A small triumph

 Today was one of those less-than-awesome days.  I was going to post something about Elsa, but that's going to have to wait. I kind of need a break from my kids at the moment, so I'm going to steal the spotlight and talk about. . . me . . . if I can mobilize myself out of my crumpled heap.  After a day of feeling like I can't do anything right, I think I need to publicly toot my own horn.

 I am beginning to remember how hard it is to live in a foreign country and try to function in a foreign language.  It's isolating and sometimes humiliating, like the time in Munich I asked for teeth in my coffee instead of cream.  I would really like to reply with something pleasant when the old ladies in Wolfenbuettel (umlaut! I need you!) comment on Clara's hair, but sometimes all I can come up with is nodding and smiling like an idiot.  Some days are great, and then there are days when I feel like I open my mouth and only crap comes out.

Yesterday started out that way, which is why I was a nervous wreck when I had to take myself to my postpartum check-up later that day.  I will spare you the details, but somehow I managed to answer health history questions, explain why I was there, and negotiate the details of our complicated health insurance and how it is billed.  Since I was on a roll,  I marched right over to the pediatrician's office to straighten out an issue with our vaccination schedule and problems with our insurance's reimbursement.  Anyway, it's only a baby step, and I could very easily ask for teeth in my coffee again tomorrow.  Now that I think of it, I think I might have told them that Erik's birth year was 1967. Oh well.