Saturday, April 30, 2011

What are you afraid of?

In the deepest darkest recesses of my irrational mind I am afraid of three things.

#1 Airplanes/Flying- This fear appeared on a dark and stormy night almost exactly 6 years ago. I was flying home from Poland actually. I had been visiting Martin in the Spring of 2005, about 3 months before we were married. I had two weeks off from my teaching job due to Spring Break and Holy Week being back to back. On the flight back into Austin from Houston there was a fierce storm just outside of town. The pilot informed us that he was going to fly around the storm. This sounded like the best idea to me. But, he didn't quite make it all the way around and we ended up right in the middle of it. Now, this would be ok if it wasn't for the plane basically being thrown up and down and side to side by the wind, it being pitch black outside (it was nighttime after all, and there was a HUGE FREAKING STORM RAGING), and the lights in the cabin flickering on and off. It was really scary, I was scared. But that's not even the worst. He was going to try to land, and as he tried to land the plane kept dropping about 50 feet at a time straight down. STRAIGHT DOWN.

I was in a plane, suspended in air, in the dead of night in the middle of a storm and the plane was dropping straight down, we were being thrown up and down in our seats. The pilot was telling the stewardesses to take their seats in a very strained voice. It was scary. I was scared. But that wasn't even the worst of it. I was sitting next to a guy that was ex military. He said he had seen pilots land the plane in worse conditions and I shouldn't be afraid. I don't know how he knew I was afraid... maybe it was the rosary I was clutching in my left hand for dear life or HIS HAND that I was squeezing the blood out of that I had grabbed on instinct just a few seconds before. Poor guy.

As the pilot attempted to land the 1st time (yeah the 1st time! this is going to get even better) the winds were so strong that all of a sudden he changed his mind and pulled the plane straight up , throwing us all against our seats. The cabin was absolutely silent. I was really scared. We were all really scared. And the guy next to me says, he says, "well, I've never seen a pilot do that before." WHAT? ARE YOU INSANE? YOU DON'T SAY THAT TO ANYONE IN THIS SITUATION! And that was the moment when I knew that we were all going to die. I let go of his hand, and started praying the Rosary fervently and the Act of Contrition, just in case.

Well, we didn't die, obviously. But ever since then I am deathly afraid of turbulence and flying. Good thing we're moving across the ocean to a land that you can only get to BY PLANE. It'll be ok. It's an irrational fear after all. "More people die in car wrecks than in plane crashes." " Planes are safer than cars and I drive a car every day." WHAT.EVER. There is nothing rational or natural about human beings beings suspended thousands of feet in the air without parachutes or wings (real ones that are attatched to our backs that we know how to use) or safety pods (this is a pod that you can sit in and if there is a plane crash it has it's own jet propulsion pack and oxygen tank and set coordinates to the nearest hotel that has Dr. Pepper, and it *guarantees* your safety). But, you do what you gotta do if you want to marry "the love of your life" and he happens to be Polish.

So, I deal, and I say A LOT of Hail Mary's.



#2
Ok, I may lose you here. This one is really irrational.

I am really afraid of maggots. I am not talking about grossed out (although they are really gross) and I'm not talking about creeped out (they are *super* creepy). I am talking about phobically, hysterically, paralyzingly afraid of maggots. I despise flies, the maggot's older and wiser mutation, but I have a phobia of maggots. Don't really know how that came about, and it's only been in the last 2-3 years. And I have only come into contact with them about three times in those last few years. (which seems like an alarmingly high amount for the average suburban housewife) And each time it's happened I have had crying fits of hysteria while someone other than me got rid of them. Last summer almost every single peach out of our peach tree had a maggot, or maggot like worm, in the very center, eating it's way out of the peach. Other people simply cut the worm away and continued on eating the peaches. I forbid my children to come within 10 feet of those peaches and gave every single one of them away.

