WTFAYHDN?

Every year, I take one of the boys with me to pick out the family Christmas tree. Like Trump's cabinet, it's on a rotational basis and this year it was Peter's turn.

The problem was that two weeks ago, I pinched a nerve and managed to throw out my back. I was watching Peter totally rocking the bench at one of his basketball games. After three hours I tried to stand up and the emphasis is most definitely on 'tried'. I couldn't stand up, walk, or sit down without piercing pains, so it's been a fun two weeks.

On Monday, I had an MRI done and at least it is not a slipped disc and no surgery is needed. I know this has nothing to do with this story, but MRI's suck. Big time. Angie and I recently watched an episode of CSI Las Vegas where a horse with a broken leg was given an MRI. What a load of horseshit! If there is an MRI machine big enough for a horse, then why the hell do they make super-humans like me cram myself into a custom-fit coffin for 20 minutes?

The bright side of my being immobilized is that Angie finally got to fully embrace the tree hunting experience. Even brighter is that she was not saddled with David or Tom, who generally pick the first tree they see. No, no - she hit pay dirt with Peter, who takes his responsibility of picking the family tree extremely serious. Winner, winner, chicken dinner!

Angie and Peter left to get the tree and David and Tom spent the next four hours asking the same question.

'Why are they taking so long?'

'Because it's Peter.'

'Oh, right.'

Don't get me wrong, I love the tradition. It's just that Peter can drive you nuttier than fruit cake when it comes to picking out THE perfect tree. Our last adventure involved going to three different lots and inspecting every single tree on all three lots at least twice. He does not waver or cave into pressure like 'I'm freakin' cold! Would you just pick one already? How about this one? This one looks great, doesn't it? Come on, Peter. PLEEEEAAASE!!!'. Oh, yeah - he also has an undersized bladder and Christmas tree lots, at least the ones in Germany, do not have toilets. They also do not accept anything other than cash, but there is no point in bringing up old shit that really happened to me and pissed me off beyond belief at the time.

I thought at first I might be overdramatizing my memory of Peter's last hunt, but the excerpt above matched Angie's recount of events almost word for word. Unless you ask Peter.

The only point where I can take pride is that out of all of the trees that I helped to hunt over the years ALL of them fit in our car. Angie had to pay the guy an extra five Euros because the tree did not fit and he had to secure the trunk with string. Ha! Who the hell goes hunting without the ability to transport the trophy back to the cabin? Angie. 

Anyone that has been to our place can confirm that Simba is a crazy cat. His look, though, when we turned our living room into a forest, confirmed that our feelings for each other are mutual.

I call it the 'WTFAYHDN?' look. The last five letters stand for 'Are You Humans Doing Now?' and I trust in your creative cryptic skills to decipher the rest.
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Ladder Talk: 
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: That it was the last day of school, that I went to Jonas' house and started on the project for religion, that I'm going to Arman's house to spend the night, and that I got to pick the tree.
David: That finally it is the break and I could meet with Cyril.
Tom: That I didn't have training and that we got the tree.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: That David was bugging me. 
David: That after playing with Cyril, I remembered that I still had training.
Tom: I didn't have a worst part.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: Decorate the tree with Arman. 
David: I want to have fun on my first day of the break.
Tom: I want to have fun decorating the tree and play with Lilly and Max.

In my defense

In my defense, I drew the last cartoon when Angie and I both thought that her fall on Saturday was nothing more than a bruise. Had I known that she had ripped her tendon off of her broken shoulder, I probably still would have laughed, but I might have toned down the finger pointing and the belly clutching. And I definitely would have waited, like a day, maybe even two, before publishing the cartoon.

On Monday, we knew something was strange when she still couldn't raise her arm higher than her waist - and trust me, we know strange. Angie finally agreed to go to see a doctor, who gave her his highly professional medical opinion.

'Of course it hurts - you fell on it.'

Oh, if only the doctor had ever met Angie before. It didn't take long before the doctor reassessed his initial diagnosis and ordered an X-ray.

