All Y'all Have a Merry Christmas

Okay, I admit it, I'm a blogger virgin.  A little bit about myself.  I grew up in a small town in Arkansas before moving off to Tennessee (I know, big leap, right?) to end up meeting my Prince Charming.  Okay, maybe not Prince Charming, per se.  My husband is German.  When I first met him he sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher with a speech impediment.  I had to stop him mid-sentence to remind him he was in America, where we speak English.  Turns out, he was speaking English.  Whoops, my mistake.  We did things backwards, particularly to my Southern Baptist upbringing.  We got ourselves pregnant (okay, I got knocked up,but you have to admit, he did have a part in the process) and got married.  Six months after we got married, we moved to a small village outside of Hamburg, Germany.

I spoke no German except for a few cute phrases that had no place in every day life.  I adjusted, somewhat, and began the process of raising our daughter here while learning the culture and language.  Now, hubby dearest comes from a big family, six kids.  I am an only child who not only does not understand big family dynamics, but does not understand German big family dynamics.  This has led to many, many mistakes, faux pas, and downright screwy situations over the past six years but we have managed to survive it.  We now have two kids, both girls, and our neurotic and spoilt dog who made the Trans-Atlantic flight with us, and a village full of farm animals that don't belong to us but still manage to make me gag when I smell cow pies in the pastures.


Herr Hubby bougtht me a brand spankin new laptop for Christmas in an attempt to help me stay in touch with my own culture.  I have to say, I never would have thought this, but I miss the South.  Greatly.  There is something about the ebb and flow of the culture and language there that soothes my soul when I need it.  No clue why, it's just how it is.  Plus, big fan of southern hospitality.  My neighbors still have a hard time trying to figure out why I randomly bring over baked goods, just because I can and want to.  My daughters keep me busy.  One is sweet, girly, and quiet.  The younger one, well, think Rosemary's Baby in girl form with the energy of the Tasmanian Devil.  I love my youngest, truly, I do, but sometimes I just need a good hide in my pantry with a bar of chocolate to anchor me back to sanity.

I hope my journey inspires you, tickles your funny bone, or just gives you something to read when you are bored out of your skull.   Merry Christmas, folks!