This statement left me with more questions than I had answers.

Me: What are you talking about? What do you mean by “bad taste?”

Kay: Kind of like… (as his voice trailed off, I noticed he was pointing at my pajama bottoms in all their plaid Paul Frank glory.)

I was puzzled, at this point, and hoping he wasn’t going where I thought he was going with this conversation. Visions of “White-Trash Parties” filled my head.

Kay: In German it is “Schlechter Geschmack Party” but we just say “Bad Taste Party.”

Me: What the hell are you talking about?!

Kay: You know? Like a bad taste party (as he was motioning to his mouth like he was pulling up and throwing out puke).

Me: You do know these are new pajama bottoms I bought in the US last October which I am just now able to wear because they finally fit, right?

Kay: My brother needs a top for the party…

I sat for a moment letting it sink in that he wanted something of “bad taste” to match what I considered awesome pajama bottoms. I was not only proud to fit in them finally, but that they had Paul Frank monkey-heads on them… even though my toddler referred to them as mice when he saw them.

Me: So something… “peinlich?” (Sometimes I can only think of a German word and not its English equivalent. “Peinlich” is kind of like embarrassingly stupid.)

Kay nodded his head in agreement.

Ok, now that I understood the theme, I was questioning why he would be asking me.

Me: What are you saying? My wardrobe and sense of style is “schlecht” and I should be able to find something since all of your clothes are so fashionable?

He didn’t answer that question.

Smart move on his part.

I was a good sport though and went downstairs to find my stash of ‘70s tops and bottoms from Halloweens past. I even found a “Hustler” hoodie. (No wife beaters though.)

Maybe he asked me because I’m such a pack-rat and he actually throws out old clothes?

To make matters worse, he went through the pile I carried up to select (according to his opinion) what would meet the “bad taste” standards.

Not sure if he was being polite by rejecting two tops I still wear during the summer or if he thought maybe it was a test and didn’t want to fail. (One is a bright orange spandex material top that I can totally rock when we are down in Miami. Same goes for the purple print, snake-skin tank-top he said “no” to.)

Kay started to put some clothes into a crumbled-up plastic grocery bag.

Me: Hey. At least put them in a nice bag. Your family doesn’t give us things in ratty old bags.

He went back to the kitchen and returned with a thick, red “Esprit” bag.

I started to chuckle because just a few days prior I was mentioning how Esprit was a big thing in the ‘80s in America and then died out in the ‘90s; you don’t see Esprit in the US any more. Quite frankly, it makes me think of neon colors and rubber bracelets.

Kay couldn’t understand my Esprit humor since it’s still a big brand in Germany (headquartered inRatingen – a neighboring city). In fact, the brand is so popular in Germany, there is actually a huge outlet store in Ratingen.

Next thing I know, Kay is cramming the clothes into the red Esprit bag without even taking the time to fold them.

And then I thought, “I may have clothes that are ‘Schlechter Geschmack’ but at least I take care of my things so that they can become old enough to be schlecht.”

Thank goodness this was the equivalent to a “White Trash Party” otherwise I would have flipped a gasket about him sending clothes to his family in such a manner considering that when they do laundry, clothes are folded thoroughly; so thoroughly,  it looks like everything has been ironed. I’m not kidding.

I think all German women must have to pass some kind of laundry folding test to receive their perfect homemaker certificate before graduating school; they hand-press their clothes meticulously.

It wasn’t until Kay’s grandma helped me fold Fynn’s clothes one day that I saw the technique. She was lining up the fabric precisely on the seams, folding the clothes over, while finely pressing down as she slid her hand across the material with each crease.

I didn’t know how to react considering, that yes, I fold clothes, but it usually entails slapping the clothes together and tossing them in the laundry bin being more concerned with time management than quality of a fold.

Well, what the hell do I do now that she’s here? Follow her lead and pretend that I too meticulously fold my family’s laundry?

Yep. I didn’t feel like being scolded by Oma that day.

When I overheard Kay mentioning to his male neighbors that his grandma irons everything including socks and underwear, I had to inform him about the “hand-pressed” technique.

This came as a surprise to the neighbors leaving me wondering if maybe not all Germans do this?

Nah, I think the men are just completely oblivious to the technique and believe that their clothes magically appear on hangers and in drawers much like the German fairytale “Die Wichtelmänner” better known in the US as “The Shoemaker and the Elves.”

Germans may not believe in ghosts, but apparently the men believe in house gnomes (Heinzelmännchen).

When I received maternity clothes back from my sister-in-law… same thing. The clothes came back in better shape than they left; meticulously folded and appearing to be ironed.

So Kay sent my crumbled-up, bad-taste clothes to his brother’s house. Totally against German standards and I’m sure I got the blame for it. Messy American. Hey, living up to the German standard is difficult.

Now if only I could not be such a hoarder; I didn’t even ask if it was Kay or his brother that thought I would have a “bad taste top.”

The guys scheduled a private session at a nearby go-kart track (Kart Arena Moenchengladbach).