Martin thinks it's funny to paint a picture (with words, not real paints, that would just be taking it too far) of 6 foot tall maggots that try to eat me in my sleep. And he likes to stand there and wiggle around and make "maggot sounds" (what ever that is) and slowly come closer to me as I'm doing important things like changing diapers or cooking meals. Those are the moments that have me imagining cutting the oxygen tank wires on his safety pod.

This is the most innocent picture of maggots I could find. DO NOT GOOGLE MAGGOT IMAGES.



#3 This is my most recent fear.

I am afraid I am going to lose my children. Not in a plane crash or to drugs. Not to a 6 foot flesh eating maggot or to a Frenchman. No, I am afraid I am going to lose my children to Poland. The language, the culture, their friends, their careers. The boys' future wives. Lina's future convent. Their children, my grandchildren. All in Poland... maybe, perhaps, it could happen. And I'll lose them. They'll become Polish. They'll become those "Polish children who have an American mother." And I'll be buried in some Polish cemetery next to Martin, and my grand kids will remember that they had an American grandmother once, but they can't remember exactly where she was from...

Of course this is irrational and silly. The world is getting smaller and smaller, you no longer have to choose one country or the other, you can live with one foot in both and do it well, genuinely, successfully. Martin reminds me that they have spent the first few years of their lives here already and they will speak AMERICAN English and they will have AMERICAN traditions no matter where we live, and that I am not the only one who will bring the American influence and culture and language to our house, he too has been raised partly in America, etc.

But there's always that chance. The chance that they'll just decide it's not worth it to keep their Texas heritage or teach their children the Star Spangled Banner or have Thanksgiving dinner on the fourth Thursday in November every year...




So, maybe I'm not really afraid that I will lose my children. Maybe I'm really afraid that they'll lose me.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Do they even have that in Poland? #3

I was making some chicken salad tonight. Martin was hungry, and I had all this baked chicken I made last Friday morning for dinner to get ahead for the day, before remembering that it was indeed Friday and, it being Good Friday, I wasn't able to eat or serve meat. Long story short (well... that was the story, so, not so long I guess), I have a whole tupperware thingy full of baked chicken tenders. So, chicken salad. I check out allrecipes to see if there are any good chicken salad recipes I must try and most of them call for fancy herbs like tarragon which I don't like or a whole list of ingredients that I just don't keep on hand, like sliced water chestnuts or napa cabbage (this is a type of cabbage that is completely made up so that I go to the grocery store thinking I must have it so my dish tastes exactly right only to find that the word "napa" really just means "regular" in some foreign language. You're not so clever allrecipes people. You just aren't.)

It's chicken salad for goodness sake, just cut up the chicken and drown it in mayonnaise and salt and pepper. What's the big deal. Ok, and I added some walnuts I had leftover from an Easter salad, and some grapes, and salt and pepper... there, that's my fancy chicken salad.

This post is not about chicken salad.

It's about mayonnaise.

And in Poland they have more different kinds of mayonnaise than you can imagine. They have, (from Martin, who just translated the mayonnaise page for me)...

original mayonnaise- mayonnaise for the every day, easy enough
table mayonnaise- original mayonnaise isn't quite good enough for the table so they kick it up a notch here
grandma's old spices mayonnaise- uhh, I guess this mayonnaise will bring back memories of your grandmother, so, you know, a nostalgic mayonnaise, gotta have one of those around
fancy mayonnaise- this is what you bring out when the in-laws come to visit
decorative mayonnaise- a prettier mayonnaise
country mayonnaise- none of that city folk mayonnaise for me
sandwich mayonnaise- I think it's special because it comes in a squeeze bottle and it's "American" in appearance, I don't know
omega mayonnaise- extra omega for your... body.... and your... feelings... and stuff
light mayonnaise- self-explanatory
salad mayonnaise- for your salads, because all the others are for spreading and decorating things NOT for adding to other foods, clearly
Roman mayonnaise- but, I don't know what that means, I just don't.
yogurt and mayonnaise mix- when you're trying to introduce your child to a healthier diet one spoonful at a time
Kielecki mayonnaise- made in Kielce, which "has a unique taste, and a cult following" says my husband who is a proud member of that cult.
( Kielecki has several variations including a Garlic version, a light version, an Omega version, and a Decorative version)
mustard mayonnaise- because if you own all these mayonnaise's there is clearly no room left for any other condiment in your fridge


Remember when I wrote this post? Yeah. I might have to bring my own mayonnaise to Poland just so I can avoid the inevitable breakdown I may have if I have to go down that aisle in the grocery store.




