Happy Mother's Day

Earlier today while picnicking at Schloss Solitude.

For all the mothers in my life - my mom, my mother-in-law, grandmas, my sisters-in-law, friends and fellow blogger moms - HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

I Don't Want to Be a Soccer Mom...

...but forces may conspire against me.

**********

Recent conversation with my brother:

"So, you enrolled Little Man in soccer," he said.

"Yes. He needed an activity that required a lot of energy." It's true. Our son has boundless energy and I needed to find a way to wear him out.

"So then, the transformation is almost complete."

"What transformation?"

"Turning you into a soccer mom."

"I am NOT a soccer mom. Nor will I ever be."

"Nope, sorry sis, you're becoming a soccer mom. It's only a matter of time before you trade in your Jeep for a minivan."

"No!!!"

**********

The whole child-involved-in-a-team-sport is a new experience for me. Growing up, the three of us kids did not play soccer, join Little League or anything. Living on the ranch we had enough "extracurricular activities" to keep us busy when we weren't at school. Our lifestyle required all hands on deck, so shuttling us to and from activities wasn't an option. If riding, roping and building fence counted, then perhaps we would've been more "well rounded."

In high school, I finally joined the track team, primarily because my cousins were my ride to and from school and they were on the team, so if I chose not to join then I had to ride the bus home - heaven forbid! But that was high school and we didn't have the parental following that goes along with tiny tot sports. Thus, I never experienced the phenomenon that is sports parents.

Truth be told, I am thoroughly enjoying Little Man's foray into the world of football (he still calls it that most of the time...bits of our life in Britain hanging on in his mind). It's a hoot to watch all these little kids running around the field, not really paying attention to the game at hand. As Little Man's coach says, at this age it's more like herding cats than actually playing the sport. But that is what matters, isn't it? To let kids have a positive experience of teamwork and sportsmanship? Certainly. And if you actually watch Little Man at this stage in the game, you may say that's all he's getting from it and that hopes of having the next Beckham should be changed to filling out applications for the Math League.

Now, back to my point of being a soccer mom. That stereotype just isn't me. Showing up to his first practice, I was blown away by the parents that had folding chairs and refreshments for themselves. Their kids were properly kitted and seemed to be pros at the whole process. Looking at myself and my lack of chair/snacks/etc, I had that old school-like feeling of not being part of the in-crowd. I began to wonder what the other parents would think of me - how ridiculous is that?

For example, a couple of weeks ago it was my turn to bring the snacks and drinks for halftime and after the game. I had no clue what they meant, so I asked one of the other moms who had been in the league the previous year. She casually said, "Oh, you know, juice boxes, water, orange slices and some sort of treat for after." Great, I thought, I'll pick them up when I go shopping this week.

Nothing prepared me for that trip to the store. As I was trolling the aisles for appropriate items, it dawned on me that I had no clue what type of juice to buy. You see, Little Man doesn't drink juice, so I've never been exposed to the myriad of juice boxes on the market. Standing there in front of the rainbow colors of cardboard boxes and foil pouches, with Little Man emphatically explaining that he does not drink juice, I felt self-conscious. Sure, there are juice boxes...and then there are the politically correct, organic, no high fructose corn syrup or artificial colors juice boxes. Were these the type of parents that won't let there children touch a standard juice drink? Frankly, the natural-type choices were limited and not that appealing in my mind. Then I also realized that anything leftover would be mine to drink. Probably appearing a bit neurotic to the other shoppers, I finally chose one that was part juice fortified with vitamins. Good enough in my mind.

And do you know what? At the game, nobody said anything and the kids seemed happy. Perhaps I will be good at this after all. Or perhaps not. I still don't have the folding chairs or snack layout. And I wonder what they think of my cowboy boots. Can a cowgirl ever really be a soccer mom?

Changing My Mane - Part 2

Okay, okay, okay...here is a picture of my hair. The copper streaks kind of "float"...they are on the top two layers of hair. Sometimes they blend in, sometimes they stand out and when the sun hits them they POP. Seriously, I love my hair right now. I adore my stylist. She's a hip, stylish, 20-something German and frankly, I always need a bit of "hip and stylish" in my life.