When Kay told me about it, my initial response was, “What makes you think you’ll be able to attend?… Why not me?”

With a new baby and toddler at home, I don’t get out much. Germans don’t seem to do the restaurant thing often and we certainly aren’t out bar hopping. Movies are typically off limits because of the language and when nursing a baby… he’s always in tow.

Being the gentleman that Kay is, or perhaps just afraid of me throwing a temper tantrum (we can assume the latter since we know I have never referred to Kay as a gentleman before. Ever!) his immediate reaction was, “You can drive.”

The day of the race (yes, it was the day of that I learned we weren’t just putzing around [in the English sense], this was a race) I was starting to chicken out.

Kay reassured me other women would be racing, but that wasn’t even a question in my mind. I used to ride quads with all men. No fears about gender issues; it was the language causing me fear. How stupid is that? Like a brake pedal, steering wheel and gas pedal require language skills.

Kay: Sarah, you always complain you don’t get to do anything!…

Me: (After a moment of shameful silence because I was realizing how much I was acting like a pansy, not to mention a confusing biotch, who has been complaining about being home all the time and now has the opportunity to have some fun, but about to throw it away)… You’re right. You’re right.

I shouldn’t let the fear of something potentially happening stop me from trying.

When we met up with all the neighbors to caravan to the track, I saw two guys carrying their own helmets.

Me: What the…? Are they seriously bringing their own helmets? (To Kay, privately in the car.)

I rolled down my window just in time to hear another neighbor ask about gloves.

Me: Do we need our own gloves?

Kay: I don’t know.

Me: ‘Cause I have my own. (I quickly debated and decided against it.) Nah, that’s a bit overboard.

We arrived at the track and were standing outside when a neighbor asked Kay a question. I have no clue what he asked because while keeping my eyes on two kids, I wasn’t even trying to comprehend the German. Plus, I didn’t want the potential of hearing something that might psyche me out. (I usually translate things incorrectly anyway.)

Kay: No, Sarah is driving.

Neighbor: Oh, Sarah is driving?! Ok.

Gotta love the element of surprise.

Previously, the guys were joking that since Kay is so much lighter than these big, tall German men, they might need to weigh down his car with extra kilos to make it a fair race.

Kay wanted to make the joke that they wouldn’t need to weigh down the car now.

Ha. Ha. Real funny, little man.

I know I still have pregnancy weight, but I do weigh less than Kay. Yes, we checked a few days before.

Meanwhile, I was having visions of spinning out on a banana peel while playing Mario Kart as big, burly Bowser.

We entered the facility and almost immediately the anxious men went out to view the track.

I laughed as I pointed out to Kay that things were getting competitive now with the guys surveying the situation and planning their tactics, no doubt.

Kay also found it amusing and jokingly held his arms out steering a ghost car with eyes closed.

“They memorize the track.”

I can’t contain my laughter when Kay says things in his German-English leaving out the, “are.” They are memorizing the track. I know, so wrong of me to find this funny. It’s part of our secret language though.

Next I learned there would be a training session.

“Crap! Is this so complicated they require a training session?”

I sat through the training, had no clue as to a single word that man said (some Germans are harder to understand than others [like my husband]) and luckily, even after I had translation help, I realized… Nope, not that complicated, just the German way to inundate us with a bunch of information and rules.

Next thing I knew, we were putting on helmets and climbing in our assigned cars.

And for the next, I don’t know how many minutes, we twisted and turned around the track. 10 practice laps, 5 qualifying, and 50 for the actual race. Yes, 50!

I put the pedal to the metal, slid, skidded, spun out, passed people, got passed, and drove my heart out.

#28 = Me (Before the turn – third car back)

#28 = Me (During the turn – in front of the pack)

By the end, I stumbled out of the car feeling like a tired, pee-wee, Formula 1 driver needing Redbull to fly my dizzy butt off the suddenly non-vibrating ground.

I actually took satisfaction out of seeing my neighbors’ remove their helmets to reveal sweat-dripping foreheads. That. Was. Awesome! And so much fun!

I didn’t even know who won the race at that point only that I was thankful to not be lapped by the two men who brought their own helmets. They took 2^nd and 3^rd, by the way.

We were all beaten by a 17-year-old who had just gotten his driver’s license pretty much the week prior.

For a mom of two, this was the most personal “me-time” excitement I’ve had since delivering a neighbor a carton of lactose-free milk. (Hey, I got to walk OUTSIDE… ALONE!)

This race meant participating in a group activity without having to use verbal language; I felt a part of something without fear of having to speak.

***************************************************************************************************

Newest update: Race 2 is in the works. Things just might be getting a bit too competitive for my crappy driving. Anyone have Sebastian Vettel’s digits?

I know you can speak English, Sebastian!

I need help real quick. I’ll even take Mark Webber’s contact info. Rumor has it that he might be leaving Formula 1 anyway… maybe he has some time before our next Go-Kart race?!

Vettel… Webber… Bueller… Bueller… Bueller…

The Monday before last started almost normally; Fynn stayed home sick, I was nursing the baby on the couch and Kay was on one of his many conference calls.

