Still Alive

Thanks so much for all the well wishes! Jake brought all your comments to me while I was still being held captive in the strangely Internet-less hospital and they really brightened my day. I just wanted to let everyone know that Jethro and I are home safe and sound. We got home Thursday night, and I can't even express how good it feels to be back on familiar turf. My body's patching itself up nicely, Jethro's developed a ravenous appetite and is filling out that baggy skin, and Jake's been taking care of us both with angelic patience. We're all a little bit zombified, but we're having a blast. Jake and I are thoroughly enjoying getting acquainted with this new inductee into the human race.

I've been working on a lengthy post about the birth for a few days now, but what with Jethro's newfound bottomless pit hunger and my own exhaustion, it's taking longer than I'd banked on. At any rate, it's in the hopper. I just wanted to stick my head in and say hi and thanks and assure you that this blog is, indeed, still happening. I'm just a little distracted by these big, bright eyes at the moment.


Holding Jethro from jake michaelson on Vimeo.

JEM

Jethro Val Michaelson

Since Jaz is still in the hospital, she has condescended to allow me to announce the birth of our son on her blog. When she's released from the hospital in a few days, she'll undoubtedly fill you in on all the details.

Jethro Val Michaelson was born yesterday - 40 weeks exactly. At birth he weighed 3,370 grams and was 52 centimeters long. Here's a link to an online unit converter for our friends on the imperial system.










Mother and baby are healthy and happy and will be home later this week.

Other Wagens

The angry Trabi that lives in our neighborhood.

A sexy DDR moped in Dresden's hipster Neustadt sector.

The handsome Volvo we pass on the way to church every Sunday. And my handsome Jake.

The Kinderwagen

For all the grief the German language gives me, there are aspects of it that I find fantastic. In particular, I love the hilariously literal names Germans often give things. Gloves are called "Handschuhe", literally "hand shoes". Lullabies are called "Schlaflieder", literally "sleep songs". Santa Claus is the "Weihnachtsmann", literally the "Christmas Man". The ceiling is called the "Zimmerdecke", literally the "room blanket". The refridgerator is the "Kuhlschrank", literally the "cool closet". The hospital is the "Krankenhaus", literally the "sick house".

But easily one of my favorite German words is "Kinderwagen", literally "child vehicle", referring, of course, to a stroller. It's fitting that the stroller has such a tough, utilitarian name in German because German strollers are just that. You really can't even call them "strollers". It's like calling a Ford F-350 a "car".

Here's our Kinderwagen, and I ask you to keep in mind that this was one of the cheapest and most rudimentary models we found in our extensive search of Dresden's baby stores.

You'll notice the removable baby gym bag. That's not really what it's called, but that's what I call it because that's basically what it is. Anyway, when you take out the baby gym bag, you can convert the whole thing into a sitting-up-for-a-bigger-kid Kinderwagen.

It also has pretty sweet shocks and these:


Yeah. Actual tires. That you inflate.

See? They even have the air pressure printed on the side.

Even if you wanted one of those lame-o American strollers with tiny, swiveling, shopping cart wheels, you wouldn't be able to find them here. I'm not sure if it's got something to do with how much Germans love going for walks, the prevalence here of cobblestone, or if it's just another manifestation of general German OCD, but I think you'd be hard-pressed to find a country that takes its pedestrian Kinder transportation more seriously.



And I'm already trying to work out how we're going to get this sucker back the States.



JEM

Hey! I'm an American!

Yeah, OK. I'll bite. But not too hard.

Although I'm not currently working as a journalist, I still consider myself one and try to hold myself to the standards I like to think good journalists hold themselves to, namely keeping my personal political opinions private. I'm not opposed to sharing them in private, but I try to avoid broadcasting them to the universe.

That's why I wasn't going to bring this up at all.

But for the last couple of days I've had the almost irresistible urge to elbow strangers in public and, beaming, say, "Hey! I'm an American! Did you hear what we did?" And I just realized that this feeling has nothing to do with my personal political opinions — but, rather, everything to do with my homeland proving, yet again, that anything is possible on its soil.


And I'm proud of us.



JEM

P.S. Here's a great (and short) piece about how, all of a sudden, being an American in Europe is OK.

A Sensible German Coat

Ben Affleck, I just forgave you for "Jersey Girl". Congratulations.



JEM

Nesting, Etc.

Junior and I wait for the tram.

Oh, hi! It's me, your friendly neighborhood blimp, here. How are you? I'm huge. And so afraid of popping that I now rarely wander farther than the grocery store down the street.

Boredom, anxiety and excitement regularly combine to form an interesting cocktail I call "madness".

Lately, I've been combating this by knitting. Here are some things I recently made:



I started this blanket a couple of weeks after I found out I was pregnant and finished it just a few weeks ago. It's the most substantial thing I've ever knitted — my first ever blanket — and I'm pretty stoked about it.

I've also been cooking a lot. I attempted cinnamon rolls for Jake's birthday and experienced something I've almost never experienced in the kitchen before: success.

Considering this attempt three years ago at snickerdoodles ...

I have to say I think I'm really progressing.

Even Jake's caught the domestication bug. A few weeks ago he put the finishing touches on the homemade beanbag chair he's been sewing.

It's a marvelous work. It's become my favorite chair — as long as there's someone else around to help me get out of it.

Sidenote: The beanbag stuffing Jake ordered to fill the chair up with came with this complimentary gift:

Because nothing says "Thanks for buying your gigantic bag of Styrofoam filling from us" like a personalized hand towel. That's spelled wrong.

Oh yeah, and we voted.

The verdict? Absentee voting is grrrreat!



JEM