Jet lag is like a fly

Do you know that pesky fly?  The one that swirls around you?  It actually, even though an insect, begins to cause you self-doubt.  About hygiene.  Do you really smell that bad?  I mean, you know that you traveled for basically two days—but you thought you showered.

Or did you?

Or did you dream you showered?

Or were you DREAMING about a shower?

Or did you shower the kids but forget about yourself?

The fly won’t leave you alone and now you wonder if you need a shower!!!!!

#jetlag

It’s killing my sanity.

This is what my last 5 days have looked like:

Day 1:  Airplane (3 to be exact).  I slept approximately 1 hour on all 3.  At the airport, in Munich, I laid down on the benches after having my husband SWEAR on his very life and beard that he would WATCH our children with his 41 eyes and make sure no one stole my purse in the meantime, then I crashed.  For approximately 2 hours.

He has snoring video in public to prove it.

I don’t even care.

Night 1 in Poland:  The 3 and 5 year olds did not sleep.  Nearly at all.  The 5 year old eventually waned off as the sun was rising.  The 3 year old is more stubborn than a mule and beat the sun.  She finally seceded around noon.

The decade plus one daughter was already OUTTA the house and OFF to friends.  Goodbye, my firstborn.  WE LOVE YOU…REMEMBER US!

Yeah, right.  We haven’t hardly seen her since.  One night at Wiktoria’s house (Victoria in English), Oliwia’s a second night, and now Nikola’s.  Yep.  The decade plus 1 missed her little Polska wies (Polish village).

Nights 2 and 3 and 4 also lost to JOJO the GIANT!  She won hands down each and every time.  The sun has NOTHING on the spirit of our 3-year-old.

Night 5.  Ah, lovely Night 5.  My hopes were in you.

You were my precious.  I held you in my hand.  I cuddled you.  I made you feel important.  I knew you had a big job ahead of you.  And I knew you, Night 5, were the one to do it.

And, alas, you won.  At 1am, the 3-year-old fell asleep with me stroking and singing to her.  Yes, I sing in private.  Heck, I sing in public—you people just don’t appreciate it as much as my spawn (smile and wink)…

And with the delicate balance of tiptoeing and delicately stepping over EVERY TOY in Max and Josephine’s room which is currently out so that every single marble and doll will know it is loved even though there was a 6-week-absence, I made it out of the room without any crash.

Voile!

I crawled into bed.  THE FIRST NIGHT I would sleep in bed.  If one in the morning is still considered night—and I closed my eyes.

My respite was sweet.  And short.

Oh so short.

The 3 year old came and told me that she DID NOT WET THE BED but her PANTS were all wet.

Yes.  That is called “Not wetting the bed—it magically wet me” syndrome.  It occurs often with our third.  The other two have bladders that could win Olympic Golds.

So I took the daughter that was victim of the vicious bed to the toilet—hastily cleaned her off and threw her in bed with me.

That’s when my victory became my defeat.

She was NO LONGER TIRED.  She was wide awake.  She jumped, and crawled, and laid, and sprawled all over me.

Could she see my phone?

Could she watch a movie?

Could she hold my phone?

Could she see the lullabies playing?

Could she listen to my ear—after all, my ear was making the SAME noise as a volcano.

No, my dear…That’s MY HEAD!  And you are the cause of that.  (I thought to express this to her—but, come on, she’s three…She wouldn’t even care if I did).

To TOP IT OFF…My husband is on the other side of my daughter shouting in his sleep, “I’m going to get you!” Followed with actual karate chopping motion and sounds, “Katcha-katcha!”

I kid you not.

Somehow, miraculously in the midst of the karate chopping albeit sleeping husband and the “NOT TIRED” toddler, I managed to coax her to sleep—legs on top of my head and all.

By this time, it is now after 3am and DARN HER…Guess who is not tired now?

Me.

And so I sit.  With this pesky night fly swirling around my very head.  Touching my hand and invading all sorts of personal space (I LITERALLY CANNOT STAND FLIES—I have a bubble, flies, respect it!).  Typing. To you.  Because you care, don’t you?

