My brother has been visiting from Germany for a mere three days and already I feel antsy. Not because I want him to leave but because it was in an instant that I regressed to the role of big sis. He's celebrating his 29th birthday tomorrow and yet I still have the urge to mother and scold him.

Granted I was his substitute mother as I am 13 years his senior and our own mother, well, she was more often absent than not. I changed his diapers, gave him his formula and played patty-cake with him until I was moved out. Then I didn't see him again until March of this year - which means a good 18 years passed between me playing surrogate mom and him ultimately growing up. I just can't seem to shake that caretaker role; it's weird.

I was upset with him yesterday about something..hmmm... oh yeah! Porno. German porno on my computer while I wasn't watching (on a side note - porno in German is not sexy at all). I was trying to be nice about it but I don't think I was successful. He looked at me like I was nuts. Well, it's my house, my rules, no porno on the damn Internet. Grrrr. I changed my password and that's that. But I digress....

I think he's still trying to feel his way into this "new" relationship of us being (supposedly) grown up and responsible (Ha!) adults. Although when I see him playing with my son he reminds me more of a child than ever. Then again, I think that is just a guy thing.

He's going to be here for a full two weeks and most likely will spend more time on his own than with me (work schedules will do that). So maybe it's not so bad. I just can't help the mothering thing and he can't get used to being mothered. We'll just have to muddle our way through it somehow...

I fulfilled my dream of homeownership six years ago. After the initial joy and pride wore off I was faced with the same problems every other homeowner deals with – maintenance. I don’t mind the grass cutting so much- I do have a teenage son for that. It’s all the other little annoyances that are really starting to get on my nerves. Toilet issues, backed up pipes, water pressure issues, bug problems, leaky roof, draft windows, handprints on the walls…the list goes on and on.

I just had to replace my roof about a month ago although the seller six years ago assured me it was a brand-new roof. He lied, oh the shock! He didn’t even use underlayment and the subsequent leaks had me scrambling for a contractor that was honest, hardworking and reasonable. It took me three months to find someone! Most of the guys that showed up at my house were quite evidently members of the good ol’ boy network as the Southern drawl and repeated “hun” and “Ma’am” sprinkled conversation showed. That I could’ve put up with (gritting my teeth of course); it was the abhorrent estimates I was getting. They fluctuated wildly and the differences were several thousand dollars. Now, I don’t have the word sucker stamped on my forehead but they saw a single woman and thought, “Wooohooo, doesn’t-know-a-thing-lets-get-her”. Really, some of the explanations were downright condescending and I am not about to hire you if you elude that you think I have an IQ of 60. I ended up hiring a friend of a co-worker and he did a great job; reasonable price too.

Now I have to address the plumbing issue. Backed up pipes, broken hot water handle in the tub – you get the picture. I have been taking showers with a vice grip for a hot water handle for oh, probably 9 months. Who can afford a damn plumber anymore? It’s getting ridiculous. The flat-pricing, the exorbitant mark-ups on the PVC pipes and supplies, the service charges; it just makes me ill. Until I find a guy (or girl) that won’t try to rip me off, vice grip it is. It’s so white trash but who cares?

I am reasonably adept at fixing minor things around the house, own a decently stocked toolbox and can put furniture together without assistance; however, I am no plumber, electrician or any sort of handy-woman whatsoever. So my long-term independence has put me in a position where I no longer have a live in handyman and I’m stuck having to pay hundreds or thousands of dollars to get crap fixed. Sometimes I wish I could just pack all my shit and move. Ha! The perils of homeownership, folks should get a medal for putting up with the money pits.

I fulfilled my dream of homeownership six years ago. After the initial joy and pride wore off I was faced with the same problems every other homeowner deals with – maintenance. I don’t mind the grass cutting so much- I do have a teenage son for that. It’s all the other little annoyances that are really starting to get on my nerves. Toilet issues, backed up pipes, water pressure issues, bug problems, leaky roof, draft windows, handprints on the walls…the list goes on and on.