Kay suddenly came downstairs and said something to the effect of, “The man who walks by our house, the one that sits on the bench… he’s fallen over.”

Me: What?!

Kay: Look.

I rushed to the door with the baby in my arms and saw the man (the unexpected visitor) lying on the ground. I could see through the sparse bushes his dark jacket and white hair lying in front of the bench, and the tail from his dog sticking up over the brush.

I told Kay to call an ambulance and see if he was still alive.

As Kay went over to the man (we’ll call him Rüdiger for the sake of this story [Kay came up with this German name]), Rüdiger’s dog started jumping at Kay.

He’s trying to protect Rüdiger.

I quickly set the baby in the living room. Fynn was entranced in a cartoon on TV so I locked the child gate and went back out to grab the dog.

As I did so, Kay looked up at me and asked, “It’s 1-1-2, right?”

Ok, totally not the time to laugh. I was too freaked out and upset. A simple and polite “Yes!” would suffice. But, hello! Kay is German and if he can’t remember which number to dial, it’s a miracle the foreigner did. Why does Germany have two emergency numbers?

I looped the dog’s leash around a small pedestrian pole checking first its sturdiness then ran over to Kay and Rüdiger.

Rüdiger was laying on his right side in a fetal position, gravel and dirt in his fingernails, but he was blinking. Thank God he was blinking! He is alive.

The dog was barking like crazy so I started to ask, “Wie heisst…” and then turned to Kay, “Ask him his dog’s name.” I thought maybe using his name would calm the dog.

Kay: What’s your dog’s name?

Me: In German, Kay.

Rüdiger tried to mumble something but it was completely inaudible.

Kay: I think he might be drunk?

Me: Kay, he probably had a stroke or something. I better go check on the kids again.

I went back in and the kids were ok, but when I came back out the kindergarten teacher from across the way walked to the fence and asked Kay to move the barking dog as she was afraid for the kindergartners’ safety. Kay had to explain the emergency situation since she couldn’t see Rüdiger lying on the ground from her angle.

“If I need to resuscitate this man for any reason, I can’t have the dog in the way.”

The dog wasn’t being violent (by my standards), but Kay isn’t the best with animals (and I’m putting that nicely). I guess the dog was a bit rowdy. However, considering the circumstances, I understoond he was just trying to look after his owner.

It felt like forever until the emergency trucks came. I still have no clue how many minutes until they appeared or even if I have written all of the events above in the proper order.

As the trucks pulled up, I was standing with the dog trying to calm him and pointing in Rüdiger’s direction so the first ambulance knew where to come to an abrupt halt.

I had no clue such a large vehicle could drive so fast through our shared, narrow driveway. Pretty sure I saw a dust cloud billowing from the rear sides of the truck… and our small road is made from paving stone (a type of brick), not dirt or even sand.

After the two trucks were parked and the medics were attending to Rüdiger, I tried to move the dog where he couldn’t see his owner hoping he would calm down; it worked. Thankfully, just as I was trying to find somewhere else to hook the dog so I could go in with the kids, one of the emergency people took the dog. Apparently they sent in an animal control person.

Kay learned where Rüdiger lives and later that day went to make sure his wife was okay and/or had a ride to the hospital.

We aren’t completely sure what happened to Rüdiger; the last we heard he was in intensive care.

I later learned that our next door neighbor saw Rüdiger around 9:30 a.m. sitting on the bench and didn’t notice anything odd.

Awhile later, her husband walked by and Rüdiger didn’t look right. The neigbor asked Rüdiger if he was ok, to which he replied yes. But our neighbor didn’t get a good feeling (Rüdiger was hunched over drawing with his hand in the gravel/sand, which explains why he had a bunch of sand in his fingernails).

Thank goodness the neighbor called Kay and asked him to keep an eye on Rüdiger. Immediately after the neighbor’s call, Kay looked out the window and saw Rüdiger on the ground. By the time the ambulance left, it was close to noon, so Rüdiger was obviously sitting on the bench for quite some time.

Later that day, I called my mom and told her the story.

My Mom: So, I’ve gotta ask you something. If you were alone, would you have known what to do?

Me: Yes and no. I would have known how to call the ambulance (112), but I would’ve had to speak English in order to not get stressed about remembering German words. But I wouldn’t have known what to do with the kids and the dog all at once. I don’t feel so bad though because obviously Kay (the local) was rattled. And we were working together.

I’m kicking myself now because the week prior, I saw Rüdiger sitting on the bench and although we exchanged hellos, I almost stopped to ask his dog’s name, but was being timid and didn’t. Just goes to show how important it is to really know the people (and their pets) in your neighborhood. I wish I would have talked to him more and gotten over my fear of talking nonsensical German. (Not that the languge itself is nonsensical, only when I speak it.)

I hope he is making a recovery. Prayers and thoughts have been with him and his family these last two weeks.

We’ve been to the US Consulate in Frankfurt twice now. What is supposed to be a 2-hour drive for us became several hours of traffic through a snow storm with a newborn on our first trip. In fact, everything was so much at a complete standstill on the road that I had time to jump in the back seat and give Fynn his next feeding before traffic even started again.

