Warm Fuzzies

So, since my last post, there’s something I’ve been doing a lot.  Unfortunately, it isn’t yoga, working on my puzzle, or eating much other than cookies, but it is going through old chat/message archives.

It started with homesickness, which always leads to some level of nostalgia.  This time, I fed the Nostalgia Monster, and went back to the very first messages that Andreas and I sent back and forth.  I’ve read it time, and time again, but for some reason, this time I suddenly very vividly felt like I did the first time I read it.  He’d probably take away my internet access if I posted that message here for the world to see, but it started with “Zeta, please read this when you are alone.”

I got the message when I was visiting my parents for the weekend.  I was sitting on the futon in my little sister’s room, and when I read the first line, I looked up to make sure I was, in fact, alone.  It wasn’t a love letter by any means, but it was the first acknowledgement that there was something there that was strong enough to keep going and to get stronger despite the fact that we wouldn’t see eachother again for nearly a whole year.

Once I ran through all the Facebook messages we sent to each other during that first year apart, I decided to go back and look through our MSN chat logs.  Hey, I might as well take advantage of having as much time to myself as I have at the moment, right?  Anyway, besides reliving the warm fuzzies and the thrills of many of our “firsts,”  I’ve also been getting the thrill of reading something we wished, and realizing that it’s totally coming true.  Like, right now.

We talked so often about how much we looked forward to getting married, how we both wanted to be married young, how we so often thought to ourselves throughout the day “if only _______ were here, this would be at least twice as good.”  Andreas even said at one point, that he was struck with the random thought that he would like to have kids at around the same time as one of his sisters, so they would be around the same age.  It’s like each one of our little thoughts and hopes was actually a mini prophecy.  Getting married was the best thing that’s happened to us so far.  We did get married young.  Grocery shopping, doing puzzles, watching TV, and even cleaning up after dinner is at least twice as good when we’re together.  And why yes, your mom does love me.

But it wasn’t all warm fuzzies.  Rereading our conversations and messages reminded me how tough of a time I had sometimes in school. Being sleep-deprived, overworked, overhomeworked, and dealing with drama between friends was really tough.  I was often depressed, and sadder than I remember being when I think back on my college days in general.  It reminded me that nostalgia is all well and good, but that what I have now is so much better.  Moving to Denmark, dealing with visa issues, language barriers, frustrations, and homesickness has not been easy.  At all.  But sometimes I forget how hard things used to be, when Andreas didn’t come home to me every night.  Things have changed so much in the last few years, and even though I haven’t really made fast friends here yet, or feel very at home, or feel like I’ll ever get over my homesickness, things, on average, are a lot better than they ever were before.

I’m nervous for the next step in our lives.  I’m nervous for my Danish tests, and sometimes sad that I don’t have friends to hang out with, get coffee with, or sit around and do a puzzle with.  But I am so, so thankful to have gone through everything I have, and to be done with it and to have reached where we are now.

I also realized the other day that there is one respect in which this whole moving-overseas thing has been easy for me.  I never, ever think about not having done it.  Maybe it’s just because it was sort of my plan for so long, or because we worked so hard for it, but I never have considered the fact that maybe it was a mistake.  It wasn’t.  This was the best thing we could have done, for Andreas, for me, for us, and for Baby ZA (Zeta+Andreas…also, that’s not actually its name.  Don’t freak out.)  Knowing this helps me get through the hard times, because I can’t really think of anything that, without some sort of magic wand, could be better.

This was longer, and sort of lovey-dovier than I expected, but sometimes you just need a little confirmation, and sometimes you have to type out that confirmation to make sure that you remember it.  Things are actually going really well at the moment, but I’ve been  busy with plans Andreas and I have with others, and starting my new Danish class this week that it’s been a lot overwhelming.

But the sun has started to shine, and one of the high temperatures for the week is 10! (celcius!)!   Also, after a really long 3-4 days of facing my spine and kicking my intestines, the baby has turned around again, and I get to see  and feel it kicking my belly again, which cheers me up considerably.  Also, also, I made really, really delicious peanut butter, oatmeal, chocolate chip cookies the other the day, and although I’ve been eating way too many (seriously.  I’m not even going to write how many I eat each day because it’s embarrassing.  No, I should.  I’ve eaten like 10 each day.)

I hope everyone else’s spring is springing and they have as much to be thankful for as I do!