I just had to replace my roof about a month ago although the seller six years ago assured me it was a brand-new roof. He lied, oh the shock! He didn’t even use underlayment and the subsequent leaks had me scrambling for a contractor that was honest, hardworking and reasonable. It took me three months to find someone! Most of the guys that showed up at my house were quite evidently members of the good ol’ boy network as the Southern drawl and repeated “hun” and “Ma’am” sprinkled conversation showed. That I could’ve put up with (gritting my teeth of course); it was the abhorrent estimates I was getting. They fluctuated wildly and the differences were several thousand dollars. Now, I don’t have the word sucker stamped on my forehead but they saw a single woman and thought, “Wooohooo, doesn’t-know-a-thing-lets-get-her”. Really, some of the explanations were downright condescending and I am not about to hire you if you elude that you think I have an IQ of 60. I ended up hiring a friend of a co-worker and he did a great job; reasonable price too.

Now I have to address the plumbing issue. Backed up pipes, broken hot water handle in the tub – you get the picture. I have been taking showers with a vice grip for a hot water handle for oh, probably 9 months. Who can afford a damn plumber anymore? It’s getting ridiculous. The flat-pricing, the exorbitant mark-ups on the PVC pipes and supplies, the service charges; it just makes me ill. Until I find a guy (or girl) that won’t try to rip me off, vice grip it is. It’s so white trash but who cares?

I am reasonably adept at fixing minor things around the house, own a decently stocked toolbox and can put furniture together without assistance; however, I am no plumber, electrician or any sort of handy-woman whatsoever. So my long-term independence has put me in a position where I no longer have a live in handyman and I’m stuck having to pay hundreds or thousands of dollars to get crap fixed. Sometimes I wish I could just pack all my shit and move. Ha! The perils of homeownership, folks should get a medal for putting up with the money pits.

I don't know what possessed me to head to the mall today. Ah yes - I was going for a pair of jeans. Still, I probably didn't need to go to the mall for that; should've known better.

Parking as usual was a bane, there were crowds of people leisurely strolling the hallowed halls, kiosk sales girls perkily requested that you try on a new hair piece, play with a new cell phone/computer/hat/sun glasses, and whining children followed their bedraggled parents around. It just wasn't my idea of fun really.

I think I hit maybe six stores when I finally gave up finding that elusive pair of jeans. It was either the extreme low-rider (wouldn't catch me dead in that), some spandex ladden contraption, grandma pants with a waist that sits somewhere under your armpits or a size zero. Yup. Zero. I don't know anyone that wears a zero. Maybe Nicole Ritchie but I don't know her, I can only assume.

It was depressing to walk from store to store and not be able to find a single thing for a 40something that looks hip and actually fits. Add to that that I got a nasty papercut in one of the stores just by checking out a pair (who makes those tags - Gillette??) , summarily bled all over my white sweater (!) and for some crazy reason the elastic in my left sock died a horrible death and the whole thing slipped inside my tennis shoe. It also became evident that I must have stepped into some dog doo in the parking lot. It just wasn't pretty.

I truly felt out of my element. Not that I ever liked going to the mall to begin with but today was just a depressing experience. Being surrounded by beautiful (and quite evidently) rich people, skinny and giggling teenagers in every store and waves of expensive perfume and cologne wafting everywhere... I tell you. It's enough to make you want to slit your throat.

Do men feel the same way when the enter the halls of Abercrombie? Do they secretely compare themselves with the other manicured male Adonis' shopping? Do they avoid the stores sure to be filled with the elite?

I know that I do. I am overcome by feelings of inadequacy whenever I step foot into a Nordstrom, Neiman Marcus or walk by Louis Vuitton. People like me (normal folks, that is) just don't hang out there. And I surely don't feel like torturing myself with oggling a size zero jean that I will never fit into, try on a pair of $3000 boots just for the hell of it or even some dazzling new pair of designer shades. It just feels weird to me.