Thankfully, the US Consulate in Frankfurt was somewhat quick for children, which made our time within the building a lot shorter than the amount of time spent on the road. And they didn’t get upset that we were late.

Back in 2010, we went to apply for Fynn’s US passport, Social Security number, and Report of Birth Abroad (no, he will never be a US President unless you believe the conspiracy theories that Obama wasn’t born on US soil, in which case, yes, there is still a chance).

Kay was excited just to get into the US Consulate because it isn’t something common for a German national. (He says he wasn’t “excited” so we’ll just say “curious.”)

Our First Cross-Cultural Couple Sighting

While there, we spotted another cross-cultural couple with bilingual children, which we’d never seen live before (you’d think we were at a zoo the way we stared at the family in awe).

Kay used to always wonder what our son would sound like or how it would be to teach a toddler two languages. And here were two live specimen examples; a young boy about 7-years-old and a little girl around 4-years-old.

The mother was clearly American and the father, German.

Kay: That was amazing. Did you hear that little boy?

Me: Yeah…

Kay: He was speaking English and didn’t have an accent at all.

Me: Kay, he totally had a German accent. (And I threw him the, “Are you serious?” look.)

It then occurred to me that my child would kind of be… different. Both American and German and yet, neither fully American nor German. Weird. This could seriously open up some doors for him. American women will totally dig his cute accent and companies like Lufthansa will just want to swoop him up. Sweet!

Duesseldorf Consular Outreach Day – 2011

The next time we needed Consulate services it was in a rush. I needed a notary… an American notary, for whatever odd reason. (Although I have been to a German notary for an American purpose, but that’s another story for another time.)

We happened to get lucky that Kay found online the date of the next Duesseldorf Consular Outreach Day, and that it landed in the exact timeframe needed for me to send paperwork back to the US. Duesseldorf actually only offers the Consular Outreach Day a few times a year.

Yes! Our 2-hour drive would be cut down to 20 minutes.

An appointment is required and then the day of, employees from the Frankfurt Consulate come and setup a temporary location next to the official government building in Duesseldorf.

Duesseldorf Consular Outreach Day – 2013

This is the second time I’ve partaken in the Duesseldorf Consular Outreach Day. But apparently I’m becoming a regular because I recognized some of the employees this time around.

One would think I’d be completely annoyed to yet again (for the fourth time) have to use Consulate services, but nope. I was excited. I’m a weirdo like that.

The difference between going to the Frankfurt location versus Duesseldorf is that the setting on the Outreach Day is a bit more intimate and not so formal. (Or maybe I was just feeling like a chitty-chatty expat that day and excited to speak English to anybody and everybody.)

Fortunately the employees (well, unfortunately for them) had gotten in a traffic jam and were late arriving, which meant I had more time to see and meet with fellow expats.

Plus this gave Kay and me more time to play, “Guess which parent is German and which is American.” (This becomes amusing because Kay still can’t hear a German accent when someone is speaking English. This lead to one disagreement, but I couldn’t very well ask the husband to speak just so I could say, “See. That’s what a German accent sounds like.” By the way, Kay sounds slightly British when he speaks.)

Here’s a hint to the game though: It seems that most expats in the room were women and their male partners German.

We did meet one couple in which the mother was German and the father American. The father teaches English as a Second Language in Duesseldorf and has two boys of his own. This gave me time to ask some bilingual children questions.

The father told a cute story about his oldest son conjugating past-tense verbs incorrectly when he was learning to speak. So he might say, “gewalked” or “geplayed.” (But really I was thinking, That is an awesome method to use when I don’t know a past-tense verb in German. Ingenious, kid.)

The person who really threw me for a loop was the man behind the Social Security desk. Bizarre to hear an Australian accent (possibly even a Kiwi) explain how important it was to have the proper name attached to your Social Security number. I’m sure he must have his US citizenship to be working for the US Consulate, but I couldn’t help but giggle after we left. That would be like me telling him how important it is to herd his sheep each night.

As a bonus, the highlight of the day was meeting a fellow “Expat-Mom” Blog reader! I was happy to finally meet after corresponding back and forth online and both of us having sons the same age. We live a ways apart (about 100 km) so it was awesome to have a common reason to meet up.

Overall, the thing about being an expat is that you don’t completely fit in with German culture and you no longer see America like you used to; it’s as if you are walking through a German life with an American filter on. And with each passing year, that filter starts to dissipate.

So when you end up in the same room with a bunch of people experiencing the same culture-shock emotions while encountering different experiences, it is a calming and endearing feeling. It doesn’t feel so lonely in here. These are people who get “it” and maybe I’m not so crazy.

Ok, let’s be real. I’m still crazy, but in a good kind of way. I hope.

I can now safely say that he has ruined online shopping for me in Germany.

I used to be the queen of online shopping since I hate going to the mall. Especially around Christmas time.

