Writing is a funny business. What is work? What is day dreaming? What is wasting time? What counts and what doesn’t count?

Many of you reading this who are in the creative field will know exactly where I’m coming from. When your hubby or a friend asks, “So, what did you do today?” and you answer (maybe just a touch defensively…), “Well, I worked,” sometimes it’s not really the kind of work they’re thinking of.

I watched a Fassbinder movie, so shoot me! I mean, well, um, for me that’s actually work. I went to a bookstore and checked out books about teens. Again, real work. So, I watched TV, work! HARD WORK!

I’m only half kidding here. Inspiration comes from the strangest places and at the strangest times.

While I was away with the kids in Germany, I was all theirs. I didn’t take my laptop, I didn’t answer (or even check) e-mail and I took no business calls. “Work” was on hold. I listened to them, spent every waking hour with them, had fun with them and also hung out doing nothing.

But that stretch of ten days was incredibly rewarding for me in terms of work. I had ideas for three new books, which I am so excited about. I carried around a little notebook with me in which I jotted everything down. I planned a new workshop I want to run in the fall, a non-fiction book project I’m going to start, and I figured out my next novel! I even started day-dreaming about a writing book I’m going to work on once I get famous. Dream big, I say…

So taking a little time to relax actually proved to be very fruitful professionally. And my kids got a happy mom to boot. Talk about killing two birds with one stone!

How many times a day do you use your microwave?

How often do you unload your dishwasher?

How many loads of laundry do you do?

If you live in an apartment, do you have an elevator?

The first evening we were in our rental apartment in Berlin, I made noodles for the kids on the burners that sat atop an oven that looked about big enough to fit an itty bitty chickling in it. I was going to give an extra little shake of the box (as I always do… you can never have too many noodles in my house) when I realized, hmmmm, there’s no microwave.

HOW DO YOU LIVE WITHOUT A MICROWAVE?

Each night after I made food for us all, I hand washed the dishes. I knew I should make the kids do it (chores and all–you know, keeping it real even on vacation), but I also knew they’d do a horrible job…

…I MEAN, WHO HAND WASHES DISHES ANYMORE THESE DAYS?

I packed lightly for everyone. I thought, hey, we have an apartment. We’ll have a washing machine.

Think again. After about three days, we just wore filthy clothes. So we fit in fine with the “milieu.”

Each day after endless hours walking, the kids still had enough energy to race up the four flights to the apartment. It was a novelty to them that there was no elevator.

They never complained about the lack of amenities. They kind of took it in, nodded sagely, and thought to themselves, thank God we live in America.

My German aunt, Jane, lives in subsidized housing in Berlin. It reminds me of the council estates in England or the apartment blocks in Eastern Europe: tiny apartments stacked up on one another with minuscule balconies filled with satellite dishes and dying plants. Lots of graffiti and green plastic carpeting. Rottweilers and German Shepards. Men in parks drinking beer at 8:30 am.

She got us an apartment like hers just south of the city center, walking distance from everywhere. It was small and servicable, and when you walked up the four flights you passed many identical apartments with the smell of German cooking lurking in the hallways.

It was not what you would call glamorous, in any way. Svenja slept on the indoor/ outdoor carpeting at the foot of my bed, Peter on the couch in the living room and Greta kept me up at night grinding her teeth next to me.

But it was heaven. In the mornings, I got up early and got coffee and delicious German buns at the bakery around the corner, served by a heavily made-up Turkish woman wearing a habib. We picked our way around trash, old men peeing on trees, rowdy Turkish kids creating havoc, and scary-looking tatooed security guards at the local supermarket.

How this could possibly be heaven?

I felt totally safe, probably becuase I grew up in the city and this was an immigrant part of town, urban and a bit rough but not scary. My comfort level rubbed off on the kids. I told them to watch for stepping in dog shit (man, I thought us Germans were more fastidious!) and explained the immigrant situation in Germany (tricky to say the least). I speak German, so that helps of course.We walked everywhere. We saw all kinds of Germans — all colors, all shapes and sizes, all ideologies.