At any rate, I high tailed it out of there; finger still throbbing from my nasty cut, one sock dispappearing in my shoe and dog poop smell trailing me. I think I will do some leisurely Internet shopping now.

All Hail Al Gore!

Whenever I tell folks that I was born and raised in Germany, I inevitably get the questions... "What's it like over there? Is it really different? How come you don't have an accent?" Stuff like that... Which is a little strange to me, because I don't think about these things.

Yes. I was born and raised in Germany and yes, I lived and moved and travelled all over Europe before I moved to the U.S. I suppose I still have the old world thingy in me. It truly is not in the realm of definition..hence I will not attempt to do so. Define it, that is.

In the recent developments with all the illegals coming in etc. it got me thinking back to the the very first days, weeks, even months that I experienced the good ole' US of A. And it was a hoot. No. More like a shock!

Anyway..I thought I would share my very first experience in an American grocery store. As I was made fun of many, many times after this...so it must be funny.

When I first came over my ex and I were stationed at Ft. Benning. We rented an apartment off base complete with the obligatory vinyl couch etc. Yum. Anyway. On one of my very first trips to the PX (grocery, to those outside military folks) nothing seemed amiss. Just a store. However! When we got to the checkout, some guy took the groceries off the belt, put them in a cart and walked off with them! I freaked!!!!! I yelled, I pointed... I went ballistic. Truly.

My husband seriously had to subdue me because I was about to call the cavalry to take care of this lowlife!

You see, where I came from - you bagged your own groceries, took them to the car (or the teaxi, or the bus..whatever)....and nobody else ever touched them.

So, to see this man walking off with my cart full of food completely freaked me out. I think it took a lot of convincing of my ex and the Sgt on staff that day to assure me that this was normal. Huh?

I wonder if any of you have stories like to tell?

On my way to work this morning I noticed two Hispanic gents walking down the street. I don't mean that I noticed them because there was anything particular about them. It was one of those, you just notice in passing sort of thing. I digress...

In passing them one of the men suddenly started behaving like Gumby! I mean, he was all jelly and waving back and forth and WHAM! Falls face first right into the street about 10 feet ahead of me - right into my lane. I freaked! I was already driving slow since I was getting ready to turn but stopped when I saw this guy fall down. Parking my car I jumped out and yelled at the other guy (who just had kept on walking!). He finally turned and came back.

I don't speak Spanish so asking him what happened really was pointless and I gave up after a bit. My cell phone wasn't cooperating but I tried calling Medics twice. No dice. Finally a lady from across the street at the Bojangles yelled at me that the Medics were coming. Cool. Now I can get to work. So I left. There wasn't anything I could do anyway. Maybe I'll call the Medics later and find out what happened to the guy. Come to think of it, jeez, I hope that Bojangles lady didn't think I hit the guy?! Whoa. Just dawned on me as I'm writing this.

I'm still shaking. I mean, this was really disturbing to me. We see people getting slaughtered in the movies all the time, there is blood and gore everywhere and yet we sit and eat popcorn while we're taking all this in. In real life, well, let me tell you - seeing a bloody person on the ground, twitching and convulsing (I think he may have had a seizure but who knows) that really gets to you! I knew there was something wrong with him, but since I am not a doctor or a nurse and have no clue about CPR, I didn't want to touch him. I just sort of stood there like an idiot trying to get my cell phone to work. (I hate Sprint!)

The whole thing creeped me out and this is going to bother me all day. Now I'm wondering if I should've stayed to explain to the Medics that I saw the guy falling into the street? What a hell of a way to start my day.....

I was recently presented with an incredible opportunity to accept a management position for a global communications company. Sounds great, right? The only drawback to this is - it's located in Germany. That in and of itself doesn't present a problem; afterall, I am still a German citizen and free to go anywhere within Europe for work or otherwise.

