Thankful for These Things... — Swiss Family Rodden, Son!

It still blows my mind that we get to explore, learn, and experience so much together in a different part of the world. While we absolutely and earnestly missed sharing Thanksgiving with family and friends this year, consider yourselves “tight-squeeze hugged”—as Cooper calls it—from all four of us if you’re reading this, we really try to stay grounded and present and open to the new people, places, cultures, ideas, tastes, and sights we’re lucky enough to witness. Even though they’re young, we’re really hoping the boys at least have foggy memories of Barcelona, beaches, big churches, and bike rides that they can recall and for which they can give thanks in the future.

Here are a few other things I’ve been thankful for in the past week:

for a shoot-from-the-hip, gets-it-all-done wife who’s already posted twice on Facebook and once on Instagram about our weekend in Barcelona. So I can just post a bullet list, blog, right? Booyah. You really should do what Nash, Cooper, and I do and follow her (at least on Social Media) everywhere and as often as possible.

for orange soda on vacation. A little grace and indulgence now and then, remembering not to take things or ourselves too seriously. That’s self-care too, isn’t it…sippin’ on the good stuff, whatever your sweetness is that makes your eyes twinkle, glimmer, and gleam with joy and excitement?

for Selfie Sticks. I mean, we haven’t gotten one yet. But some other motivated, entrepreneurial, T-Rex-armed individual who kept cutting off scenery or kept getting almost all of some faces or who couldn’t stand the way his or her neck looked that close up has ultimately ensured we’re going to get some quality pictures some day down the line.

for how excited these boys get about embracing their heritage through eating japchae noodles, some banchan (Korean sides/appetizers), sauce that’s “just a widdle bit” spicy, and Korean meat (all while sitting just one table over from Jackie Chan’s twin sister. Who knew she’s keeping a low profile in Spain?).

for vision, passion, dedication, and ridiculous creativity. I’d heard and read about Antoni Gaudi and his unique style, but my expectations were humbled when we pulled up to Sagrada Familia (the Church of the Holy/Sacred Family) on the double-decker tour bus. Gaudi spent over 40 years dreaming up and building this basilica. From the stark differences in styles from one side and facade to the other, the inclusion of nature, different eras and materials, to the amazing way it all binds together to reflect the passion and glory he sought to humbly offer up to the world and people of different backgrounds and beliefs, it was awe-inspiring to see a project close to a hundred years in the making. They say when people asked if he worried about not finishing before he died, Gaudi offered that his boss and benefactor (God) wasn’t too worried by timelines. He seemed to trust that if he got something amazing started, his vision and hard work would become contagious. He even built a beautiful little schoolhouse just next to the church for the children of those who worked with him. The way he brought together stone and the beauty of a forest inside the structure, the stained glass work, the countless spires/towers, and even the doors he dreamed up, collaborated with and/or inspired others to produce…man, I can’t imagine attending worship in a place like this. It’s funky and flowing and harsh and beautiful and many more eloquent words have been used to described the place and it’s creator than I could come up with. Wow.
Oh, and I’m thankful for real family pictures in the rain with hoods plastered to our heads, Nash conked out with his mouth wide open, too-big rain jackets draped over other jackets, and one well-put-together handsome devil in the back. One of us had to hold it down and hold us all together. It’s not a candid picture for Pete’s sake.

for the way these boys are starting to instinctively wrap arms around shoulders for pictures. Those picture pull-it-in side hugs are day-makers.

for a four-year-old photographer who’s more and more excited to take a phone, open up the camera app, and punch that little white circle for another picture.

for how small we feel sometimes, and how good that can still feel, too. And wonder that creeps up on both curious little boys and the parents who take their picture.

for the confidence, fun, persistence, and teamwork we found on bikes. When we booked the bike tour with Fat Tire Bike Tours (started and/or owned by some Aggies, Lisa thinks), Lisa and I agreed that this was either going to be an awesome experience or an awful one. There wasn’t a lot of middle ground here. It was the highlight of the trip, no doubt. Thank goodness. And for a kid who is cautious and takes to things so slowly before warming up to them, Cooper loved it and felt so proud. He had tricks (standing up while we rode), he “helped” me up the hills we had to climb, he shouted, “Hola!” to just about everyone we passed…he was in his element. I hear Nash alternated napping and narrating behind Lisa, but he never once complained.

for not-bad-timing and taking mirrored pictures of each other riding bikes. One of us can smile and not get their face stuck behind the phone in a picture, while the other one is nervously snapping a picture while trying not to hit too many curbs, posts, or speed bumps with the double wheels in the back.

for the completely underrated comfort, maneuverability, and freedom of not straddling a bike anymore when you’re blessed with short and squatty legs.

for this tough little dude who felt pink eye coming on and needed a band aid to sleep Sunday night. And for the fun of trying to hold him down to wipe his eyes with freshly-brewed black tea bags, which is a common home remedy over here in Switzerland, apparently. Oh, and for the ingenuity and fun Lisa brings by turning that torture into a spa treatment that the boys soak up and giggle through when she gets home at night.