'Okay, there is a piece that's broken off and it's the part where your tendon is attached to the shoulder, so I can understand why it is so painful.'

After more than a decade of pure bliss, I can testify that Angie just loves to be right. Even with the immense pain, I'm quite sure that she was grinning like the village Trump as the doctor was busy back-pedaling. All that fun came to a halt, though, when he explained that she would need to have an MRI to see if she would need an operation. Until the MRI, she had to wrap herself like a mummy in an upper body brace.

And that brings us to today. Angie has problems driving with two hands and I value the lives of pedestrians, so I volunteered to drive her to the clinic. After four hours of tests and waiting rooms, we finally got to the see THE DOCTOR. Yes, I'm pretty sure after all the waiting that they only have one.

The doctor whisked in, picked up the chart and plopped down in his chair.

'So, does it still hurt?'

'Yes.'

'Of course it hurts - you fell on it.'

I shit you not, I thought Angie was going to try her damnedest to beat the doctor with her left hand. Either the doctor has a sense of humor, which would be odd because he is German, or he saw 'the look' in Angie's eyes. Either way, he chimed in again before Angie could figure out how to unravel herself.

'Just kidding. Let's look at the MRI results.'

In the end, the news was, mmmhh... let's just call it mixed.

• The tendon did not retract from the shoulder, so no surgery is needed. Yeah!
• Angie can go back to work tomorrow. I had somehow chalked this up to the negative side, but apparently she's one of those people that actually enjoys working.
• She cannot drive. For the sake of pedestrians everywhere, I saw this as a positive thing, but Angie has a 'thing' about using public transportation.
• She gets to continue sporting the arm thong for the next 9 weeks. I think you know both my view and Angie's view on how to tally this one.
• Starting next week, she starts physical therapy so that in 10 weeks she can start working out again. When the doctor explained this, Angie actually laughed out loud. So yeah, I think it's safer to say that in 10 weeks, Angie could theoretically start working out. Strike 'again' and emphasize 'start'.

When we got home, Angie was still feeling sorry for herself. Simba, our extremely bizarre cat, who  normally would have seized this opportunity to console her by peeing on her head or using her leg as a scratching post, decided for a change to afford Angie the distinct honor of snuggling with him.

Yes, fine - I was jealous. In my defense, though, I was able to control my green streak by reminding myself that this day was all about Angie falling out of a trashcan and not about me.

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Ladder Talk: (I'm writing again, so back off on the fact that I forgot to do Ladder Talk tonight!)
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: ZZZZzzzz....
David: ZZZZzzzz....
Tom: ZZZZzzzz....

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: ZZZZzzzz....
David: ZZZZzzzz....
Tom: ZZZZzzzz....

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: ZZZZzzzz....
David: ZZZZzzzz....
Tom: ZZZZzzzz....

Simba's new sofa

Angie only thought that her new sofa was being delivered today. Unfortunately, she was oblivious of the well-known fact that the only way to rightfully claim anything delivered to our house is, of course, to lay down on top of it and take a nap. Duh.

At least Simba was considerate enough to let ignorant Angie test out his new sofa. And now you may pet me.
 

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Ladder Talk: 
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: That we got the new sofa.
David: That the new sofa is so cool. 
Tom: That I could play in the school.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: That my ear is closed.
David: That I can't sleep with Tom tonight.
Tom: That I hurt me in the school.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: I want to play drums.
David: I want to go to Luca's.
Tom: I want to play Batman with Peter and David.

Clam Freakin' Chowder

It all started last June, when Angie flew to Ireland to rock it proper at Caroline and Thomas' double birthday bash. They served New England clam chowder, which was delicious but prompted the question as to whether New England clam chowder was better than Manhattan. To make a long debate short, Angie considerately blurted out a generous offer.

'Manhattan is also delicious and I'll prove it. You guys are all invited over to my house to try Steve's homemade Manhattan clam chowder.'

Angie recapped this for me when she got back and even managed to smile before I could respond.

'"My house"? You're offering for me to cook soup for your school's faculty and you didn't find it appropriate to refer to it as "our house"? How many people did you invite to your house?'