Housewifing

I used to think that I would fit in well in the fifties.  First, let me say a few words about feminism.

I consider myself a feminist, through and through.  I think that the core of feminism is that we should be treated equally, and we should be allowed and encouraged to pursue a career if that’s what we want to do.  The whole thing is that we should be able to choose whatever we want to do, and that every door should be open to us.  I absolutely do not believe that a woman’s role is to take care of the home, feed the family, etc.  I do, however believe that the whole feminist movement is about freedom of choice, and that if that’s what you want to do, then we should encourage that, too.

So no, I don’t have a fifties mindset, exactly, but I always thought that I would like to be a housewife.  Something about maintaining an orderly home, greeting my husband with a smile when he came through the door,with dinner already in the oven appealed to me.  It was always something I thought I’d like, but figured I’d never get the chance to try, seeing as almost nobody these days is a housewife in that sense, and in most cases, it just doesn’t make sense.

I probably should’ve been a bit more careful about what I wished for, because ta-da!  As a love refugee in Sweden, here I am, being a housewife.

There are definitely things I love about it.  I love to cook, and I even (sometimes) love to clean.  I like the satisfying feeling of “I did something today.”  I like to plan our meals and make sure we’re eating enough vegetables, and I love to greet Andreas with a smile when he gets home from work.

But this role isn’t something I’m choosing, and even though this set-up makes the most sense for us right now, sometimes I still find myself feeling that it’s unfair.  The thing is that it isn’t unfair.  Andreas gets up at “shit o’clock in the morning” as they say in Danish, takes a couple trains to work, works all day, and takes a couple trains back, getting home just in time for dinner, the news, and organizing all the visa stuff we’re still working on.  He’s stressed out and tired. I, on the other hand, can sleep until whenever I want, watch multiple hours of television a day, even with the housework and cooking, and still manage to feel under-appreciated.  It’s not until now, as I write this, that I realize it’s most likely because I’m notchoosing this.

I’ve been feeling lately like Andreas and I are in two different worlds, and I’m lonely in mine.  His is full and busy and stressful, and sometimes I can even feel like I can’t really wedge myself into it, and at the same time, I feel like I don’t have the right to complain about anything because I can sleep in and pursue my hobbies. This isn’t easy, folks.

I’ve always dreamt of being a stay-at-home mom, and it’s still something I think about, but I’m definitely opening myself up to the idea that I might not like it.  It might not be for me.  We’ll see when the time comes, and it’s not like I’m trying to make a decision right now, but if it’s anything like this, my dreams might be edited a little bit.

So in conclusion, I would not fit well into the fifties.  Except I would probably look really cute in those dresses….

Anniversary Post Part 2

Yesterday I did a sort of look-back-over-the-year anniversary post, and while those were things I definitely wanted to say, I also wanted to do something a little more light-hearted!  I also wanted to share some pictures from the wedding last year, and a bit about what we did to celebrate.

As per usual, I made Andreas a little gift:

The short one’s me.

Even though our anniversary wasn’t until Monday, we decided to celebrate early and have a picnic in the park on Saturday.  We found a perfect little secluded corner, the weather was perfect, and we bathed in the sun (and sunscreen) for the first time this summer.  We also got to watch some fearless goose-families who surrounded us while grazing.

Our first wedding anniversary was celebrated in the same spirit as our wedding was a year ago–calm, laid-back, and not a huge deal (at least that’s how I remember it…)  I love going back and looking at all the pictures from that day, and I thought I’d share some (maybe a lot) here.  You might notice that my family isn’t in any of the pictures. Don’t worry, they haven’t shunned me for marrying a Dane!  My family is very spread out, and I knew from the beginning that no matter where we got married, most if not all of my family wouldn’t be able to come.  I wasn’t sad that nobody could make it, but I do remember feeling a bit sad that nobody there was there for only me.  Still, knowing I had my family’s support and love from far away meant a lot, and our wedding day was really perfect.

I didn’t pick necessarily the *best* photos to post here, but some of the ones that capture what I remember most about the day, or that mean the most to me.

