1st post, Katterbach, Germany (Franconia) (long)

10:35 AM 7/12/2006

I am sitting in an Armed Forces Lodging hotel room, surrounded by suitcases and boxes wrapped in Priority Mail tape. My 14-month old son sleeps peacefully in a borrowed playpen, thank goodness. I have spent the morning straightening up and chasing little Jacob around the room. He is a smart boy, into everything and curious to know how things work. I try to give him lots of safe activities. Right! He marches straight for the first thing that will hurt him. Today it was my coffee cup... oh yes, full of nice warm coffee. Thank God it wasn't hot enough to burn him. Brown stained towels on the bathroom floor are the only remaining evidence of the march to the bathroom and his indignant howls as I rinsed him off in the weird European shower.

Yesterday was a swirl of newness that I have not yet slept off. When did sleep become so difficult? I couldn't sleep on the plane. Jacob was fussy the first couple of hours. Small wonder; he had been awake and interested all day as one new experience after another unfolded. First, waking up at the Linenkohls' house in Marietta. Breakfast and playtime while Mom and Dad pack and ruefully ignore his whines for attention. A ride to the car drop-off, snack in the waiting area, and a long car ride to the airport. Presses of people everywhere... lines... announcements... other children... sights and smells too interesting to ignore. Nap time? Are you kidding? Maybe I am more like my son than I realized...

Unaffected, my husband sleeps peacefully against the hard car seat, we three in the center aisle. Movies we've seen before play on an enormous screen that throws white light in every direction; the soundtrack leaking from neighbors' headphones to eliminate all chance of silence on the plane. The roar of the jet engines eventually lulls Jacob to sleep, but I am too conscious of the rustling of snack wrappers and the smell of stale airplane air. All ideas to try to sleep seem reasonable: watch the movie, don't watch the movie... eat... don't eat... now I'm thirsty... where is the lav? What time is it now? Maybe if I curl up on the seat... can I put my feet on the backpack? NOthing is soft enough to rest my throbbing head upon. My eyes burn and my throat itches. Comfort is too evasive. After about four hours of this, I catch a twenty-minute catnap. I slip a bottle of strawberry-flavored water between Jacob's lips to ensure he doesn't become dehydrated in the dry cabin air... he sleeps so peacefully that I am envious. John could sleep through a landslide, I think. I keep comparing my two watches - one, set on Alabama time, the other on German time. I cannot decide which is more depressing.

I wish I had been seated in a window seat. The buildings and homes I can see from the window during landing seem so different, yet familiar. I blame Hollywood and my movie addiction for the familiarity. I expected to feel like a tourist, clutching my camera and pointing at things. Instead, my heavy eyes gaze suspiciously at the new landscape. The glass elevator at the German airport feels foreign. I feel resigned to learning a new life, and take in the strangeness with a sense of acceptance and hope that one day I will understand what I see. Vague plans involving maps, guide books and German dictionaries compete in my mind for ranking on my to-do list, only to be crowded out by my body's need for sleep and recovery. The curtains are closed in my room and I feel grateful for the cheap Monet prints on the hotel room wall. I sit back and let the new Old World come to me. I do not chase it for the adjustments are unrelenting as it is.

My mind circles around the old reassurances and rests on the rock of my loving husband and sweet baby. My husband has somehow become a tower of strength, navigating us through each new experience and taking charge of our needs. When did this happen? Yesterday he did so much - carrying bags, getting oriented, doing paperwork... learning all he could in the first day. He handles this so differently. I admire his approach as much as I am baffled by it. Yesterday's trip from the airport is a blur. I slept in the back seat sans belt while he and our sponsor (Aaron?) chatted about our new home. I have vague impressions of German license plates and strange wording on passing trucks, road signs and billboards. It is all too much for me. Only the road looks the same, though the markings on it are subtly different. I focus on the familiar, though the new filters through in waves... What is that flower? Is that an oak or something new?

A SmartCar passes us and I am sure I can see the driver's knees next to his elbows through the window. There is room for two people and a coffee cup. Fields, storybook houses, and suddenly a nuclear plant billowing what must be steam or who knows what. Old and new jostle here with footlong words that have too many consonants. German is familiar enough to be frustrating in its difference.

I resolve to be more positive, though my mind rebels against me. I wish for a more open mind and wait for the negativity to pass. Maybe if I could take a nap I would feel better. I glance over at my son and think... he has the right idea.