Temporarily 7 Hours Ahead

We flew on a plane for our vacation. We meant to end up in Egypt, but it looks like we might have ended up in St. George after all.

Oh wait, even in St. George, Santa doesn't come on a Camel. On Christmas morning, Santa really did come up on a live camel. Of course, Santa was the head of the Kid's Club, a man named El Sayed. It was a very multi-cultural Christmas.

Jason really got into the spirit of things. Too bad he didn't collect some additional wives while there. I could really use some help with the post vacation laundry.

Random Newspaper

 

Friends of ours bought a very old house/restaurant/dance hall. Jason has been helping them with the remodel. This newspaper was behind the walls. The name is Der Kleine Nazi, which means "The Little Nazi." You don't find these things in the walls when you remodel in the US.

Random Sausage

 

So much for the separation of Church and Dinner.

The Primary Program

Yesterday was the annual "Primary Program" at church. Once a year the children put on a presentation where they show the congregation what they have learned this year. They sing songs and say short parts.

This year's theme was "Meine Ewige Familie." I know this is not helpful. In English, that would be "My Eternal Family."

Sarah had 3 different lines she had to say, which she did very loudly, and clearly--in German. She also knew most of the words to the songs, which is impressive.

We are very proud of her. It's scary to get up in front of an entire congregation and speak in your native language, let alone a foreign one.

St. Nicholas Day

 

Tomorrow is St. Nicholas day. This is a big deal here in Switzerland. St. Nicholas comes and puts nuts, fruit and candy in shoes. He comes with his friend, Schmutzli. Schmutzli is a black man who kidnaps the naughty children and takes them out to the woods. To do what with them, I don't know. Draw your own conclusion.

One of the requirements is that you write a letter to St. Nicholas saying why you are good. We all wrote letters. Sarah's is above. I'll translate for those of you who aren't adept at reading First Grade:

Dear St. Nicholas

I have bin good. Because I have not had any screaming fits. Diig was bad. Because he pulled hair. But he is cute. (Then on the side, in case St. Nicholas doesn't know): Diig is a baby.

Isn't that awesome? I'm not sure where she picked up spelling Diig, when his name is properly spelled Diggas (poor kid, he's doomed, doomed, I tell you). All of it is true, by the way. Sarah was having major melt downs at least twice a week. She got promised a china doll if she could go two weeks without a melt down. She did it in October and hasn't had a melt down since.

I wish we could say the same thing for Daniel's hair pulling. Ouch.

So, our shoes are out on the back porch, with our letters to St. Nicholas in them. Sarah is convinced that St. Nicholas is real, but that Schmutzli is just a story. We told her to clean her room just in case.

Why I haven't been blogging much

 

Because this is what happens when I do.

For Mark

A good friend, Mark Forsyth, was killed in a motorcycle accident last week. The hardest part of being so far away is not being able to personally mourn with those that mourn.

Since I got the news, I've been thinking about the Forsyth family a lot. One "Mark" story comes to mind. Well, it's really a Mark and Liz story.

We were at their house for a party of some sort. (I think it was probably for one of the YSA that we both had the privilege of "parenting.") My Daniel was 4 months old. I was chatting with Liz and some other women and the topic turned to children (of course).

Liz said, "Isn't it so fantastic to see their little faces on their first birthday when they get their first taste of sugar?" At this very moment, Mark was feeding my four month old pumpkin roll cake.

I smile every time I think of that, because I seriously doubt the Forsyth children first tasted sugar on their 1st birthdays. I think they just tasted sugar in front of their mother on their first birthday.

We miss Mark. We love all the Forsyths, and wish we could be there.

(And for the record, I told Mark to stop feeding my baby dessert.)