Constantly causing a ruckus

That's us. The loud, ruckus-causing immigrants.

Seriously. Everywhere we go in Weimar, and much of Eastern Europe, we're stared at for speaking English. And since Russ and Fiona are LOUD, everyone knows that we're Americans. We get a lot of stares. I'm sort of used to it, although I still feel uncomfortable. But today, I think we scored one of our personal bests in mayhem.

I'm alone with the kids this weekend and they're being great, sleeping well, very few tears shed by any of us thus far. So I thought I'd be brave and take the girls to church this morning- I found a Mass at 10.30 (just about the earliest we can get up and out the door, despite the fact that Maeve's up at 5 for the day. For full disclosure, she's up at 5, but naps twice or three times before 10.30). Needless to say, she needed changing TWICE before we left. She practically needed a bath, in fact, but I mopped her up with wipes and dug a new outfit out of the box (wardrobes have been broken down, sold, and moved away). Then Fiona had a cinnamon toast crisis (drippy cinnamon takes a while to clean) so I needed to mop HER up. Etc. Etc. We finally got in the car at 10.35.

We arrived at church about 15 minutes late, but as we entered the back of the church (madly shushing Maeve and jiggling her in the Baby Bjorn, and reminding Fiona to stop talking) I spied to folding chairs just inside. Perfect, thought I. Inconspicuous. Mmm-hmm. As the entire congregation was quiet, Fiona proceeded to sit on the edge of the folding chair and collapse it onto herself and onto the marble floor with an enormous crash. Great. As if we hadn't made enough of a scene entering late, and with children (apparently German children don't attend church. I have yet to see any kids there. I do bring mine but always get stares for it). Fiona burst into tears, shrieking loudly (in English mind you) about her injury. I hissed at her to be quiet, while nodding madly to all around that yes, she was fine, and checking out her "injury"- which was really an injury to her pride, as there were no marks on her. I settled her into the chair and Maeve started crying. Etc.

They finally calmed down and we managed to partake in the rest of Mass without major embarrassment. But then! We joined the right hand side line for communion. Fiona loves that part ("going for a walk to see the Jesus statue up close" she calls it) and she dutifully walked behind me (no room to walk next to me in a double line aisle with me, big purse, Baby Bjorn). People staring at us (was it the baby? The preschooler in church? The fact that they knew us as the loud ones from earlier?). Then, we got up to take Communion, and the priest CLOSED HIS LINE. Yep. Closed and went off to another part of church. We were forced to retreat and re-join the back of the other line. I don't think he even saw us (how could he not? Everyone else did!) so it wasn't intentional, but I must say, it was extremely uncomfortable.

Reason #57 I'm eager to get back to the US- no more being a spectacle-making immigrant.