Clearly my in-laws were nowhere in sight and my hair was having a country mayonnaise moment.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Smigus Dyngus


Just a little culture and history for you on this Easter Monday! And you better believe we celebrated it in this house... and I (the American) was the first one to dish out a good dousing!





Dyngus Day or Wet Monday (Polish Śmigus-Dyngus or lany poniedziałek) is the name for Easter Monday in Poland. In the Czech Republic it is called velikonoční pondělí or pomlázka. In Slovakia veľkonočný pondelok (Easter Monday) is called Šibačka/Polievačka or Oblievačka. too. All countries practice a unique custom on this day.

In Poland, Hungary, Slovakia, and the Czech Republic[3] traditionally, early in the morning boys awake girls by pouring a bucket of water on their head and striking them about the legs with long thin twigs or switches made from willow, birch or decorated tree branches; however, the earliest documented[citation needed] records of Dyngus Day in Poland are from the 15th century, almost half a millennium after Poland adopted Christianity.

Benedykt Chmielowski in Nowe Ateny cite after "Carolo Berthold" that this ritual was already in custom in 750, 250 years before Poland officially adopted Christianity. See religious syncretism.

One theory is that Dyngus originates from the baptism on Easter Monday of Mieszko I (Duke of the Polans, c. 935–992) in 966 AD, uniting all of Poland under the banner of Christianity. Dyngus and Śmigus were twin pagan gods; the former representing water and the moist earth (Dyngus from din gus – thin soup or dingen – nature); and the latter representing thunder and lightning (Śmigus from śmigać or to make a whooshing sound). In this theory, the water tradition is the transformation of the pagan water god into the Christian baptism. The custom of pouring water was an ancient spring rite of cleansing, purification, and fertility. It is alleged that the pagan Poles bickered with nature/Dyngus by means of pouring water and switching with willows to make themselves pure and worthy of the coming year. Others have suggested that the striking tradition is the transformation of the ritual "slap" of Christian confirmation. However, still others suggest that the Śmigus tradition is actually simply a youthful recapitulation of a Good Friday Polish tradition, in which parents wake their children with switches from twigs, saying the words of a Lenten prayer "God's wounds" – "Boże rany".

Early, the Dyngus custom was clearly differentiated from śmigus: dyngus was the exchange of gifts (usually eggs, often decorated – pisanka pl. pisanki), under the threat of water splashing if one party did not have any eggs ready, while Śmigus referred to the striking.

Later the focus shifted to the courting aspect of the ritual, and young unmarried girls were the only acceptable targets. A boy would sneak into the bedroom of the girl he fancied and awaken her by drenching her with multiple buckets of water. Politics played an important role in proceedings, and often the boy would get access to the house only by arrangement with the girl's mother.

Throughout the day, girls would find themselves the victims of drenchings and leg-whippings, and a daughter who was not targeted for such activities was generally considered to be unattractive and unmarryable in this very coupling-oriented environment.

Most recently, the tradition has changed to become fully water-focused, and the śmigus part is almost forgotten. It is quite common for girls to attack boys just as fiercely. With much of Poland's population residing in tall apartment buildings, high balconies are favorite hiding places for young people who gleefully empty buckets of water or more recently throw plastic bags or water balloons onto random passers-by.

--- copied and pasted straight out of Wikipedia... if something's wrong, blame "them."