And if you don’t, don’t worry.

I’m still here with my fly.

He doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.

Just like Josephine’s jet lag.

Sigh.

I wish I could be like Richard, my sleeping husband, and “Get you, Jet Lag, katcha-katcha!” (insert super karate chopping action here)

Good thing today is Sunday—I need the glorious grace of Jesus to get me through the day and his ultimate gift of forgiveness because I ALREADY know MY FAMILY IS ALL GOING TO NEED IT as this Momma is going on 0 hours of sleep.

Thanks to jet lag…my least friend.

Just a Simple Walk in Paris…and History.

My husband’s last name is Nungesser, like Charles Nungesser, the WWI Fighter Ace from France.  He, Charles Nungesser, was also a transatlantic rival of Charles Lindbergh before mysteriously disappearing between Paris and New York City during the flight which would have been the History Maker.

You can read about him here (no, not my husband ;)):  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Nungesser

And although we live in Poland, we just happened to be speaking at an International Church in Germany about our foundation when I told my husband…We are as close as we’ll ever be to Paris—so Paris we must go!

It didn’t take a lot of convincing.  This meant my husband would finally get to go and try to find the street in Paris with his name on it.

Let me say, his parents took this journey years earlier-before the days of widespread use and ownership of GPS.  And they had quite the adventure of trying to find and photograph the street.  So we knew, going into our journey of Paris (the absolutely gorgeous city of LOVE), that we must bring our GPS and save ourselves many tiny but lovely streets of frustration.

And thanks to that wonderful contraption called a GPS, we made it all over Paris.

I tell you, picture Ratatuj…and Paris is as lovely as displayed in that fabulous Disney tale.

Before I say anymore…Here’s the street!

Now back to Paris…

Walking the streets, I truly believe I heard music.  Music playing just by walking.  Walking and observing.

Of course, the music was in my head, but they were lovely tunes no matter how I actually heard them.

And the Notre Dame de Paris.  It was grand.  And I felt like I was in the Disney cartoon The Hunchback of Notre Dame…just waiting for the statues to come to life.

As you can probably tell-my imagination sometimes gets the best of me.

I plead insanity.

Or imagination.  It is, after all, one thing that I encourage greatly in my daughter.  Her imagination can take her anywhere…And mine definitely was in this glorious city of Paris.

We tried to make it to the Louvre.  Unfortunately, the day we went it closed 2 hours early for a private event.  What.A.Bummer. I didn’t get to personally see the tiny Mona Lisa.  Oh, how I wanted to go in and stare and see if she really did see something special in me!

I did get to stand on a pillar outside, though, and pretend like I was touching the top of the pyramid.  That was a fun.  I felt like an artistic giant.  But I am sure that same photo is taken a hundred times a day.

Of course we walked the Seine River, were nearly run over by a million motorists, scooter-ists, and bicyclists.  We also saw a beautiful lady.  Lady Liberty.  We ate crepes.  We played in the parks.  We made it up the Eiffel Tower.  No.  We didn’t see Tom Cruise.

And we drove around and around and around the Arc de Triomphe…Well, mostly because traffic in Paris is REALLY hard to maneuver as a foreigner.  But we didn’t mind.  Traveling in circles around something as old and historical as this…Well, it was a slightly dangerous adventure but fun.  Check out the history some time (it was a point of victory celebration in WWII 44/45 with US and Allies and even a picture on a US postage stamp).  It’s quite interesting.  And perhaps YouTube a video of traffic around the Arc.  Maybe you’ll understand my post a bit more after watching the chaos that the French so professionally maneuver.  Quite entertaining.

And, of course, having a little one we went to the Happiest Place on Earth.  No, we didn’t hop on a plane and fly to California.  We went to Disneyland Paris.  It did make our little Adelyne happy, happy, happy.  She even got to meet French Minnie!

How cute is that?!

Well, I guess I could go on…but just like our trip to Paris, this blog must, too, come to an end!

I know…you’re as sad to leave as we were to say goodbye or au revoir, so I’ll leave you with one last picture of true love captured so perfectly in Paris…