From Lisbon, With Love

Except for the year I was huge and pregnant with Finley, we've gone skiing every February since we've lived in Luxembourg.  A friend and I joked that if there are aliens in space looking down at planet Earth on the Friday that schools in Europe break for the half-term holiday, they would see all major roads jammed with cars, ever so slowly queuing up to get to the Alps.

But we didn't do that this year.

We decided to visit a city we've not been, a place we've only seen in photos.

We went to Lisbon.

We flew from Brussels directly to Lisbon, took a cab to our hotel, got settled in and headed out to see the city.

Hannah and I sort of fell in love with the mosaic pedestrian sidewalks; each tiny, irregular tile placed faultlessly with purpose.

 We stayed at a beautiful little hotel near the city centre, with a big uphill climb.  

At the end of long days of sight seeing, we raced and lunged upwards, then collapsed onto the chairs in the lobby, hamstrings and quads on fire.

When visiting Lisbon with kids, the zoo and Oceanarium are must see spots.
The zoo is where Shawn and I had our first Portuguese "bica," which is what they call espresso, but from what I understand it's not the actual Portuguese word for it.
But it doesn't matter.  I'd recommend it all - the zoo, the Oceanarium and the bica.

Shawn loves public transportation and the Metropolitano de Lisboa did not disappoint.

 He also likes the Periodic Table of Elements, so this was the perfect backdrop.

Shawn: How often does this Chemical Engineer like to talk about elements?
Tina: Periodically.

If we've never given our children reason to think that we are nerds, well, that joke and this photo should do it.

The entire city is an art museum.
"Azulejos," from the Arab word for a small, polished stone can be found in the most inconspicuous of places.

Sintra is a quaint and whimsical little town, just a short train ride from Lisbon.  We boarded early and arrived with a list of things we wanted to see and do.

Someday when she's grown, Hannah will remember this as the day her dad taught her to navigate the train station.

Our first stop was Cabo da Roca, the Westernmost point of Europe.  

When the Greek philosophers first mapped the world back in 2 A.D. they noted that Cabo da Roca was the end of the world.

I showed Hannah where we were on a map.

"Oh, so right here in this spot, this is the closest we can be to America while we're in Europe?" 

Yep.

From here we went to the Pena Palace, and despite the fog and rain (which I'm told is very common this time of year) I couldn't help but be a bit visually overloaded, not knowing where to look next, with all the vibrant color and cartoon-like features.

When we'd finished at the palace and made our way back to the entrance, we found out that we'd missed the last bus to the train station.  So we did the next best thing: we hired this to take us back.  I'm not even sure what to call it?  It was like a souped up golf cart, but way faster and lower to the ground.  It was rough and bumpy and not safe in the least, but the kids laughed the entire way.

And more public transportation!  This is Tram 28, a Lisbon icon.  We traveled the loop around the city, sitting on its wooden benches, careening around corners and screeching to stop for pedestrians that wandered into the way.

From the tram, Hannah and I spotted this: a wedding gown hanging in the doorway of an old building, beneath lovely azulejos.

It wouldn't be a vacation without a picture of "Vacation Shawn."  Relaxed, a couple of days worth of facial hair and genuinely enjoying himself.  Here he is at lunch in a Portuguese restaurant, finishing up with a bica.  (I didn't have one.  It was too late in the day for me to have caffeine.)

On our final day, we visited Castelo de Sao Jorge, which has an amazing panoramic view of the city.  The Portuguese have a word for describing places with a great view: miradoiros, which actually means golden sights.

I love traveling with these guys.  One of my greatest joys as a mom is taking my kids to a new place, showing them a significant piece of history, teaching them to appreciate someone else's culture. It can be demanding and exhausting and takes a level of planning that adult only travel does not, but man, is it ever worth it.  I read somewhere that travel is the ultimate education.  May each new country they visit, each new food they taste, each new language they hear somehow shape who they'll become.