A decision tree

Do YOU know what a decision tree is? I bet a lot of people know what a decision tree is. Well, I didn't know what a decision tree was until my darling husband explained it to me. It's basically a tool to help you come to a decision while taking in all the contingencies that could happen along the way. You know, like, asking the yes or no questions and if the answer is "yes" then what, and if the answer is "no" then where do you go from there. I pointed out (as any good Theology major would) that it seems that you never really get an answer if each question just begets another question and he says that is only works if you start with a question that you want answered and the chart stops when you have finally answered the question. I went to google docs to try and create a decision tree. There, I realized that all he was really talking about was a flow chart. OH, A FLOW CHART. Why didn't you just say so?




Well, there you have it. The question that consumes at least half of our discussions in this house. And there will be more, much more, to add to that chart in the coming months/years. Ugh. Decision tree? More like a decision thorn bush. Ugh.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Do they even have that in Poland? #2



Peanut Butter. Honestly, the simple answer is, I don't know. I think they probably have peanut butter somewhere in Poland, and I'm sure our city will be a place where you might be able to find it. I know that Martin did not grow up eating it, and as far as I know, none of his cousins eat it or any of their kids.

Now, I may be the perfect wife and mother. The most diligent housekeeper and most skilled cook. BUT, every once in while, when there is a storm raging outside and the power goes out and I can't use the oven ,and then I could use the gas stove but I don't have sufficient lighting, and it could be dangerous... I take out the peanut butter. And my children eat peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat bread. And they like it. They say "please mother, may we have another peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and another, after that?...oh thank you mother, you must love us so much to give us peanut butter and jelly!" What can I say, peanut butter brings out the best in them. It is a special treat and I would hate for them to miss out on something so special.

Well, it turns out that we have just such storms and power outages at least 3 to 4 times a week at our house. With my mothering credentials there really is no other explanation as to why we go through so much peanut butter. So, I will be taking one of these with me to Poland:



I mean, if it can happen 3 to 4 times a week in TEXAS, where drought is raging right now, I can't even imagine how bad the storms must get in Poland. I must be prepared... as any A+ mom would be. Quite frankly, I do it for the children. I do it for the children.

Monday, April 18, 2011

On fertile ground.


This picture was taken on our honeymoon, We were at the Jagiellonian Botaical Gardens . We have a similar plant in Texas that gets to be about a foot high (I'm sure it's not the same plant but it sure looks like it.). I felt like I was on the set of Jurassic Park.



We planted our little organic vegetable garden this past weekend. And, by little, I mean miniscule, and by vegetable I mean 3 different veggies, two herbs (one that came back from last year unaided...score!) for a total of... drumroll please... 6 small plants. And by organic, I mean, we leave it alone and hope that God takes care of the rest, can't get more organic than that! Wow. We are not impressive farmers.

Martin's mother comes from a family of farmers. You know, REAL farmers. The kind of farmers that can grow real crops to actually sustain a person's body, heck, even several people. With livestock and all the rest. They understand the seasons and know when to plant what and when to harvest what and what is good to plant this year, etc.

Yeah, not so much here in the suburbs of Austin. Although my kids have been know to escape their pin and roam into the street only to be returned by kind non-judgmental neighbors... those moments have that real down home farm feel about them .

I have dreams of having a real garden one day and actually being able to cultivate enough veggies to not require trips to the market, perhaps even an overabundance to share with the neighbors. Martin and I have even talked about using a piece of our property for a real greenhouse and trying a hand at growing things like Avocados. Yeah, that's right, Avocados. (ok, I just goolged Avocados and apparently they grow on tall trees... ok, so it will be a really tall green house... hush your naysaying, and of course I knew before hand that Avocados grow in trees, I just didn't know how tall they got).

Obviously this would require a big chunk of property and not a smart flat somewhere in the heart of the city. Trust me, we have entertained both ideas. How fun and exciting would it be to own a really old flat right downtown (or as nearby as our budget allows)? But no, I want the land. The land that is apparently so lush and fertile that you can literally just scatter seeds on the ground and anything will grow as if you you were an expert gardener.