Me playing Fruit Slice while the girls did my hair

Just after being pronounced husband and wife

My mother-in-law made the wedding cake, a friend of hers, a retired chef, made the dinner, I crocheted little flowers for the favors, my friends who came early helped pick out the flowers, candles, and tablecloths.  We spent time together folding the napkins, sorting bags of gummi bears into individual colors, and making cupcakes.  It felt intimate and cozy, and was practically stress-free.  In fact, I think that the moment that I felt the most anxiety that day was when Andreas and I were waiting together to come out for the ceremony, and we couldn’t tell if our entrance song or the “sitting-down-time” song was playing.  For the record, it was our entrance song, and we were a good 3 minutes late to our own ceremony.

It’s nice to remember how excited I was to have the words “my husband” roll off my tongue, and how giddy and happy I was to start our life together.  In the midst of the worry and stress of everyday (and not so everyday) life, it’s a good reminder of how very worth it this will be.

Anniversary Post Part 1

So, apparently it’s been 366 days since Andreas and I got married.  Like with everything else, it seems like it was a much shorter time ago…and much longer.  The past year has seen a series of highs and lows, and by the looks of things, the next year will be more difficult, if anything.

But despite all of the visa issues, the six big moves, two months spent apart, and more mood swings than I care to admit, we are more in love than we were a year ago.  I always thought that was just…something that people say, a cliché that you feel obliged to announce every few years, but suddenly, I get it.  I loved Andreas on our wedding day, as much as I could love him.  But now, after a year of tests, trials, and getting through them all together, I know that I can trust him to stand by me through times when almost nothing is easy.  I know we can find ways to comfort each other when things start to fall apart, and that while we wait for a home to call our own, wherever we are together is home for now.

Andreas and I had a long-distance relationship for almost three years, and people used to comment on how difficult that must be.  To tell the truth, it was difficult, but I wouldn’t say it was very difficult.  We both knew what we were holding out for, and since I was in school, I was so busy I hardly had time to miss Andreas.

The truth is that even though school was stressful, balancing classes, work, and a social life (yup, it’s true, I once had one of those!), the year after I graduated was far more stressful.   I am just so grateful that we could be together through everything, and so happy that we’ve learned even more about each other in the past year.  Andreas has witnessed me at my worst and still managed encouraging words.  I’ve learned how happy just doing small favors for someone else can make me.  We’ve learned together how important compromise is, and how to get through a thousand “we’ll see”s without losing all of our patience.

I wouldn’t wish an international relationship on anyone, really.  It’s been really difficult, scary at times, and the most frustrating thing I’ve dealt with.  However, I also know that the difficulties have made us more determined as a couple, and when we’ve gotten through them and finally get to be settled, we will appreciate it more and have a stronger relationship as a couple after everything we’ve been through together.

Even though we’re still in the middle of the up-hill road towards being a comfortably settled family, I try to remember that I have what I had wanted every day that we were apart.  I get to see Andreas at the end of every day, even if it is only a few hours after work before he has to go to bed.  I never sleep alone. As taxing as the waiting and guessing can be, I can always be sure that love is the one thing I’ll never be left waiting for.

This post is one of the most difficult things I’ve written, and is definitely not one of the best.  I’m finding it harder than I imagined to seek out the right words, the right phrases, to say everything I want to say without sounding too treacly.  I’ve learned so much in the past year, and despite many things being difficult, I’m glad I got to experience it, and wouldn’t want to do it with or for anyone but Andreas.  I know our challenging days are far from over, and I am just constantly grateful that I have Andreas to help me face them.

When life hands you failed cakes…

Yesterday, I decided to be adventurous, brave, and ambitious…in the kitchen.  I decided I was going to make an Exciting Cake!  However, I ended up spending the majority of the day browsing Foodgawker for inspiration and a good idea.  Finally I found a chocolate cake recipe and threw myself into cake-making!  Unfortunately, it was just not meant to be.  I burned the chocolate on my first attempt at melting it, and somehow managed to put the oven 50 degrees (celcius) higher than I meant to which resulted in a high-in-the-middle cracked, slightly too brown cake.

I’ll be honest.  I almost cried.  However, it was time for me to go pick up Andreas from the train station, and I didn’t have time for a meltdown so I threw on my coat and marched out the door, imagining that when I came back home, maybe the cake would be magically healed.

It wasn’t.  However, when I saw him walking towards me in the train station, my heart jumped, just like it always did when I’d see him after being apart for 6 months, and my cake-woes immediately felt solvable again.  On the way home, we stopped by ICA and had a fruit-(and laundry detergent)-buying-spree, and I knew we were headed in the right direction.