My son however, is not so thrilled with the prospect of moving across the big ocean and starting a whole new life. No matter how much money and perks they toss at me - my son is still going to be on the losing end.

Do I have the right to ask him to give up his friends, start a new school and learn a new language? No matter how wonderful Europe is and how much I know he would love it, eventually I think he would resent me for exerting parental control and forcing him to move.

Then of course is the matter of - what would I do with my house? Relocation assistance is great, but in the current cold real estate market I would most likely end up having to pay a mortgage in the US while I try to establish myself in Germany.

Ah let's not forget tax and citizenship implications. If I leave now, I may not be allowed to retain resident status. Is a great job really worth giving up 20 of my everything I've worked so hard for?

If I were alone, without children that is, I wouldn't think twice about this. I'd jump on the chance to move to Europe and have a challenging position that will allow me to grow. The globetrotter in me would gladly hand over management of my property to folks that can handle it.

Alas, I don't think I can do it to my son. I can't be selfish in this instance and only think about what I want. I debated it long and hard all weekend long, I was truly torn. First, I was giddy and happy at the prospect but after talking with my son about it, it was clear that he was not that thrilled.

It's a good thing my name is not Susan Smith.

I've done a lot of housecleaning lately as my older son's room turned into a storage facility after he left for the Army. I've tossed out a bunch of worn out and tired furniture and the very accommodating city of Charlotte has helped out. However, there is a very quirky phenomenon: every time I put something to the curb it disappears!

I've put out a beat up Microwave stand, some ancient Rattan tables and various other pieces of odd furniture and knick knacks. They just disappear. I'm assuming that someone is actually roaming the neighborhood looking for new and exciting ways to furnish their house/apartment. Personally, I wouldn't want other people's trash in my house. I don't have a problem with buying stuff at Goodwill (got some great deals there before) but I draw the line at rummaging curbside. Somehow I picture snakes slithering around in beat up drawers or worse yet, SPIDERS! Yuck. I hate spiders.

In a way though, I suppose I'm guilty of the same behavior though. I have a tendency to collect other people's discards as well; only in my case, it's people. Ha! I've always had this notion that I need to save people. By itself helping folks isn't a bad thing - after all charity is a good thing right? For some reason though, I always ended up with the short end of the stick. I help someone out and next thing you know, they take everything that wasn't part of the deal. As my grandma would've said:"You offer the little finger and they take the whole arm!"

I have gotten better at it though. I've honestly exercised restraint in collecting any more people in need of repair. The ugly lessons I've learned with a few of them were enough to make me reconsider. Afterall, you can only be walked on so many times before the threads are bare. In a way, I've gone from one extreme to the other. Since my people picker was broken, I've put it on hiatus until I can find someone qualified to repair it. Perhaps I just need to find the golden middle...wherever that may be.

On my way home yesterday I contemplated my rueful and irrational emotional state. Finally the root cause of my current anxiety dawned on me. I am not irritated at life in general, I am anxious about my upcoming trip home to Germany to visit family. Now, generally visits to family can be somewhat taxing once a year. Multiply that by 20 and you have the answer.

I haven't been home since 1988; since before the Berlin Wall came down and since before I had my last two children. And yes, that is a long time not to go home.

I grew up in an alcoholic home and spent a good part of my teenage years in and out of group homes for girls (I suppose the equivalent would be the American foster system?). My sister was taken by the state after a particularly brutal beating at my stepfather's hands and I was soon to follow. In essence, our relationship froze at age 9 and 13. I don't think we ever grew past it.

Chronologically we've gotten older of course, but every conversation seems to want to take a turn toward old memories and experiences and nothing good ever comes of it. Hence, I try not to make contact too often. Shame on me, I know. I just can't take the constant bickering, whoa is me and the like.

