About a month ago, I was nominated for what’s known as the Liebster Award by three members of my new blogging circle (Halfa1000Miles, CaledonAcres, and Still Not a Journal.) It’s an online blogging award presented to one blogger from another. It’s awarded to newer bloggers who the nominator finds worthy of recognition. It helps build community and helps fellow bloggers (and their subscribers/followers) find new content.
(FYI–I just ripped that whole description off of Half a 1000 Miles page, and I hope that’s okay? I think it’s the description that goes along with the award title, right?)
Anyway, this is awesome, and I’m really thankful to say the least! I started this blog mostly to get back in the habit of writing, find my ‘voice,’ and try to improve, etc. I know this sounds weird–but I didn’t really expect anyone outside of my family or a few friends to read it. Mostly I just wanted a pretty internet page to decorate and file my writing on. 🙂
The German word for daycare is ‘Krippe’ which sounds a lot like the English word ‘crypt.’ This seems fitting, somehow. Both places are stuffy, confining, and full of the ‘unknown.’
Oh, and can I also say that both are scary?
I’m obviously going to have a really hard time in August. I’ve been with this baby just about every waking moment of her life so far. The idea of dropping her off all day long at a daycare center where she doesn’t even speak the language is terrifying. I know, babies pick up languages fast. I’ve seen it happen. Back when I worked at a daycare center a little Russian twelve-month old came in and spoke fluent English approximately five hours later.
But—this is my baby. Until we’re months in the future and I see she’s doing fine, I’m going to dread this whole thing.
The other source of fear comes from the fact we, um, haven’t exactly found a Krippe, yet? Oops?
It’s funny to think that exactly one year ago, today, I had an outie belly-button and constant Restless Leg Syndrome.
(Just in case you’re not familiar with RLS, it’s related to the nervous system and causes this constant urge to move your legs. Mostly at night, sadly, when all you want to do is relax.)
I’ve tried to explain to Todd what it feels like and the best I can come up with is this: imagine high powered fizz from a pop/soda rushing up and down through the veins of your legs.
The only thing that temporarily alleviates the sensation is to move. But, the moment you stop–that fizz starts back up. Slowly at first, and then gradually to a more nuclear fizz the longer you try to keep your legs still.
Pop fizz in the veins for at least four months straight. It drove me completely insane.
(FYI–this used to be part of a longer post that I’ve since divided in half. I’m trying to be a bit more…concise here and there.)
In one of my earlier posts, Peanut Butter and Butter, and What it Taught Me About Presents, I described some of the more…unsuccessful gifts I’ve bought for people. (Not that there’s anything wrong with trophy decorations for the trophyless, Yoda lights, or manly marionettes.)
There was one present this year, however, that I think went quite well.
As I mentioned in my last post, we’re in the Canary Islands right now and I’ve set a little challenge for myself. Can I write a series of posts that are less than 5,000 words? Even, dare I say it, 750 words?
While I’m feeling ambitious, why not tackle a massive and depressing/uplifting topic, depending on your beliefs? Like, what is it like to be dead?
This week we’re spring breaking in the Canary Islands (Spanish islands off the coast of Africa, in case your knowledge of geography is as questionable as mine.) This is a good thing for seven million reasons, but it’s also the perfect time to put myself to the ultimate of tests.
I’m going to try to write a series of short posts.
Like, actual blog-sized posts that people can read in one sitting.
In the past three weeks, Laken has had her first American and German zoo experiences. Honestly, it was fun for me, but I’m thinking she’ll get a lot more out of it when she’s older. I spent a lot of the time trying to coax her to notice extremely large animals that were literally two feet away. I’d say, “Laken, what is that? It’s a polar bear! Look honey!” And she followed my finger no farther than the fence or to the kids standing beside us us.
That baby can pick out crumbs from the carpet, but is oblivious to zebras. Oh, ten month olds.