'Eleven.'

'Including us and the kids?'

'No.'

Getting clams in Germany is as difficult as one might think. Luckily, we have some friends who work on the U.S. base who can occasionally help out with some things that are hard to find in Germany. Like seafood.

As with most things at the Zoo, it took a little time to actually organize anything. We finally nailed down the date and up until a week ago, I thought we were more or less ready. That's when Angie remember a rather important detail.

'I totally forgot - we have vegetarians coming. It's okay, though, I talked to Ute and she gave me the recipe for her pumpkin soup. I'll make it.'

'Well this should be interesting.'

'You're going to need to help me.'

'Even Superman has his limits.'

So yeah, this morning, before I went shopping, I asked Chef Angie what she needed to make the pumpkin soup. She raced off to get her 'recipe' and beamed proudly as she read off the list.

'Carrots, garlic, onions, a pumpkin, ginger, curry, broth, salt and pepper.'

As we unloaded the groceries, Davey strolled in and proved once again that he is not a normal child.

'Bwahaha! The golden Kiwis and passion fruit are mine. All mine!'

After Fruit Boy pranced off with visions of smoothies dancing in his head, I turned to my new cooking assistant and asked her for the recipe. She raced off to get her 'recipe' and beamed proudly as she read the recipe out loud.

'Carrots, garlic, onions, a pumpkin, ginger, curry, broth, salt and pepper.'

'Butter buns, that's the list of ingredients. Where's the recipe?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, for example, how many carrots should we use?'

'I don't know.'

'How many cloves of garlic?'

'I don't know.'

'Hmm, I'm noticing a pattern. Why don't you call Ute and ask her exactly what she does to the ingredients once they've been purchased by men with equal amounts of strength and patience?' 

Angie hung up the phone and returned to the kitchen with a level of enthusiasm that I have not witnessed since the salary review talks I used to hold back when I was a people manager without a budget.

I eventually kicked Angie out of the kitchen. Not because she wasn't being super helpful; more because after an hour in the kitchen, she smelled like anger and frustration. And not in that order.

'Woman! Go bathe. I'll finish up in here.'

For a change, Angie actually listened to me. As she was bathing, we got six cancellations ranging from sick sickoes to being out of the country to Angie not informing her colleagues they could have brought their spouses. I had been worried up until then that a pot of clam chowder, a pot of pumpkin soup, a bowl of pesto pasta, a bowl of aglio e olio pasta, a big-ass bowl of shrimp and a tossed salad might not be enough for eleven plus five. Hello leftovers.

We gave 7:00 pm as the starting time and were completely shocked when everyone showed up on time. All five of them. Plus Sebastian, who was a token invite because I know how much he can eat.

After dinner, we put the kids to bed, although in all honesty, I should state that we tried getting the kids to go to bed. After their third attempt, I laid the law down.

'If you come out again and ask me if it's okay if you drink water from the bathroom sink, I will have Mama freak out all over you. You know what this means, so you decide.'

The boys decided wisely, which meant that I could photograph the wild life. Some animals were timid.

Others were not.

Other animals cackled like Broom Hilda when our cat was accidentally locked out on the balcony in the freezing cold and he had to jump up and down in front of the door to be let in.

This of course reminded me of the time that Angie accused me of killing Lukie, our last cat. Retelling that one led to a lot of other stories, ending with the one about how I had to shut down my Hotmail account after pulling a prank on Angie that backfired big time. The ladies cracked up, but I think it was more of a pity laugh.

Speaking of, it was a pity to end the laughing. All in all, it was a great night. We had enough food, nobody killed the cat, and hopefully a few New Englanders enjoyed the Manhattan side of life.
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Ladder Talk: 
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: That Mom's teacher friends were here.
David: That we had so many people here for dinner. 
Tom: That we could have ice-cream. 

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: That I got the hiccups. 
David: That my belly hurts.
Tom: That Simba bite me.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: I want it to snow.
David: I want to play something fun with Luca.
Tom: I want to play Batman.