As kids, we all had our roles in the home. I was the mature one, always cleaning up messes and taking care of things as well as my siblings; my sister was the mouthy and rebellious one (which consequently got her a beating, see above) and my brother, well, he was just a baby. Although he certainly carries his own scars as evidenced by his Satanist leaning tats he wears all over his body now. I digress...

I decided that after almost 20 years it was time to make a visit; show my son around my old stomping grounds and visit my family. My cousin is planning a get together for all the cousins (and there are a LOT of them) and of course my sister was invited as well. Come to think of it, I was a little surprised at the thought since my cousin hated me as a kid because I decided to brush her prized Barbie's hair and summarily was forbidden to ever play with any of her toys ever again! Ha! I digress...

My sister however did not take to it too kindly - the invite to the cousin's meet that is. As a matter of fact, I had to listen to how selfish I am to think that her world stops revolving just because I am visiting after all this time, carrying on about having to care for her cats and needing to work because her life is just so damn shitty.

In essence, I am supposed to feel guilty for moving thousands of miles away, making a life for myself and leaving her to fend for herself and looking after my mother. I always told her to get away from that situation but maybe the role of martyr fits her, I can't really say.

What I do know is that this whole visit is making me anxious. I've distanced myself from that whole mess so long ago, yet now, I feel that black hole of a family trying to suck me right back in. And I am not willing to go quietly; I worked hard to raise myself out of the emotional cesspool of dysfunction. Yes, I've had my battles, made some wrong turns and bad choices - but who hasn't? Overall, I think I've done well - so why should I feel guilty about this?

20 years is a long time to be gone, I know this. I'm hoping that perhaps my visit will at least bridge the gap somewhat and I can connect my son with his heritage, if nothing else. Some things may never change though. I fear that my sister and mother are forever locked into this co-dependent dance that I left behind so long ago.

All I want is some aniseed candy, a Nuernberger brat and maybe some Kartoffelpuffer with applesauce at the Christmas market. That ought to tide me over another 20 years or so....

Lately a series of mundane events that would've never bothered me before have triggered allergic reactions. Everything and everyone irritates me, I'm not sleeping well and no matter what I do, I just cannot seem to find my rhythm these days. I have my moments where a song on the radio can get me to sing along with it, but that lasts well, the length of the song. As soon as I exit the vehicle I'm just irritated again. There really isn't any reason for it.

Which led me to thinking...jeez, maybe it's the dreaded peri-menopause coming along? Maybe I am heading straight for the rollercoaster of nightsweats and an expanding waistline? Should I recognize this if that were the case? I can remember full well the ups and downs of pregnancy and if it feels anything like that - being subjected to my being annoyed is the least of the world's problems. Ha!

Seriously though, I've gotten into a funk and am guilty of wallowing in self-pity for a minute or two. Although I have no clue what I am so rueful about. I just am. I think I've read somewhere that depression starts this way. Now, what on earth do I have to be depressed about?? So that can't be it.

I'm staring at my blog, the cursor blinking relentlessly - reminding me to "Write already!" Well I am writing dammit, I'm just not really saying anything. Ha!

I was telling my son a funny story the other day. When I was four (yes, I do remember that far back) I was spending the night at my aunt's house with my mother. I was supposed to be sleeping on the couch while they sat and watched an old B&W Tarzan movie. I can't remember the name of it but it involved a huge spider that was about to eat Tarzan (or something like that). Me peaking under the blankets at the TV saw this and screamed at the top of my lungs, while jumping up and sending my shoes flying across the room toward the TV set. Obviously I scared the crap out of everyone in the room and was in big doo-doo for watching in the first place.

The point of this is, I'm sort of feeling like Tarzan there...being all swallowed up by the big, hairy spider named "Life". If kicking and screaming could drum up some excitement, I'd gladly do it every day! Alas, making noise doesn't seem to help any... slinking around in the background doesn't help either. I'm half-way through this mess and I still haven't quite figured out the right balance. It really is quite irritating....