I in Washington. I was bound and it determined to keep focused. I also took on a full time job again. Since the boy wasn't here and I had very few extracurricular activities it was nice to keep the boy on a cash allowance and be able to continue to keep the revenue under control. I was riding the accountable train to a financial freedom ... or so I thought. In my head Mr. D would come home and we'd keep with the cash allowance and everything, EVERYTHING, would work out into a nice grown up system that we had yet to quite achieve. We'd keep up the cash allowance system and it would all finally be a piece of cake. Work and being financially sound, not a problem.

Yeah. Have you have ridden that train right smack dab into the wall of Reality? Hurts don't it.

I'm blogging to ignore the fact that eating at Outback and seeing the Bourne Ultimatum on Friday night may have been a great date night but also should've been a credit card payment and part of the internet bill. Stupid bills. Stupid bank account. Stupid IRS. Stupid adult life.

When I get angry at my financial inadaquecies I tend to break down the other more successful or seemingly successful people around me. How does that little A1C check cover all your bills? Do you know what it's like to continually just owe the government year after year and not bear a child to help compensate that? How much does a personal accountant really cost? How do the non-child-bearing military wives have enough income to not have to work and just twiddle around all day? If couples spend every evening working out, eating and sleeping than when do they work on the physical, spiritual and emotional sides of their families?  Sometimes I just want to shake my fist at them and scream incoherently until I'm blue at the face and they become very scared. Or just hand me the Dummies edition of how to make life a little easier.


Grrrr. Stupid not-free internet. Stupid food requiring body. Stupid tiring mind blurring nasal allergies.