These strawberries, and their strawberry smell, were pure inspiration, and it was decided that when life hands you failed cakes…you make trifle.  Andreas even took a break from Diablo to come help me put it all together!  And while I’m on that, he is so much better at balancing video games and real life than I expected!  Even though he squeaks “this game is so FUN!” at frequent intervals, he took a long trifle-making break AND even did yoga with me this morning before he started playing!

The fruit alone looked good enough to gobble up, but we were patient, and our patience was rewarded:

with trifle!  Trifle so good that it made Andreas sing “Come trifle with me…come trifle, let’s trifle awaaaaay” over…and over.  Trifle so good that I didn’t even mind!  Not even a little bit.

So I learned not to be upset over failed cakes, and to be thankful I have a husband who    a) makes me feel better when I do get upset over failed cakes, b) helps me turn them into awesome things, and c) won’t mind that I post the following picture.

Awwww, boys and trifle.

Moving into the new apartment was sort of a “fresh start” for me, and I’ve been feeling so much better!  I wake up early in the mornings and do yoga in an airy, light apartment, have kicked my “addiction” to TV, and get out of the house every day (even if it’s just to walk to the train station).  I’m so grateful for every new beginning (even if having so many new beginnings gets wearing after a very short while).

Dreams

I dreamed last night that my residence card came in the mail, but that I had to go be on America’s Next Top Model to get my picture taken for it.  Sadly, I also dreamed that my mom had another baby (17 years after the youngest) and named it Fab Yellow Submarine Moser, so I don’t think the residence card dream is a very trustworthy prophecy of what is to come.

However, when I called my mom to tell her my doofy dream, we also ended up talking about other things, and I mentioned how getting a KitchenAid mixer has been one of my “dreams.”  There’s something about a KitchenAid that represents more than just a kitchen appliance.  It means I will make bread every other day and my own noodles!  I can just imagine it whisking and beating frosting into a perfectly fluffy finished product, and warning my curious young children to keep their fingers away from it (and seeing in their eyes the desire to touch it, just to see what would happen).  And speaking of dreams, these curious young children are the most-dreamed-about-of-all.

The reason I mention all of this (aside from “because I haven’t done anything noteworthy in the past week to warrant a blog post”) is because I’ve been thinking a lot about things that are close to my heart, things I want.  A lot.  Besides a KitchenAid mixer and babies, one of the things that tops the list is a home.  Now,  I can’t claim that I never had a home and I moved around all my life and all I wanted as a kid was a steady place to live.  I had an awesome home.  I lived in a big farmhouse that I am so, so happy I can still sort of call home.  However, I realized that I have moved 5 times in the past year.  Five.  From college, to home, to Illinois, to home, to Denmark, to Sweden, and that doesn’t include all the travelling in between.  We’re moving again next week, but instead of a smooth across-the-hall move like we had hoped, things got bumped around a bit, and we’re going to end up moving all of our stuff down to the next building to live with my sister-in-law for a few days before we move it all back up again a week later to our new place which we’ll have until August somethingeth when we’ll have to move.  Again.

Besides hating the tasks of packing everything and moving over and over again, it’s beginning to take a pretty solid emotional toll on little old me.  Moving from my college town of Green Bay back home was bittersweet (the bitterness of leaving friends and the city and campus I grew to know, the sweetness of knowing I’d be getting married soon and starting a new life with my husband).  Moving from the Wisconsin farmouse to a stinky Illinois apartment in a sketchy part of town was a bit heartbreaking.  Moving to Europe was amazing (knowing I’d not have to have a long-distance relationship with Andreas) and horrible (saying what felt like an awfully permanent goodbye to so many people, places, and yes, things.).

I guess I’m just “over it.”  I’m not a young restless soul with a thirst for adventure.  I’m a crotchety old soul with a thirst for a cup of coffee and a place to plant my roots.  I want to buy a bed, and plates, and not say to myself “should I really get this, if we’re just going to have to lug it around for the next _____ amount of time?”  I know that this, along with my KitchenAid mixer and my longed-for babies, is just on the horizon, but the many moves in the meantime sort of cloud my view, and I’m left feeling a bit helpless, a bit homesick, and a bit detached.

Anyway, tomorrow is my first International Knitting Group meeting, and I have pretty high hopes!  Wish me luck with my nerves, and all this home-wanting angst.  Why am I not 45 yet?!