Point is, it was exposing them to the real Germany… how people live behind the scenes. And it fet so good to see them being flexible and open-minded, commenting on the strange things around them without being intimidated or feeling as though they didn’t belong.

They are citizens of the world, and I’m really proud of that. It made the trip all the more fun for me.

When the kids are little, family vacations are often more work than fun. I can remember vacations where I got no sleep, no rest and certainly no me-time. I also remember having a sore back (from carrying all that JUNK) and a bad attitude (from dealing with screaming toddlers in public areas).

Well, for those of you with little guys at home, rest assured that you get your vacations back. At least until your cute toddler passes the innocuous pre-teen stage and turns into a mono-syllabic Marilyn Manson…

My kids can walk by themselves. They can carry their own things. They talk to each other and not just to me (so I can actually think a full thought). They have their own interests and come up with funny insights. I know they won’t starve to death or die in front of a careening black taxi in a crooked one way street in London.

What a relief. For the past few years, I have been savoring every second of our annual summer vacations, storing it up for entertainment purposes for when I am 90 years old, drooling in my rocker, reminiscing about the good old days.

And the best part is always… coming home!

One of my favorite things about taking the kids to Germany (where I was born) or England (where I grew up) is the hilarious things they notice.

Greta can’t get enough of the itsy bitsy, teeny weeny cars. We rented a “people mover” (yes, we all live in the same century, but you’d never know) which turned out to be a mini van. That’s a mini minivan: the biggest one they had is barely bigger than a VW Beetle.

Peter loves the facial hair. He is forever commenting on people’s mustaches and beards. I guess it’s true us Germans are a hairy lot. Hence my closet full of razors and Nair.

Svenja has a shoe fetish. For a child who could be dressed in a sack and not give a damn, this is kind of funny. She likes them to be JUST SO and to be tied or buckled JUST SO and they have to be THIS COLOR and NOT THAT COLOR. So we’ll be walking around and instead of looking at the ancient buildings or the exhibitions, she’ll be head down, checking out people’s feet.

And Germans have some pretty funny taste in shoes, let me tell you. Socks and sandals are IN.

So this time together as a family isn’t so much about learning about history or being immersed in culture, as it is about being a family. Having the time to relax together in a new and different environment where all sorts of norms are questioned.

I’m taking the kids on our annual trek to Europe tomorrow, to show them the family roots and to try to force them to eat various foods whose names they can’t pronounce. Taking them to Germany is something akin to serving them Slimfast for a week.

Also: no TV, no computer, no movies. For a week.

I’m not sure they’ve quite digested this fact yet. They’re still starry-eyed from thinking about the flight on which they each get their OWN TV SCREENS embedded in the chair in front of them. The flight during which I allow them to watch 7 hours of TV straight and… I don’t complain! Amazing!

It will be sooooo good for us. By the time we get back they might just have been weaned. At least temporarily.

* Sigh*

I was brought up without TV, so the constant media onslaught of our day and age is hard for me. Sometimes I just want silence. SILENCE! Lots of it.

Here’s the amazing thing: at home, we see the very best and the very worst of our kids. As a consequence, sometimes we’re much too hard on them. Other times, much too indulgent.

Today, observing my oh-so-forgetful-one (the kid who is taller than his father but can’t find his own teeth to brush them), I was humbled. And I was proud–of him, but also of myself. Let me explain.

Peter, who is 14, is running a lacrosse camp for 5-6 years old this week. He’s dealing with the e-mails, the reminders, the schedule, the emergency phone number, the cash, all of it. (That’s why there’s $$$ all over the kitchen table and a bunch of kids just never turned up, but you live and you learn, right? Gotta let him make his own mistakes… right?)

His father and I have been looking over his shoulder, suggesting things and helping him get organized and trying our darndest to lay off the poor kid. I’ve been nervous because I have writing to do, and no time to babysit six little kids during a regular work day.

So this morning, I sat upstairs in my office for four hours, listening for trouble. Nothing but laughter and grunting from outside. Peter ran these adorable little fellows all over our yard, organizing drills, joking around with them, being a big brother. He never once asked for help and afterwards, he even cleaned up after himself. Wow.