I think that covers it. Hope y’all had a great Thanksgiving!

P.S. I’ve got one more story of the morning we headed out to Barcelona. I guess I’m thankful we can laugh about it now.

The alarm goes off at 4:50 am. We don’t want to lose a day traveling, so we risk the crankiness of waking up before the sun to catch a train to Geneva in order to make an 8 am flight to Spain. The boys pop out of bed excited and surprisingly not cranky, eager to ride in the perfect vehicular triple threat: train, plane, and taxi (or automobile, if you’d prefer). On the brisk—no, alright, downright cold—walk to the train station, the boys are belting out “We Are the Champions,” caught up in the renewed Queen renaissance that Bohemian Rhapsody has brought about. Hopefully it’s not loud enough to wake anyone up this early in a country where Thanksgiving isn’t celebrated and everyone has to work and go to school on just another Thursday.

The train ride goes well. The airport isn’t too crowded. One of our backpacks does get flagged at security…which makes sense because we brought the kids’ Camelbak water bottles full of water. Whoops. Easy enough to fix.

The flight attendant who greets us on the plane looks like Oliver Platt and sounds like Bridgett Jones. He’s charming, super friendly, great with the boys, so of course Cooper asks innocently but loudly as we walk down the aisle towards the back of the plane, “Was that a girl or a boy, Mommy? I liked…that person.”

Lisa sits with the boys, we’ll take turns and I’ll get to sit with them on the way back, and I sit across the aisle in the aisle seat. The flight and the plane are pretty nice for such a cheap flight, but there is no extra leg room on this puppy, not even for a stumpy-legged man like me.

People stop filing onto the plane and score! There aren’t three people on my side of the aisle. There’s just a slender woman dressed all in black like an extra alongside Mike Myers in a Sprockets sketch on SNL and me. We’ll be able to spread out. Ahhhh, that’ll be nice…wait, hold up. Why sit right next to me? Go ahead and take the window seat. I don’t care if that’s not what your ticket says, don’t be Swiss and such a rule follower in this situation, scootch on over. Leave the middle seat open. This can’t be your first time on a plane, let alone a kinda cramped European one.

Lisa and I are impressed with the boys once we get up in the air for a while. There’s a huge difference in how they are on a plane since flying over here back in August. Maybe it’s just the shorter flight.

At one point, Nash slinks down and disappears beneath his seat, like he’s tucking away in Mary Poppins’ or Hermione’s bag. When he doesn’t come back up for air, Lisa shoves the backpacks that they’d kept under the seats in front of them across the aisle to me and dives under too, knocking off Cooper’s Legos and cars with reckless abandon. She’s making such a mess, what’s she doing? Then Nash starts to scream. You know that freaking out, banshee scream? Yeah, louder than that. He sounds scared or hurt or both. Oh, he’s stuck. Lisa’s wiggling and kicking, telling Nash to turn his head, calm down, you can’t pull your head back, Nashy. The screaming gets louder. And in the wondrous miracle of life, I get the pleasure/horror of watching my second son being born a second time, delivered up and out from under a seat with no leg room by the young guy sitting behind Cooper as Nash screams just like he did on the day he was born. The impromptu baby-catcher thankfully smiles patiently and hands Nash back over the seat to Lisa who works to calm him down, calm herself down, and strap him in tighter than he’s ever been strapped by a seat belt in two and a half years on this earth.

I can’t help but smirk and stifle a laugh at the craziness of it all. Yup, they’re so much better this time around, no doubt.

Lisa gets situated, takes the backpacks back, and that’s when we both notice the huge wet spot on my lap. I hadn’t felt anything leaking while I held them for her, but now…my jeans look like Tom Hanks/Jimmy Dugan didn’t quite stumble to the locker room urinal in time in A League of Their Own. Fool me twice, Camelbak water bottles. The boys are old enough to never need a stinkin’ water bottle with a built-in straw again; those things are getting packed away in our storage cave when we get back. Now that I’m soaked, it’s Lisa who’s laughing.

Cooper, all this time, has been watching a movie on his tablet with his headphones in. Oblivious to it all, but yet somehow right on cue, he pipes up:

“We are the champions. We are the champions! No time for losers, ‘cause we are the champions…of the world!”