Author: Sarah Zipp

Getting there is half the fun

Sarah Zipp Leave a comment

Would you like to hear the tale of our 26+ hour adventure through 4 aiprorts/countries with 2 kids and a cat? Well, hold on to your hats…

Here’s the recount- or, as Addy is calling her newest writing project, Pipsqueak’s Adventures in Holland (our cat). First, it was a funny scene at the airport when the lady at the counter saw us and said ‘oh. The Zipp family!’ Apparently checking 9 bags and bringing a cat is noteworthy. Then there were teary, teary goodbyes. I can’t go into the details of it now. Too soon. Wheels up, no more decisions to be made and nothing but the sound of my own sadness and pent up anxiety over this major life decision and the day’s travels. Cue eruption of tears, bordering on ugly crying. Sideways, take-off hugs from hubby and kids.

Overnight flight – kids watched movie, fell asleep like champions. They sprawled out on the entire row, leaving no room for parents. (As was our intention). No parental sleep obtained. Cat slept.

The cat and girls did AWESOME all the way to Coppenhagen (12 hours into journey). The 6 hour layover and delayed flight pushed our limits and then broke through them like a 4 year old ripping open (and spilling) the last bag of Goldfish. Luckily, husband is able to handle my occasional major bitchiness. It was pretty severe. Although, I was right. Seriously. We finally secured food, water and play space. Gwen, who was our Director of Kitten Petting Services, managed to not instigate an international incident by letting the cat loose in a Scandanavian country (but honestly Denmark, you’re not as Scandanavian as the dangling countries on the other side of the water.) Addy, our Family Historian and Regional Manager of Kitten Support Services, excelled at fending off rambunctious-looking Norwegian brothers (approximately 3 & 5) from harassing the cat in a bag. And then she supervised the Kitten Exercising Programme. Walking a cat on a leash in a Danish airport is strangely calming to 7 year olds.

‘Twas a brief moment of contentment and calm. But then we were still there. Waiting and waiting. We could feel the loose grip on sanity slipping. We were all hot, mildly sweaty and stinky, foggy from no/weird sleep. And the children’s play area was devolving from a sanctuary of free movement to a romper room of annoying, small humans speaking gutteral-sounding languages and trying to touch our cat. Suddenly we had to get out. Bear in mind that we were toting 3 roller carry-on bags, a cat carrier, 2 adult backpacks, 2 kid packpacks (long ago abandoned by the children they were designed to be carried by) and a hodgepodge of stuffies, dolls and blankies. And why, oh why, do these children insist on taking their shoes off at every place we stand still for more than 5 minutes? I have spent more time looking for stray flip-flops in foreign countries than at any major monument or important tourist destination. Anyway, the lag time between deciding we HAD to go and the actual going was significant. And what the hell kind of people make a play area on the second floor of an airport but have no elevator or escalator nearby? “Great” Danes, my ass. Luckily, Daddy has “muscles like tanks” and we only held up a half-dozen or so travelers schlopping our wares down the narrow staircase.

We made our way to the Gate with all the grace and coordination of a 6th grade orchestra. Next thing I knew the kids were sprawled out asleep and I startled myself awake with my own snoring. Attractive for sure. Boarded flight with relative ease, quick 2 hour journey, off board to final destination – Amsterdam.

At this point, I must include some broader context. Yesterday was a National Day of Mourning in the Netherlands in honor of more than 200 Dutch victims in the MH17 flight shot down over the eastern Ukraine. I’ve flown into Schipol airport probably 10 times before and it has never felt like this. We arrived shortly after a national moment of silence that occurred as the victims’ bodies arrived at another airport to the south of us. The bodies were being driven toward Amsterdam in a caravan with Dutch people lined up along the route, much like fans line the streets for the Tour de France. But this was a terribly solemn affair. There is a heavy cloud over this country and everywhere we looked reminders, from notices on the airport screens about the Day of Mourning to the live tv coverage of the caravan, of the tragedy. We feel it deeply on behalf of our new home country.

Back to a happier tale. Like how all 9 of our checked bags, plus the car seats, were lost. So, we waited and waited and filed a claim with baggage services. As you can imagine, the kids were beyond melting point. I got in an argument via Skype phone call with the taxi driver that was arranged to pick us up. We got a different taxi and arrived at the furnished house rented for us by the University. The owner greeted us and was very kind, preparing snacks for the kids and pouring us glasses of wine. He explained details about the house and gave instructions I blurrily recall. Finally, he intuited that we were burnt out and he left, promising to check back in on Monday to make sure we were ok. We have this house for 6 weeks.