Now, a therapist once told me that kids function  at the level you expect them to function. If you say, come on, you’ve got to get over your laziness and DO something, they’ll fulfill your expectations by being lazy. If, on the other hand, you expect competance, they’ll be competant.

Sounds so obvious doesn’t it? Why is that so hard for us moms to achieve? It was great watching HIM be in control today, and keeping out of his way. I felt pride for both of us: I helped shape this little airhead into a functioning human! All those hours spent looking for lost items, reminding him of things, pushing him out of his comfort zone… and the breathing space we give him works. It’s hard for us to step away sometimes and let them take control, but it’s exactly what the doctor ordered.

I thought a lot about the post in which I wrote that I haven’t been exercising . I kept thinking to myself, how can I put this on the back burner when I know I need to get my body moving again? I need to take some of my own medicine!

When I exercise, I feel more energetic and my moods are much better. Just ask my husband! I used to run three times a week, do a couple of weight classes at the gym and do yoga. As work got busier, that was pared down. A lot. The less I did, the grumpier I became. I had no choice about doing the work, but of course exercise is always optional.

Soon I was down to one weight session at home, squeezed in before making dinner and after a Herculean day writing at the computer. Not a successful combination as I could barely even lift the weights above my head and who am I kidding anyway? Once a week is not going to cut it!

But I really needed a break. I just loathe routine. I told myself that I can’t push myself to capacity 100% of the time and that I deserved a break.

So I took one. It lasted two months and 5 pounds.

So I’m up and running again now. The kids are out of school already and I get up really early to run before they wake up. I have to drag myself out of bed (I am NOT any early riser by nature), but I already feel better.

Really, I do!I still haven’t quite found the old spring in my step I had this winter, but at least I’m up and running.

Last night was a triumph!

Kevin and I took the kids out for dinner to celebrate graduation. First, they ate using their utensils and didn’t burp loudly, drop food all over the floor or complain about having to wait.

Well, they are no longer toddlers, so I guess that’s all a given… but I’ll take my little triumphs where I can get ‘em.

But the clincher was, for me, a heated discussion about modern art.

Peter said, “I hate modern art! It’s crazy–why would anyone pay a gazillion dollars for a line drawn on a canvas!”

Greta said, “But what is art anyway?”

Svenja said, “Where’s the ketchup?” (She’s a work in progress.)

I tried to explain what art is. We all discussed Warhol’s can of soup and Damian Hurst’s pig in formaldehyde. Kevin mentioned the sculpture of the children with phallic noses that we all saw in in the Saatchi Gallery in London. Okay, sure, that took us a bit by surprise–we’re walking along quite happily and BAM! Ring around the rosie with big penises hanging off little girls’ faces… Modern art definitely pushes the envelope. Sometimes it’s disgusting, or boring or seems meaningless. But it almost always makes you think and often, it sticks with you in unexpected ways.

I was happy yesterday. Art! Food! Discussion! That’s life!

At graduation ceremonies from Middle School today, I was struck by the energy and hopefulness of the students who took to the podium and shared their experiences.

Energy… hopefulness… remember that?

Really, there’s almost nothing better than waking up in the morning with a spring in your step. Too often, I wake up in a daze because I am still tired (too many late nights watching Workout on Bravo, my guilty pleasure).

Okay, sometimes it’s because of that extra glass of wine. And yes, sometimes it’s because I forget to take my thryoid meds–despite the turning point documented in the book when I was half dead before I realized that if I would only take care of my health by taking my medicine, I would be all right again….

Maybe the spring has left my step because… I am not exercising. There you go, I admitted it.

Yes, I know, we have a whole chapter in the book about THE NEED TO EXERCISE AND TAKE YOUR HEALTH SERIOUSLY. Hmm.  I’m afraid that exercising is the very first thing that gets chopped off my list when I have too much to do.

I have made peace with that. It comes and goes. As long as I maintain my weight (kinda) and commit to re-committing when I have time again (!), I cut myself a break on the exercise front. You just can’t have it all, all the time. Something has to give.

But when I saw those fresh faces today, all that repressed energy and those bright eyes, I did think to myself, maybe I’ll go for a run tomorrow…