This is what we want, so I know that one day it will happen. We're working towards it and will get there soon enough... until then I will have to be content with my little suburban garden of tomatoes, cucumber and eggplant, with a dash of mint and basil. Oh yeah, we also have Rosemary in our front yard classified as landscaping, but it works in a pinch. (dash..pinch... a real TASTE of literary genius right there...oh yeah.)

Happy Gardening! And enjoy these pics. of our quaint little growing space complete with HOA forbidden, makeshift, compost pile in the background...




Sunday, April 17, 2011

Overwhelmed.


Some people are worriers. I assume these people sometimes look at life as a bunch of problems to be fixed and then become fearful of what will happen if they are not fixed, constantly asking themselves "what if this happens..." or "what if that happens..." making themselves overwrought and sick to their stomach. They don't say things like "sick with worry" for nothing. Ugh, that would be hard.

Then there are those people who are anxious types. They are confronted with problems and they clench up, break out into sweats, breathe uneasy. Perhaps they are not so much worried that things won't work out but they are just riddled with anxiety as they forge ahead, the whole process is stressful. A truly ulcer inducing state to be sure. (and btw, never google images of stomach ulcers just "out of curiosity". just don't. or ingrown toenails.)

But not me... nope, I am neither of these things.

I am never really worried. I come from a long line of people who know that if you don't call, that means everything is fine. If you don't ask for help, then of course, you don't need it. I don't worry unless someone tells me I need to. I don't worry unless someone is literally waving red flags in my face shouting at me, "BE WORRIED NOW!"

Martin considers himself pragmatic, I see him as a bit of a worrier, I know what they're like... worriers can also sometimes be hypochondriacs... just throwing that out there.

I am not an anxious person by nature. I figure that if I have a problem and I have a plan to fix it, then there really is no need for anxiety. It either works or it doesn't, what's the point of stressing over it? It just makes the whole thing that much more difficult. No, no, that would take more effort than is needed and I am too lazy for that.

My sister is a bit of an anxious type. Anxious types can also be perfectionists... just sayin'.

Nope, I am neither of these things or any variation of the two you can think of, nope, I'm always cool-headed, sweat free, plowing ahead with a calm and serene smile. Is this type of attitude worrying you? Feeling a little anxious about my lack of concern for my everyday tasks and life decisions? Never fear. There is a simple explanation as to why I am neither of these types of people...

I am an easily-overwhelmeder.

What's that you say? There's no such thing as an easily-overwhelmeder? I'm just making all this up so I don't make the worriers and anxious types feel bad? Well, that's partly true, (what is their problem anyway?)... but no, really , it does exist and I am one.

The reason you can't see it, is because it is what happens before you can actually worry over something or become anxious about how it will turn out. In fact, if you see me working out a problem, moving forward with that serene smile on my face, be certain that I have already battled my demon (and won)... that crippling feeling of being overwhelmed. When you lose to this demon, you find the person curled up in a ball on their bed trying to sleep so they don't have to think about all they must accomplish. I don't do this...anymore. I can't. Why? Because I did everything that an easily-overwhelmeder shouldn't do. I filled my life with tasks, tasks that can't be done one at a time and at their own pace. I have four small children and I am in the process of preparing myself and my family to move to another country, and that doesn't include any of the other normal things that I have to do every day just to survive. Ugh... you know, I have a really comfortable bed... so soft and dreamy... maybe I should just go lay down, just for a bit...

Easily-overwhelmeders look at the road ahead as a bunch of jumbled up tasks that must be tackled, and the reason they become overwhelmed is that they think they have to tackle them all at once. This is due in large part to the biggest contributor to being an easily-overwhelmeder... lack of patience. I have no patience. When I know what I want, when I know what the next step is, I want to do it NOW. This is what led me to suggest to Martin that maybe we should sell our house NOW so we could just pack everything up NOW, so that we could make that list of everything we want to keep NOW, so that we know exactly what we will need NOW, so that we can have a clear picture of everything that we haven't thought about NOW.... ahhhhhh... the walls are closing in on me as I type. Egads.