Kids bathed and mommy to the grocery store for dinner (for first awkward consumer experience – pangs of panic as my grocery loyalty card, which I have so proudly kept and located, has apparently expired. Can’t I just get this win?). Then adults showered, we ate, and all fell asleep watching Free Willy. Back up clothes for kids were in carryons, but there was nothing clean left for adults. So (shhhh) we borrowed shorts from the owner’s closet. Could anything make me feel more awkward then wearing a strange man’s cargo shorts right now? We slept hard, but the kids woke up around 1:45am. I fended them off for awhile but we were eating eggs at the kitchen table by 2:30. Hubby and I are taking shifts and as I write this the girls are drifting in and out of consciousness watching The Simpsons (they reluctantly watched some Dutch cartoons I forced on them, but eventually they wore me down). I’m signing off for now. I figured out the cappuccino machine here. Time for Round II. Tot Ziens.

Dear Graduates, Graduation is not about you.

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Michelle Obama at the Kansas Expocentre

About a year ago, my big brother had a great idea.  He wanted to celebrate the 60th anniversary of the Brown v Board of Education of Topeka decision on a national stage.  He wanted to showcase his city, Topeka, as the historic landmark that it is.  As the place where civil rights and social justice issues from slavery and segregation to freedom of speech and gay rights have played out.  He wanted to use this moment to help remind the country of the deep progressive roots in Kansas and the true meaning of Jayhawkers (they were abolitionists).  And he wanted to use this moment in time to spark discussion of the struggles and challenges that lie ahead, in Kansas and beyond.

My brother is a city councilman in Topeka.  I’ve never understood why he stayed there.  We grew up in Western Kansas, which any true Kansan will know is vastly different than the northeasterly cities like Topeka.  I moved to Topeka in high school and hated it.  It’s probably a lot to due with the contentious battles of teenage angst, but Topeka left a sour taste in my mouth.  I got the hell outta there ASAP.  But not Nathan.  He tried Kansas City for a bit, as most young Kansans are want to do, but he returned to Topeka.  I spent years trying to lure him to the East Coast, where I lived, but to no avail.  Anyway, over the past year I’ve come to understand how deeply he loves his city and how proud he is of its history and place in the country.  So, he worked hard to find a way to share that with the world.  And then it happened.

He convinced some folks to make a proposal to the White House to join in on the 60th celebration.  He helped form a small group of Topekans who wanted to make this celebration great and save the Sumner school, which was the all-white school Linda Brown’s father fought for her to attend.  (It’s in shambles and is one of the country’s most endangered historic landmarks).  We waited and waited.  We worked on all kinds of surrounding events and speakers and concerts and parties to celebrate the 60th.  We worked with a marketing firm to design a logo.  We waited.  We really thought we had a chance.  After all, the first African-American president was in office.  AND his family is from Kansas.  We worked and worked and waited.  Word came in April, the White House was sending SOMEONE.  But they wouldn’t say who.  Finally, it was confirmed, Michelle Obama had said YES.  She said yes to USD 501 – the same Topeka school district that was in the Brown v Board case.  (Mind you, Topeka was specifically selected as the lead in this class action case because the high schools were already integrated and there was a lot of support for desegregation.  So hush up your ‘but Kansas is bass akwards’ remarks and listen to my story.)  You might think that a Kansas school district is full of lily-white farm kids.  But you don’t know 501.  It’s a city district.  It’s majority minority.  It’s diverse and urban and wonderfully eclectic and dubiously underfunded.  Also, Topeka High is a gorgeous gothic building.  It’s epic.  And the best Mexican place is right across the street (Pepe and Chela’s).  Oh, Topeka has a huge Hispanic population.  And an awesome array of grandmother’s tamale recipe kitchens.

So, anyway, we’re all excited.  But then the most bizarre shit starts happening.  People start complaining.  They write into the paper, they call the school board, they start a petition on change.org AGAINST Michelle’s visit.  Wait, what?  Is this for real? Why? Why, why, why? Well, they say it’s because they don’t want a joint graduation (USD 501 has 5 high schools, 3 mainstream and 2 others. Topeka High, T-West and Highland Park are very distinct schools and rivals). They say it’s because there will be a limit on tickets (rumors of 4 per graduate run rampant, that’s later confirmed at 6). They say that Mrs. Obama is a distraction, taking away from the real focus, which should be the graduates. If you scroll through the comments section on the Topeka Capital-Journal (which is the biggest waste of time ever. Really, stick with Candy Crush if you insist on wasting time), you’ll see some racist and just plain stupid undertones (“I hope her speech isn’t as long as her butt is wide”). The whole thing is just unbelievable. Still, I’m trying to grapple with it and understand the motives from the students and parents’ points of view.