I used to see how many items I could buy online just so I wouldn’t have to take that dreaded trip to a crowded mall with ding-dongs fighting over parking spaces, not holding the door open for each other, and then racing to the shortest cashier line in each store.

Now, being an expatriate, the online experience is just as tedious as a trip to the mall.

My online experience here:

Yesterday was Kay’s Birthday and prior I had asked what he wanted.

He supplied me with item numbers for a main gift and then numbers for a couple accessory items to go with.

He must have thought by giving me the actual numbers it would be easy-peasy.

And he gave me the verbal instructions, “Just plug in the number into Google and then click on idealo…”

I tend to tune him out a lot, but I’m pretty sure that was the extent of his instructions.

I started the online journey a couple weeks ago only to be intimidated by all the German buttons and instructions.

I got as far as here…

And was trying to remember, “What was it that he wanted again?” After all, he only gave me the item number and this is what came up.

So, of course I put it off. Germany has speedy shipping methods, right?

I tried a second time and luckily remembered, “Oh, yeah. Temperature thingy.” And only got as far as here….

I had no clue which vendor to use let alone if I was going to end up buying a used and/or refurbished item when I selected the cheapest option.

As time was quickly passing by, I started to freak out because although, yes I am a procrastinator, I also know when I have taken the procrastination too far. (And my procrastination timeline isn’t as long as Kay’s. He likes to push the limits even further than I do.)

Totally freaking out, slightly embarrassed, aggravated, and really sad with the realization that now I totally suck at online shopping, I broke down and asked Kay for help. Yes, help buying his own birthday present.

There are no words to describe the shame in feeling so helpless that you can’t complete what should be a simple task by yourself. This was online, for goodness sake. No live people or even having to leave the house to aggravate my agoraphobia.

Kay got me to here online since he had ordered with this company before.

And I wanted to see if I could complete the rest of the transaction myself.

Answer: NOPE

Most of the same online principles apply even in an alternate language, but the banking system here is quite different which leads to different payment options.

I eventually completed the order and then there was one more screen asking me to verify more banking information.

Although I felt this was an epic fail at online shopping, I did later work my way through the German Amazon page to order movies… Still needed some help though.

Guess this means I just need more practice? Which, I guess could be fun.

But how the heck do foreigners in Germany shop online with no German guidance?

*******************************************************************************************

As for Kay and outlet shopping… it was amusing going to an outlet mall in southern Florida and having many of the sales associates start speaking to us in Spanish.

I just laughed because the feeling isn’t too different than not understanding everything in German when going to the stores here.

And it was pretty hilarious when Kay was annoyed with everyone speaking Spanish.

“Now you know what it feels like,” was my unsympathetic response. Because at least in southern Florida, they have no problem switching immediately to English. Well, at least at the outlet mall anyway.

Living in Germany… I have more empathy for immigrants in the US more than ever.

Besides the fact that this pale momma needs some sun, I am done with squeezing my son into tights. Yes, boys (babies to toddlers) wear tights in Germany called Strumpfhosen.

And since I don’t want to be viewed as a bad mom when Fynn goes to the Tagesmutter (daycare), I slip those suckers on him every morning.

Strumpfhosen are typical for all babies and toddlers to wear under their trousers. (In the US we would say jeans or pants, but since the Brits consider pants to be underwear, I don’t want to confuse anyone here.)

These pics and Strumpfhose are actually from last year. (And I just learned unlike the word tights, which is always spelled in the plural form, Strumpfhose is singular and Strumpfhosen is plural.)

I insisted on buying the ones with the sticky nubs only to later regret buying them. They are good for crawling around at home, but not so good for putting jeans and shoes over them.

Scratch that, I can’t remember if they worked for crawling. I’ll have to test again on our second. But I didn’t buy another pair so I must not have been sold on them.

Strumpfhosen are pretty cool, until your child is old enough to have a screaming and kicking fit at which point I’d rather use the Strumpfhosen to hog-tie my child. But I think that may only be legal in Texas.

I was also kicking myself for not taking advantage of being able to learn German in high school. In fact, German wasn’t even waitlisted as one of my choices as a second language.

Of all languages I could have chosen, I chose American Sign Language.

I’m not complaining about learning ASL. I feel lucky to have learned the language; it was highly beneficial within the US and I had the pleasure of meeting and conversing with several deaf people across the US. (I think I even conversed better with a deaf German in sign language than with any hearing German in the spoken language.)

However, I don’t think I had the same experience in learning another language’s grammatical differences, sentence structures, or different pronunciations that contort your mouth into new shapes and positions (for some of you, get your mind out of the gutter). Although, I did have one year of French, coincidentally taught by the German teacher… because the two languages are so similar and all. Or at least that’s what some brainiac in the administration thought…. You didn’t know? All Europeans sound the same. (Tsk. Tsk.)

Anyway, learning French from the German teacher didn’t bode well. Surprise, surprise. (Looking back, I should have seen it as a sign.)

As a result, when I got here, I already felt I was at a disadvantage in learning a new language because I didn’t have any experience in learning a second verbal language.