Thinking of the previous post and your comments, I reflected on my love affair with hair color. Again, I am not a girly-girl, but I love hair and makeup. I have kept my hair colored, to varying extents, since I was 13. It's always been some shade of blond, which is a stark contrast to my natural color of dark brown. Since I started at such an early age, my mom kept the color slight when I was young, letting me go lighter the older I got. Most people, even those closest to me, mistook me for a natural blond...even my brothers.

In 2004, after Little Man was born, I was faced with an international move and no clue as to when I would be settled enough to find a new stylist. I sadly came to the conclusion that I would let me chin length hair grow out and have it returned to its real color. My then stylist asked me if I knew how dark it would be. I hadn't a clue. When she matched it to my roots it was a deep, dark chocolate brown. I was shocked. Looking at yourself in a mirror for 20 years with one color, then going completely opposite was strange, especially knowing the image staring back was the "real me." Being the good daughter I am, I emailed a picture of the new 'do back home...and then I got the phone call.

"Honey, your hair is really dark," my mom said.

"Yes, it is, but that's the true color."

"I know, but your brothers didn't think so."

"What?"

"Well, when I showed them the picture they said 'Good grief, what did she do now?'"

"Well, I guess it is a shock since it's been blond for so long."

"No honey, they actually thought your real hair color was a dark blond and you just had it touched up. They didn't know your real color was brown."

I was cracking up. My own brothers, fooled all those years. Didn't they ever stop to think that I was the only one in our family that didn't have dark brown hair? I love those guys.

Changing My Mane

A couple of months ago, while facing another birthday, I decided it was time to change my hair. I do this fairly often. In my mind, new hair is the cheap makeover, since it can be done easily and is reversible if results are not what you envisioned.

This time I was in a quandary. A little voice inside my head kept say - do something bold, like a shock of color to liven things up. I do keep my hair colored, always something natural, but now I was beginning to feel a bit too normal and mundane. That little voice kept egging me on. After some internal thought and consultation with H.E. (he agreed with the voice), I was on a mission to make mine a mane of a different color. The only question remaining - what color?

I thought of several brilliant options, but in the end was torn between pink and red. On the way to the salon I realized my true fascination was with pink (it is my favorite color). Yes, I thought, I will have a pink stripe or two put in my hair.

Now, as with all great hair stylists, my dear one advised that a bright copper would work better. It would be different and a bit shocking without any potential regret. I let her words soak in and then agreed...after all, she is the professional.

And so, after a couple of hours, I walked out with my new hair. It was straightened (rather than my natural curl) with shocks of copper thrown throughout. Subtle, yet a bit loud at the same time. Perfect...especially after seeing this gentleman the other day. All I could think was - that could have been me, I need to thank my stylist again.

I Like the Non-Disney Version Better

Being the non girly-girl I am, I can confess that cartoon movies like "Sleeping Beauty" never really held my interest. Therefore, me visiting Schloss Neuschwanstein wasn't a Disney-driven pilgrimage. Yes, I did want to see how much the real thing resembled the cartoon version. But more than that, I wanted to see Ludwig the Mad's unfinished dream.

Long story short, King Ludwig II of Bavaria had a thing for castles and set about building many during his reign. As with Schloss Linderhof, Ludwig was having Neuschwanstein built as an homage, this time as a sort of love letter to his favorite composer, Richard Wagner. It is with this knowledge that you can begin to understand the fairy tale image that it has gained. In the parts that you can view, attention to detail and the love of telling a story is evident. Some of the rooms are simply breathtaking. The tribute to Tristan and Isolde in the King's bedroom being a prime example.


Sadly though, this tale doesn't have a Disney ending. During the construction of the castle, King Ludwig was declared mad by a doctor who had never examined him, all part of a larger conspiracy. He was taken away to Castle Berg, accompanied by a psychiatrist. While at the castle, he and the psychiatrist went for a walk along the shore of Lake Starnberg. The next morning, both Ludwig and the doctor were found dead in the water. What really happened remains a mystery to this day.

With the death of Ludwig, the construction of Neuschwanstein stopped. However, all was not lost and the castle was opened as a museum shortly after his death. Despite the fact that it remains unfinished, it is still the castle to which all others are measured.

The real story of Neuschwanstein surpasses the Disney image. It's fairy tale, vision and tragedy all wrapped into one. If it were a cartoon movie, I would certainly watch it.