And here is what I have overwhelmingly concluded. Graduation is NOT about the graduates. Really, it’s just not. It can’t be. It’s a rite of passage. It is a rite that exists whether or not you or your child is a part of it. It is bigger than any individual or even the whole group of graduates. The standards for graduating, the ceremony process, that all exists separate from any individual. It’s communal. It’s public property. It is a moment, held in the public sphere, to commemorate the passing of a group of people into a new phase of life and to a new status in the community. And the communal, public nature of this rite means that it does not belong to you. It belongs to all of us. So, happily celebrate the triumphs of your graduates at parties and BBQs across the land. But leave the public ceremony to the public. Leave the public ceremony to those who have a broader perspective of the class of 2014. A class that would not be nearly so diverse and rainbow beautiful if it weren’t for the decision made 60 years ago in this very city. And understand the honor it is for you (the graduates) and your family to be a part of this moment in history.

Disney Muppets v Jim Henson Muppets – The great Gen X Civil War?

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A good, wise friend posted this link on his Facebook:

http://www.salon.com/2014/04/06/millennials_just_dont_get_it_how_the_muppets_created_generation_x/ 

I struggle to express  my true feelings on the new Muppet phenomenon.  Here’s my best effort.

As a tail-end member of Gen X, I love and appreciate this article. The author is spot on about Xers and the impact of Jim Henson’s work. The magic of his Muppets, Fraggle Rock and Sesame Street was the sheer joy they brought. It all happened to be wrapped in themes of social justice and learning. And we, somewhat unknowingly, loved that part of it too.

30 years later, nostalgia hits hard and the sight of imposter Muppets seems an abomination (I think that’s a more accurate use of the Biblical term than we generally here today).  But here’s the thing. Unwittingly, I loved the first Disney Muppets movie. I sang, I laughed, I was moved. I’ve shared many warm moments of joy with my daughters laughing at Kermit’s mishaps. I bought the soundtrack. I also felt somewhat shameful for my affection for these traitors (thanks, Piatt).

I think the issue is less about the Muppets and more about the pressures of parenting in the 21st century.  As newbie parents we fought hard against video entertainment of any kind. We held the line for nearly 2 years before caving in (airport travel with a toddler will break anyone). And when we broke, we went for cool, hipster educational, music-oriented stuff, like They Might Be Giants albums/videos (Here Come the ABCs, etc.). Slowly, that line started to erode and we ended up occasionally permitting a Blue’s Clues (OMG, I still can’t believe that guy killed himself. It makes the show so creepy to watch.) and, ugh, Dora. Now, Dora is, simply put, awful. Just terrible. To borrow from my friend’s 6 year old son, “why does she stand there and repeat everything a hundred times? Just get on with it DORA!” He’s right. She totally sucks. We tolerated it for about a year because we thought it would be good to learn some Spanish language skills and culture. But we also grew weary. Weary of trying to pick the right foods and toys and clothing and blah blah blah. And then we had a new baby and we held on to only the truest of parenting principles we could maintain. I just breastfed like crazy, we tried to play good music around the bambinos and we read, read, read. And we hoped for the best. So far, so good. I stumbled upon my 4-year-old playing school with a herd of stuffed animals and humming a relatively obscure Muse song (Explorers).  Positive reinforcement that fills my meter.

And that brings me back to the Muppets. Whatever the new Disney Muppets lack in Henson magic, they nearly made up for in sheer entertainment value. The first one was hilarious. Plus we got to feel a little nostalgic with our kids and the Disney Muppets became a gateway drug to introduce them to the real McCoy. 7 years into this parenting gig and that’s good enough for me. But mainly, we all got to sit on our asses and watch a movie that was funny and entertaining. 5 or 35, we all need that sometimes. Oh, but the new Disney Muppets movie is a big, fat turd. TURD.

Should I stay or shoud I go now?

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It’s hard to believe, but here we are.  Facing a big family decision once again. Here’s the gist:

Option 1) Stay put in T-town

Stay in Topeka.  Live simply and relatively cheaply.  Kids stay in same schools (maybe) and neighborhood.  Pursue modest, but rewarding careers.  Maybe pursue a big professional dream (start a business).  Be close to family support.  Own a car and have a yard.

Option 2)  Move to Amsterdam

Yeah.  Europe Amsterdam.  Holland.  Coffee shops that sell pot (although, living as Colorado’s neighbor makes that less of a big deal now).  Live a complicated but very unique and exciting lifestyle.  Kids attend cool international schools.  Kids forced to make another big adjustment, this time with language barriers.  Pursue exciting career in academia.  Not try to start a business.  Be far, far away from family, but close to some friends.  Not own a car.  Live in a small space with probably not much yard.  Enjoy great public transport, extensive holidays and easy travel throughout Europe.

I’ll be back with more details.  But I’d sure like to get thoughts from the peanut gallery.  We really, really are torn.