So maybe, to compensate, I went a little wild trying different language resources. To date, I have three different Audio CD courses, two different text book courses in levels 1 & 2, two text book courses only in level 1, one attempt attending Volkshochschule (the city’s organized learning institution for adults) and good ole reliable, “German for Dummies.”

Hm? Maybe I am just horrible at finishing things, like this post that was originally started a year ago.

At any rate, no, this fanatic did not purchase Rosetta Stone.

Below is my review of the various “tools” and ways in which I have tried to learn German on my own.

Audio CDs

Let me start with reviewing the Audio CDs. While they are helpful, for me, I am not an audio learner. I am a visual learner who also needs a lot of repetition. And in all honesty, I couldn’t listen to more than 10 minutes without falling asleep. For me, this could never be the number one learning tool. I guess if you are trying to learn in the US, it is one way to at least hear what the language sounds like. Although be careful that the speaker on the CD isn’t from a part of Germany with a strong accent/dialect (i.e. Bavaria). We have a hard enough time trying not to sound funny speaking German with an English accent. There is no need to complicate matters even more.

Volkshochschule (VHS)

The city provides an awesome resource for adults to learn German in the evening through the Volkshochschule (VHS). In my city, Krefeld, there are open times (i.e. a few hours a couple days a week) to meet with a representative and decide in which level you would like to participate. This semester in which I attended, it was about €150 for 12 weeks, I think. (2 times per week) or €100 if you had the city card. Keep in mind, that to be able to sign up for the course, already knowing some German was a necessity in order to read when the courses were available and also be able to speak in German in order to get signed up. (Or have a native speaking partner to help and translate.)

While the VHS is an excellent resource for some, for me it just wasn’t the right timing. It always seemed a vacation, wedding, or pregnancy got in the way of being able to attend the course in its entirety.

The other problem for me was that the level in which I wanted to be placed was not available that semester. I attended the first class and there weren’t enough people for the level. Our options were to pay more in order to make up for a lack of bodies, postpone the class until another semester when there were enough people, or attend another level with more people.

I ended up trying a course two levels higher figuring I would challenge myself and only ending up frustrated instead. Because there are so many people from different countries attending the class, the entire course (regardless of what level) is taught all in German.

And because I was taking a class in a higher level than I anticipated, I felt the teacher was too fast for me.  Even when I started to finally grasp what was being said midway through the semester, I didn’t feel comfortable asking questions, let alone feeling I would be able to understand the answer.

After missing three weeks due to an illness, then not having an available babysitter, then going on a honeymoon, I had no desire to finish the last couple weeks. Fail… mostly on my part, but the experience left a bad taste in my mouth and it will be a long while before I get back on that horse again.

German for Dummies – Berlitz Book

Don’t completely discount this book because of its title. While I wouldn’t use it as a main source of learning, it is a nice resource to begin or a nice little secondary resource. What I find missing in all other resources is an understandable explanation of why things are the way they are in the language. While this book doesn’t answer everything (as if anyone ever could explain why German is the way it is), it does a pretty darn good job.

I use this book when I am learning a new concept but can’t quite grasp how to properly use the concept; I want to know the “why” or the “how” in order to know an appropriate time to use the concept. For instance, I wasn’t quite sure how or why certain prepositions are used in difference situations. I went to the index, looked up prepositions, and was impressed with the explanations given. And it helped me complete my homework for the VHS course.

In addition, it isn’t too bad to read just for fun. I don’t think I could read it straight through (I’ve tried), but I will read a chapter at a time. If you are able to remember full phrases all at once, this is also a convenient book and they include pronunciation keys with every phrase.

I like that the vocabulary tables in each chapter are easily understandable with the article, pronunciation, and definition included. And I often use the Verb Tables at the end of the book, which includes the past participle and whether the verb goes with Sein or Haben.

Learning on your own with Text Books

To date, I have chosen to use a text book called “Essential German” by Eugene R. Moutoux. I first found this book by chance on the website http://www.elanguageschool.net/german/grammar

I started tediously printing out the lessons (cutting and pasting into Word) and completing them on my own. For awhile, my neighbor was coming during the day and she would quiz me on parts of lessons. And then the website was down for a few days. I got impatient, did some research and found that the above website is not run by the author although they have permission to use his work. And I learned I could order the book online through the following website http://www.german-latin-english.com/mybooks.htm

When I purchased, it involved e-mailing the author and a copy was mailed. I had to wait until I was in the US again because a check or money order was required. But for me, it has been totally worth it. It forces me to really learn, understand, and write the language. While my neighbor (a native German speaker) was helping me, we used a couple different text books and we both agreed this was the best. It is apparently available in a Web program but I have not tried this and I figured I wanted a printed version to write on anyway.

What I also like… Ok for me, right now it is more of a necessity, is that it explanations and instructions are in English. My German text books are all in German. Trying to understand an assignment is tedious when I have to look up every other word just to figure out the instructions. It is getting easier the more comfortable I become with the language, but I am still in need of a lot of English.

