Annie Valentine

So my husband sold our old queen bed.

Here’s the thing about extra cash. We’re not dying of money-less-ness, our cupboards are overly stuffed with food I should think about cooking. And, I’ve been blessed with a spouse who pays me to stay home and make house to my heart’s content.

But when an opportunity comes up to earn an extra buck, you can bet Old Moneybags will jump at it with arms and legs extended.

Over here in Germany, Christmas is serious business. Nearly every village puts on some sort of Christmas festival or market, some of which run for an entire month of holiday bliss. The food alone is enough to keep me coming back for more.

But my favorite thing about Christmas in Deutschland would have to be the nativities. They are absolutely everywhere. I haven’t seen Santa at a single Christmas market, but the story of Jesus is presented in nearly every format imaginable, including live animation.

The other day my girlfriend and I took the children to one of the local village Christmas markets not far from our area. I had a few Christmas gifts to buy and had been looking for something decidedly German to send back to family in the states. Leaving my purse in the car, I pocketed 100 euros ($130) and my cell phone and headed out with the kids in search of Christmas treasure.

Birthdays are a funny thing.

Isn't it interesting that last year I couldn't wait to turn 32? I lectured my sister and my friends and the lady at the drugstore about the importance of getting old and why I'm going to love it. And yet I can't seem to remember how old I'm turning this year because whatever the number, it is more than 32.

I also like to refer to my birthday as an event that hasn't happened yet, even though it took place last week.

I grew up in a family where birthdays were considered nothing more than another excuse to have cake after dinner. You got a quick song, a single gift and a little slice of Heaven on a plate. I have found through my friendships that my family's method was pretty normal. Culturally, birthdays don't seem to be a big deal, and the older we get the more we hate them.

The long-awaited household goods truck comes first thing tomorrow morning and I’m feeling very first-datish, a little apprehensive but mostly obnoxiously giddy.

We have been living here in Germany for two months, camping out with our original 12 bags of clothing. Don’t think that number hasn’t increased; I now have to detangle us from our temporary house one grocery bag of accumulated goods at a time. Unfortunately there is no place to put said items until all the other items are delivered.

I don’t think my parents will ever get a break from raising me.

I am a 32-year-old mother of four. I have a college degree, have lived in more interesting places and met more interesting people than I ever thought possible, and I still need my dad to gently nudge me into place now and then.

We have been in Germany for seven weeks but have been living out of suitcases since the beginning of June. I’m too tired to do the math, but I can assure you that it all adds up to one seriously grumpy woman.

Recently we let our German landlords schedule an appointment for Rex (6) and me at the local village elementary school. Despite the language barrier (or because of it), our landlords have convinced us that the German school system here is “super” and we need to put Rex into their version of kindergarten.

Out of curiosity, I agreed to give it a look.

You know that unseen heavenly forces must be shoving you right along when all it takes is a short conversation where the only word you understand is “schule” before you find yourself John Hancocking 17 foreign documents and signing away your child’s education future.

It’s a funny thing about moving across the world. You’re all prepared to step off the plane and inhale the foreign-smelling air, but instead you land on an Air Base loaded to the hilt with soldiers and pilgrims, grab a quick lunch at Chili’s, and settle into a hotel with 110 voltage plugs.

Our first week here at Ramstein Air Force Base (aka Little America), located somewhere in the German countryside, has been as comfortable as seven days in Mayberry. Today we decided it was time to zoom ourselves and our four little children into the German economy for a taste of foreign living.