We returned to Luxemboug, another country and city crossed off our bucket list.
Obrigada, Lisboa.
You're one of our favorites.

Thanksgiving: Feasting Far From Home

It's hard to believe that this was our fifth Thanksgiving in Luxembourg.  It's a strange feeling, this day, to be in a place where people go about business as usual, while everyone back home is warm and cozy, celebrating my favorite American holiday.

I brushed Hannah's hair and managed Finley's wriggly feet into his little shoes and Shawn kissed each of us goodbye.  He headed off for work and I took Hannah to school.

The other American moms wished one another a Happy Thanksgiving and I received a few texts from some British friends wishing us the same.  I smiled at their remembering, and also at the irony.

I often toggle between leaning into life abroad and twinges of guilt for choosing this childhood for our kids - away from family and the traditions that are so much a part of who I am.  And then I snapped back into the now and reminded myself that what we've got here is a gift.  Such a gift.

Earlier in the week, Finley at I shopped for a turkey and all the ingredients to make a traditional American Thanksgiving dinner.  Over the years I've learned to be industrious and resourceful, because making a Thanksgiving dinner in a country that doesn't have Thanksgiving isn't always easy.

As I placed our groceries on the conveyor, the cashier begins gushing over Finley, telling him how cute he is and commenting on his ginger hair.  He smiled at her, gave one of his big belly laughs and said, "My mommy fell down!"

I didn't fall down.

Not on this day, not on the day before, nor at any time in the recallable past, so I laughed to myself and made a mental note to write this down.

The cashier doesn't question or seem concerned; she either doesn't understand toddler talk or English.  Probably a little of both.

On Thursday morning, I stuffed, trussed and roasted the turkey in our tiny European oven.

Shawn left work early to pick Hannah up from school, a surprise that pretty much made her entire year.

Our perfectly imperfect Thanksgiving dinner

The Boxemännercher: we brought a bit of Luxembourg tradition to our American Thanksgiving

After the dishes were cleared, we had our first fire of the season.

"I'm gonna miss this fireplace when we move back to the US,"  Shawn told me when the kids were in bed and all that was left were embers.
Me, too.


On Saturday we celebrated again with some of our American and Canadian friends.
Hannah reminded me at the last minute to bring the Thanksgiving photo props.
They were a big hit two years ago.

Two-and-a-half Canadians and a little American

American: So, how is Thanksgiving different in Canada than in the States?
Canadian: Oh, it's pretty much the same.  Except we don't care as much.

Our fifth (and final) Thanksgiving in Luxembourg is in the books and it was wonderful.
It's almost time for our next big adventure: Christmas in America.
I haven't been home for an entire year, and I simply cannot wait.

Baby, You’re A Firework!

Our 4th of July was a little bit more low key than I would’ve liked, thanks to some salmonella poisoning that took Shawn down for no less than a week.  He and I spent all day Thursday at the Centre Hospitalier de Luxembourg, but that’s another story for another day.

I decided that I would still take the kids to the 4th of July party hosted by the American Women’s Club of Luxembourg, and when I told Hannah that we were going, she told me she didn’t want to go.

”Why? We had fun last year and it’s America’s birthday.  We should celebrate!”

She narrowed her eyes, “Because I’m British.”

Ok. 
Right. 
Clearly all of my efforts at teaching my kids about heritage, American traditions and instilling a sense of patriotism have been very effective.

Oh, well.
Happy Birthday anyways, America!

Dear French People, I’m Sorry for Butchering Your Beautiful Language

Last week, a light on the dashboard of my car lit up and made a demanding ding-ding sound at me when I started it up.  I got out the manual and found that I was low on coolant, so today I went to an auto shop to pick some up. 
I was a little nervous going in because the last time I was there to have a bulb replaced in the taillight, I ended up crying twice, all in the same visit.
First because the man working there was incredibly rude and it was just so frustrating.  Then another man stepped in and was ever so helpful and nice to me and my kids and it made me cry all over again.