While I was in the VHS course, I also used this book when I didn’t feel I completely understood a concept. I would look up the term in the contents page (e.g. Reflexive Pronouns) and then I used the book as additional exercises. Since I have already established that I won’t be attending the VHS any time soon, I am back to using this book as my main learning resource.

Talking the Talk Tuesdays

The only piece I feel I am missing or should devote more time to is conversations in German… The best remedy, which is also strongly promoted by Mr. Moutoux is to get out and talk to people, friends, neighbors, co-workers, etc. I am fortunate to have a strong support system in that my husband is German and 97% of our friends are native speakers.

But Tuesdays are devoted to listening and speaking German. Every Tuesday, or at least one day per week, I take my son to visit my husband’s Grandparents and Parents for about four hours, sometimes longer depending on the baby’s mood. It is not only quality family time, but I am forced to speak only German as the family doesn’t speak any English. And my husband isn’t there as my crutch; it’s really sink or swim. Thankfully, Oma and Mutti are patient with me and I find them to be my inspiration in wanting to learn more German.

The Every Day Battle

I’ve found that learning German is a rollercoaster. One day or even one week, I feel awesome, like I’m on top of the world and I understand so much of what is being said around me and/or speaking German comes without thinking too much.

And other days or even weeks, I feel like complete crud and I decide I am boycotting the language.

A friend of mine and fellow expat from Costa Rica who speaks fluent Spanish and English made me feel better when he told me it took him about 2 and-a-half years for German to start feeling comfortable. Here is someone who already speaks 2 languages fluently and has been taking private German courses two days a week since he arrived in Germany. This gave me hope and I realized I wasn’t the only one struggling with German… I can now blame it on the language itself. Stupid language. (Kidding of course. As FYI, German and English both belong to the Germanic language category.)

In all seriousness though, I hope I have given some insight on different things you might want to try. A bit unconventional, but the above is what I have tried and what I find works for me. The most important thing is to choose what works best for you. Everyone learns differently and at a different pace. If something isn’t working, try adding a different learning method or cutting out something that isn’t working. If it makes you feel worse about yourself more often than it makes you feel good, choose something else. It is okay to take breaks. The hardest part for me is learning that taking a breaks is ok and in fact needed; I shouldn’t beat myself up over it. But don’t quit, and be patient.

There are lonely days, days of yearning for something or someone from home, days you don’t want to hear a foreign language let alone try and speak it.

And then there are days when the unexpected happens. Sometimes you fear the unexpected only to learn it wasn’t so bad or that you overcame a major hurdle.

A couple weeks ago, I was peacefully lying in bed in the early morning… Everyone in the house was still asleep. And then I thought I heard a knock on the door.

Who the heck could that be? Too early for deliveries.

After the second knock, I was finally out of bed and wrapped in a robe as I made it to the front door.

I opened the door and peered out through sleepy eyes, but didn’t see anyone. Well, not immediately anyway.

And then I saw a man just returning to a park bench directly across from our house. As he turned to sit, he saw me. And I could see the hesitation in his eyes.

I knew then that he was the knocker, but could tell he wasn’t sure if he should return to our door.

I kept the door open though and waited. I had seen him before… his snow-white hair, salt-n-pepper beard and mustache, and he was always walking his chocolate brown dog. Definitely too finely dressed to be homeless and he always stopped at the bench to enjoy a cigarette before continuing on his walk.

As he approached the door, he started to ask if my husband was home (as most people do when they know I am a foreigner and that German is not my first language).

This conversation was all in German, mind you (not translated word-by-word though).

Me: He is sleeping right now.

The Man: I was wondering if I might be able to buy a couple cigarettes.

Me: I don’t know. Good question… Uh… hold on just a second… I’ll be right back (I closed the door, which is a self-locking door, by the way).

I ran downstairs and fumbled through Kay’s clothes from the day before.

I know he always keeps a pack in his sweatshirt pocket. Heck, I’d rather this man smoke my husband’s cigarettes than Kay. Oh, wait. He’ll just buy more anyway. Whatev’.

I rushed back to the door and the man was still standing there with his dog.

I reached out holding two or three cigarettes (I don’t remember how many I grabbed).

Me: You can have.

The man looked at me for a second making me think either he didn’t understood me or was thinking, Really? Are you sure?

Me: You can have. No money. It’s ok.

The man reached out to grab the cigarettes.

The Man: I asked for your husband because I know he smokes; I’ve seen him smoking outside before… And I didn’t think you spoke German.

Me: Oh, a little. If you speak slowly, I can understand.

The Man: Thank you. (He nodded.)

Me: You’re welcome. Bye.

I closed the door thinking, I don’t know how far he walks, but if I were a smoker, I’d be annoyed getting to my bench sitting down only to realize I’d forgotten my cigs.

Some people may think I’m a bit nuts; I’ve done some really daring and stupid stuff in my past like accepting rides from strangers or picking up a hitchhiker (once and only once… that was creepy and way too awkward).

As an American, you don’t open your door to strangers let alone give them cigarettes. Ok, people share cigarettes on the street… I said cigarettes not joints for the burnouts reading. Although, they probably share joints in Seattle on the streets now too.

