Telephone angst

I can't say I have that much to write about this week, as we try to figure out the rhythm of our life here in Wiesbaden, which has been difficult to do with Erik popping in and out on trips back to the US.  But yesterday, I accomplished two things:  1) I got myself and the girls outside three times. That sounds super lame, but between hats, coats, shoes, naps, tantrums, meals, two flights of wind-y stairs, a big heavy door, 6 steps to bounce the stroller up and down, and a gate that doesn't want to stay open for me, it's big; 2) I made a phone call.  That sounds even lamer, but let me explain.  Speaking German on the phone makes me break out in a sweat.  When Erik and I lived in Munich, we used to have to stick our heads out the window to cool off after we had hung up the phone.  When learning a new language, I realize that we rely very heavily on body language or gestures to give context or subtly clarify what might otherwise go over our heads.  On the phone, all you get are the words.  Yikes. 

I have been staring at this slip of paper with a phone number on it for a week and keep coming up with an excuse to put it off.  I finally took the plunge and called the number to set up a little playdate for Elsa and her new friend Tim.  Yes, that was the huge scary thing I didn't want to do: set up a playdate with a 2 1/2 year old and his REALLY NICE mom who gave me her number.  I'm lame, but although my heart was racing, I didn't have to open the window.  I consider that progress.