The sins of the father (and mother)

My poor, sweet, little girl.

Before July, Phoebe was a very happy preschooler.  She had preschool and then camp, with teachers she adored, friends she talked about at home, and even MUSIC CLASS.  An adoring nanny.  Monday playgroups.  Sunday swimming lessons with Daddy, and a water table in the backyard.  More friends than she could count (literally, since it was more than eleven or twelve).

And then she got yanked to Ohio without warning.  Returned to Fairlawn, in the midst of boxes.  Then to a tiny temporary apartment, stuck on an airplane, and has now spent two weeks in a suburban, barely-furnished temporary apartment, living out of suitcases.

I know she'll love Vienna once we get settled.  Our final apartment has a park across the street, with a really cool playground.  We'll take public transport on a regular basis, including the beloved red buses.  There are SO many things here for kids to do, from the zoo to the beaches at the Alte Donaue.  And, eventually, we'll find a preschool for her, we'll meet more kids her age, and the rest of her life will arrive by boat and air and we'll slowly put it back together.  (Still, TRSNS peeps, I am going to cry a bit when you guys all post about starting back at school.)

7 month old siblings are not the world's best playmates.  Or teeter-totter mates.

But right now, life is tough.  We're living on a welcome kit and our suitcases -- and even two big suitcases mostly filled with toys doesn't go THAT far.  Our apartment is temporary, and it really feels that way.  Half the rooms have no furniture in them, there's no carpets, rugs, or anything on the walls, and it's not fully air conditioned.  Given that it's been in the high 80s, that makes sleeping suck. Her room, for some unknown reason, has her bed in it along with another unmade twin bed and bunk beds, also with bare mattress.  It is NOT friendly looking.  And, in a total Mommy Fail, the box that was supposed to be Mailed (so we'd get it Right Away) that had HER pillow and coverlet and a few favored books and stuffed animals, went into STORAGE.  So we won't see it for three years.  I'm pretty traumatized by this, and I'm not even two.

And while there are a lot of cool things to do here, most of them are kind of hard right now.  We're doing steady rotations of the three playgrounds near us, but to get anywhere else it pretty much involves bus+tram or U Bahn, and is a good 40 minutes one-way.  With the heat and two kids' nap schedules, this makes DOING stuff, getting out and away and a real change of scenery, hard to do.  We're all going a little nuts in this horrid temporary place, claustrophobic from lack of friends and lack of car.  And Phoebe seems to bear the brunt of it.


It was Dan and I's decision to come here, to live this life style and offer her all of these "advantages."  She didn't.  She would be PERFECTLY happy at home, speaking one language, going to her preschool.  We took her away from that and drug her over here, believing we knew what was best.  But the poor bug...she hasn't been sleeping well (which means we haven't either - it's 10:54pm and she's still up) and the TROUBLE she is getting into, just to get attention.

If you've ever tried to carry a boneless toddler when they don't want to go...

Seriously, if you get an international phone call with the heavy breathing of a small kid on the other end of it, that would be her.  Basically, when Phoebe's not happy, nobody's happy.   Seeing her push her dolly around in circles, singing to herself, is sweet...but not when I realize how much of that is boredom for her.  Watching her try to use my deodorant, get her own milk out of the fridge for her dolly's bottle, and disassembling the bathroom plumbing doesn't even have the side benefit of being cute.

I hope it turns around soon.  I love my little girl, and I really want this move to be the fun for her we envisioned.