So today I went in, guns blazing and ready to get a jug (or the European equivalent) of coolant.
Nothing was going to stop me.

Except I didn’t know the French word for “coolant.”

So I did what I often do when I don’t know a French word and said the word in English, with a French accent.  (Now listen, a lot of the time this is a good strategy and it works.)

Just as the word escaped my mouth, I realized that coolant said in a French accent sounds almost exactly like the French word for tights.
Yes, tights.
I corrected myself the best I could and pulled it together enough to come up with “liquide de froid,” cold liquid, which is what I should have said in the first place.  The man chuckled a bit and told me to pull my car around and he would put the liquide in my car for me.

In other, unrelated news, I’m going to be writing over at City Savvy, an online lifestyle magazine for English speakers in Luxembourg.  You can check out my gallery of springtime photos around Luxembourg and follow us on Instagram (City_Savvy_Lux) where I’ll be posting more pictures of this beautiful city.

I’m so excited about this – I’ll be starting with some bits about traveling Europe via RV and the theatre scene in Luxembourg, and if you know me, you know that I love both travel and theatre.

The best part of all is that I’ll be doing this all in English.
So there’s no chance of me butchering the French language.

A Holiday Wrap Up

So I know we’re already in the middle of January, but I still have some holiday stuff to get posted here on the blog. 
I’m terribly behind, I know.
But I have an excuse.
Jet lag.

So here we go. 

The weekend we arrived in Ohio, Santa visited.
This was as close as Finn would get.

Hannah, however, wasn’t shy.

Cousins!  I love this little family tradition we have and I’m so glad we were home in time for it.

My sister arrived later on that evening and we got down to business.  And by that, I mean she blew out my hair and we ate chicken noodle soup in our pajamas.  Who needs a flatiron when Traci brings the dry bar to Christmas?

The cousins on Christmas Eve.

We had ourselves a very merry little Christmas.

There’s a new restaurant in our hometown that nearly everyone from my hometown that’s on my Facebook feed has been checking in at and posting about.  Shawn and I went on a double date with our friends and I had the sautéed shrimp, which was delicious, and a desert that should be illegal in all 50 states.  We shared a couple bottles of wine and some laughs and decided to take a picture before we left.
This is when things got weird.
Just after this picture was taken, two girls who’d clearly had a bit too much to drink jumped into our picture.  And then one of them grabbed my left boob.
Nothing says “suburban, white, American girl” more than Ugg boots, a top knot, drunk photo bombing and grabbing a complete stranger’s left boob.

Just before the groping.  I had no idea what was about to happen.

Our New Year’s Eve was simple and quiet, with an early dinner, snacks and deserts and a game of Cards Against Humanity.  At one point, Shawn was reduced to a giggling puddle of tears.

The following weekend we flew back to Luxembourg on the overnight flight that will forever be known as THE WORST NIGHT OF SLEEP I’VE EVER HAD.  I realize that calling it the worst night of sleep leads one to believe that sleep was actually had, but really I didn’t sleep one wink.  But we made it back and except for some turbulence and one box (that we checked with our luggage) opening up and spilling onto the baggage claim conveyor, it was pretty uneventful.
We took the next day and a half to recover and unpack and then it was back to normal routines.
I finally took all of our Christmas decorations down, but they are piled up on the dining room table at the moment.  I am hoping to get them boxed up and back into the attic on Saturday.  Or before Valentine’s Day.  Whichever.
I did add a few bits to the photo gallery wall in the foyer this week.

Shawn: Did you use a level?
Me: Ah hahahahaha!  Girl, nah.
(I’m more of the eyeball it and hope for the best type.)

So that’s about all that’s going on around here.  We’ve only got a few weeks until our next adventure – skiing the Alps!

Happy New Year and Bonne Année, friends.