But sometimes it pays to have faith in humanity, realize most people are genuinely good, and to also follow your gut because I left that conversation feeling really good and proud.

The man must have heard me speaking English to Fynn each time he saw us and figured I didn’t speak German.

This encounter made my week though; it felt so good to hear German, understand it and respond back in German, unexpectedly. And not too bad for having just woken up.

As an Expat, sometimes it’s the little things that help build our confidence and we have to take them and savor them until the next success because all too often it feels like the failures outnumber the triumphs.

I was d-o-n-e DONE with going there.

So when my bonus daughter stated what IKEA really stands for (although a Swedish company, apparently a German ingeniously coined this acronym definition) Idioten Kaufen Einfach Alles or Idiots can easily buy everything, I laughed my booty off.

Kay thought this term was not applicable to him because he goes there so often he can navigate all the shortcuts therefore bypassing any chance of buying cheap and unneeded items. (Pppffft, yeah right.)

But… over time, and with a long break, I was ok with the store again; IKEA and I currently have a love-hate relationship.

So when Kay and I made big plans to put in a walk-in, American closet, I had visions of racks and hangers which in no way included anything from IKEA.

Not only that, but I didn’t want that daily battle of to which side the doors needed to be pushed. In other words, whose side was open or closed? Or whose drawer needed to be pushed all-the-way in so the other person could get to their clothes?

Little did I know that the battle of the walk-in closet would begin… Because sometimes what you envision and what your partner envisions are two different things.

Kay wanted to install basically the inner shell of an IKEA closet into the walk-in closet. I thought this was stupid and a complete waste of space since IKEA has set measurements. I tried to describe how American closets were setup and was blocked immediately with the, “We don’t have that in Germany.” Hm? Where have I heard that before?

Luckily I was able to use all those catalogs laying around the house to my advantage.

“Here. Page such-and-such in the Bauhaus magazine. This is what I am talking about.”

It took a few days weeks, but then he was finally on board.

Kay’s brother built the outer walls. (I am extremely thankful for his talented skills.)

And the result is an almost finished walk-in closet for which we both can be proud.

And… IKEA-FREE!

As for my current IKEA relationship status?

Love that almost anything can be found there.

Hate that people (my husband) think it is the solution to all household decorating needs.

In all fairness, he has begun to branch out.

Well, one new reader did notice and didn’t mention directly to me; I saw it posted on their personal FB page. Just like the German government, I too am watching. Mwuahahahahaha!

It’s ok though. It wasn’t a hateful message and even if it was, I wouldn’t be upset because you know you’ve made it big in the blog world once you start receiving hate mail. I actually enjoyed reading their banter with friends.

In my post-pregnancy, hormone-changing-state, I mistakenly wrote “prima donna” as “Pre-Madonna.” Not just a grammatical error. Somehow I missed the boat on the entire concept.

Apparently I learned the difference between “their” and “there,” and “its” and “it’s,” and “to” and “too,” but not my “prima donnas” from “Pre-Madonnas.” Why don’t they teach that in school? Or maybe it was part of the curriculum in the early eighties?

Yeah, you didn’t know? There isn’t just AD, BC, BCE, and CE. There’s also PM and AM. Pre-Madonna and After Madonna. If Christ can have his own era, why not Madonna? …oh, wait. Those acronyms are already taken.

I don’t, however, think writing “Pre-Madonna” was a stupid mistake. I think it was an AWESOME mistake. “What’s the difference between a prima donna and a Pre-Madonna?” you ask?

Uh, looks to me like the only difference is a cone-shapped bra. Can you blame my mistake?

Apparently though, I didn’t learn my “duel” from “dual” either since the other day I typed this…

The sad part is… I didn’t get Kay’s joke… because I didn’t realize the mistake. What the heck?!

I think this nursing thing is actually my son sucking my intelligence away.

It’s ok though. I’m just amazed I don’t make more mistakes while typing with one hand and baby in the other.

Or the fact that I may only get five minutes in which the baby will let me set him down alone. At this point I can frantically try and type with two hands.

My personal fave is when the baby is lying in the Boppy on my lap sleeping while I contort my body to one side in order to type. (OUCH… my whole left side is twisted and killing me right now! And I think I am either going cross-eyed or losing me peripheral vision.)

I do think my “Pre-Madonna” mistake is better than my mistakes in German.

Like when I mean to say, “Mehr Wasser…” (More water), but it sounds like “Meerwasser” (Ocean water).

Or trying to say, “Schwanger” (Pregnant), but it sounds like “Swinger “ (Swinger). Yes, they are the same words in both languages, but a different pronunciation.  So how in the h*ll does it sound like Swinger when I am clearly saying “Schwanger” in German?!

I am left wondering how I am supposed to learn a second language, when it appears I haven’t even mastered my own native tongue?

Hey, “prima donna” and “Pre-Madonna” sound the same at least. And once the error was pointed out, I immediately knew what I had done with both prima donna and dual. Can’t say the same about my German though.