Patience Olivia, patience. I am constantly hearing this from Martin. One thing at a time he says, don't look at all the things we have to do to get there, just start with what we have to do to get to next week and then the week after that, and pretty soon next week will be the week we board the plane, and we'll be on our way.

He's right, dang it. But come on, there is so much to think about. I'm not worried it won't happen, and I'm not worried I won't be able to do it.... but I just can't seem to swim out from under this huge tidal wave of "things we must do before we can move to Poland." And I have to swim out, I have to use all my strength to sift through it and start with one thing at a time, or else I'll never get started and we'll never get there.

So, I should just make a list and start from there. Lists are essential to an easily-overwhelmeder, and I am no exception. And guess what, I have already started on the first two things on my list!

#1 Start a blog/write blog post
#2 Drink a beer

The serene smile is already starting to return, and I'm sure the beer has nothing to do with it.

P.S. My first memory of Poland is when I was walking into Martin's family home for the first time. His Babcia Sacha stops me immediately inside the door and just starts yelling at me (it seemed like yelling though I know she wasn't really), feverishly firing off whatever it was she had to tell me and gesturing at my feet and then putting her hands to her face and back at my feet and back to her face, looking as if I had just given her the worst news of her life. I was at a loss. I look to Martin for help and he says, "She is afraid your feet are cold and you will get sick and wants to know why I haven't given you any slippers." Classic worrier.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Where can I find a good hair stylist?

Two weeks before my 4th child was born I got the worst haircut of my life. People throw the phrase "worst haircut of my life" around pretty loosely. But trust me, this was traumatic. It was not one of those "haha, you look silly haircuts." Nor was it one of those, "oooh, yeah, well, it'll grow back." No, this was one of those every- time- I- look- in- the- mirror- I- want- to- cry haircuts. (oh I cried for at least the first couple hours afterward... I'm sure the hormones that come with 9 months of pregnancy didn't help)

I had a gift certificate to a nationally known beauty salon/cosmetics store. It starts with a U and ends with an A. I should have just gone with my instinct and used the money to buy some good moisturizer for my elbow skin or some minty foot exfoliant or something as equally benign, but no, I got the haircut. I let a complete stranger cut my hair just days before I would go through one of the most photographed moments of my life to be quickly followed by a Baptism and two major holidays. It looked a little like this... ( And I am sure this is a very nice young man, and he is very happy with his hair)












It was a "not smart" moment.

I was humbled that day, and a month or so later I trodded off to my regular hair stylist. I tucked my tail between my legs, begged her to fix it, (if she could), and vowed to myself never to wander so far from common sense ever again.

What has this got to do with moving to Poland you ask? Well... everything! For goodness sake, if this has taught me anything it has taught me that I can't just let any old stranger cut my hair. At the store that begins with a U and ends with an A they speak English, and I came away in tears, I can't even imagine what will happen in Poland.

Martin assures me that there will be no problem, and of course he's right. They have plenty of hairstylists there who speak English. And even if they didn't, I have been assured that no English words common in the American haircut world like "trim" or "layers" are false cognates, really meaning something like, oh, I don't know, "please shave me bald," or "hot pink is my absolute fave."

I'm not too worried. I may still have to have to look around a bit though, before I find someone I can trust, and that's why I am glad that places like this exist... (if you make it as far as 2:18 let me know what you think of that style for my boys...)




P.S. This post inspired by my new "do" just picked up this morning by my lovely, trusted stylist, Andrea Richardson... thank you Andrea!

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Do they even have that in Poland ? #1


I searched high and low
every restauracja
sklep
and automat
until that fateful day
I found you
similar
in every way
though your packaging
was in German
no bother says I
surely it does not signify
I cracked open your can
with a familiar hiss
I quenched my thirst
but wait
something was amiss
for all the flavors were there
yes, 4, 5, 6
I tasted 12 and then 14
13
squeezed somewhere
in between.
21, 22, yes, they were all present
but wait
something was not right
high fructose corn syrup
where can you be
for you are what's missing
flavor
number 23

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

How many licks 'til Poland?


Remember that commercial with the Tootsie Roll pops and the owl and "how many licks...?" Yeah, we all remember the commercial. Well, that's the big question around here these days. How many days 'til Poland? (they' re not completely analogous but you get the point)

Originally, back in the dark ages of 2005, Martin and I were going to move to Poland as newlyweds. We were going to bite right through that hard candy shell to get to the chewy chocolaty center, just like the owl. After all, Martin already had a job, we had no responsibilities, except to each other, and we both wanted to go. What a great opportunity, right? Easy as pie. Just pick up and go. Ahh, newlyweds, is there anything more inspiring and beautiful?

No, really, we wanted to go but we weren't ready. I think it had a little to do with the fact that getting married was overwhelming enough. Moving to another country, not knowing the language and not having a job was enough to make my feet chilly. And Martin wasn't quite ready to take on the role as a husband as well as translator and tour guide. Okay, so we both had frost bite. So, we didn't go.

Fast forward 6 years and here we are, ready to go. And why shouldn't we be? Now we have four children, a house, a decent income, a growing extended family, and a school that we love for our oldest. Now, is the perfect time to leave the country. (I am typing this with sarcastic fingers...

...Or, maybe not.)

When I think about the fact that we almost moved to Poland way back when I still get tingly toes. It was Divine Providence that we didn't go then. And now I know why. Because now I know that we can go and actually be successful. If we can do it here, we can do it there. Simple as that. (ok, ok, it's not THAT simple, but you know what I mean).

So, it hasn't been just a matter of days that we have been preparing to move to Poland. For us, it's been years of preparation, whether we realized it or not. And it will still be quite some time before we get there. At least a year, and probably more like a year and half, (you think this is plenty of time but it's going to take me 6 months at least to just realize it's actually happening that soon) until we are for real living on Polish soil.

We are just now reaching that part of the Tootsie Roll pop where a little of the chocolate is starting to shine through on the one side where you licked more than the other. But there is still plenty of candy shell to work on. And that's ok. The important thing is we're still licking away.

Because it's necessary

Inevitably, whenever I tell someone that our family is moving to Poland the first thing they say is, "why?" There isn't really a simple answer to this question. There are lots of reasons. My base answer is, "well, my husband is Polish and he wants to return to his homeland." Easy enough, simple answer, and it's enough reason for most people.

But not for me.

I wanted to know WHY, not because I don't want to go, but because I really want to know what's driving his desire to be there, to move his whole family overseas for an indefinite amount of time? So, I asked him. And this is how it went, more or less.

Me: You know, we don't *have* to move to Poland.

Him: I know we don't *have* to, nobody *has* to do anything. You don't want to move do you, you've changed your mind, right?

Me: No, no, no. That's not what I'm saying. I just mean that all the things you want for the kids to learn about Poland, we can do that here. The language, the history, the culture. We can do all that here and work really hard so they really know it.

Him: Maybe, it's not impossible.

Me: I want to move to Poland, I do, and we are, but we don't *have* to.

Him: No, we don't have to move to Poland but we need to.

Me:WHY?

Him: I don't want my children to just know the language, memorize the history and understand the traditions. I want them to want to be in Poland. I want them to feel Polish and not just like they have a Polish dad. I want them to think of it as their home. I want them to possibly raise their families there. I can't sit here and just resign myself to letting my Polish identity slowly fade away with the next few generations just so that we don't have to miss our families or be inconvenienced with the move. So, no, we don't have to go, but we need to... plus... there's good beer.


Simple.