Dear Lord.  It has been a crazy month of searching this little town of Münster for an apartment.  We found one, we lost one.  We saw some, we wished we hadn't.  And then, I fell in love.  
German apartments rarely come fitted with a kitchen.  I don't mean that appliances aren't included, I mean NOTHING is included.  The entire kitchen, cabinets and all, are often stripped when the old renter moves on to their new place.  We walked into at least five apartments where the kitchen is nothing but a plumbing part for your sink.  A sink that you're going to buy in a German DIY store, if only you can remember how to say "sink" in German.  But you can't, and you will leave close to tears.  
My new love was no exception.  It was a half way renovated top floor flat in a historic building, in a historic neighbourhood, with a chocolate shop out the front door. We made a deal with the devil (not Claudia, but her older, meaner brother) and agreed to finish the renovations if they would guarantee that we could have the place.  And that is where we now stand.  My mathematically inclined husband has agreed to install flooring into a sensitive apartment and we're on the lookout for mineral paint so the exterior walls can breath - owner's orders.  If there are any men out there who want an all expense paid trip to Germany in exchange for finishing our flooring once Aaron gets started on it, let me know.  It will inevitably save us money and quite possibly a marriage.  Deadly serious over here.
"Before" pictures coming up later today.

Have you ever been felt up by your doctor?  If you haven't, I highly recommend it.  Even if it's for legitimate reasons, somewhere in your head you will say "This is so COOL, this doctor is totally into me!"  

My Babcia has been on rat poison for about three years now.  Her leg was supremely swollen so we took her to the doctors and then straight to the hospital to kill the shit out of the blood clod that was threatening to navigate its way into critical organs.  It was probably the worst thing that has ever happened to her life.  More so than the death of her husband, the loss of her farm, what has affected her the most is the weekly blood test to make sure that her rat poison is doing what it's supposed to.  It's also affected her immediate family and generally consumed the lives of everyone who has ever loved her.  

So, when my left leg presented itself as somewhat more voluptuous than my right leg, I made the terrifying leap of visiting a German doctor for the first time.  He noted the swelling and then left the room and came back with a needle and two options.  One, you can go to the hospital, but you will wait forever; or Two, I can inject you with Heparin to make sure that if there is a clot, we can dissolve it then and there.  I went with the shot, which stung like a son of a bitch, and instructions to come back the next day for an ultrasound of my leg.
  
Next day, new Doctor.  He asks me expose my leg, so naturally I pull UP my pant leg only to be met with a "This won't work, perhaps you take your pants off?"  Like, right there.  The modesty towel never appeared. Thank CHRIST it was laundry day and I had nice underwear on.  Double points actually, because I was also in a good wife mood and had shaved the hairs that were still on my legs as a memento from Canada.  Anyway, there I was, face down on his little hospitalish bed, ass out, when he describes, with his fingers, how the veins start out large right under your butt cheek, and then get tiny tiny tiny as they run down to your ankle.  I don't even remember if he said I had a blood clot or not.  Moral of the story, cultural differences ROCK!  

And if you are genuinely curious as to whether I'm going to be alright or not, I don't know.  I did some blood work and am waiting for the results.  My left leg was one and a half centimetres larger than the right, which could be concerning.  That said, my left breast is bigger than my right, and I've never looked into that before.  Hmm, maybe I should?!

It's been brought to my attention that my language is offending some people.  I don't want to draw too much attention to who it is, so I chose to call this weekly post "Modest Mondays" as opposed to "M.I.L Mondays" because that would be too obvious. Possibly.

Here it goes - a wholesome post.  
The family and I had a lovely weekend, filled with sunshine and giggles and cultural experiences.  Namely, we went to a sand museum in a nearby village and I laughed my heiney off at the absurdity of it all.  

Eloise likes to pick "poisonous berries" and squash them.  We've tried telling her - THEY'RE POISONOUS, which of course means nothing, except that to her they now have a name.  I decided I would take pictures of all the different poisonous berries that were around town yesterday.  My day consisted of yelling out poisonous berries at every turn.  Poisonous berries, poisonous berries, poisonous berries!

So, I've just found out the reason why it has been so hard to lose weight here in Germany, despite all the walking and activity we've been up to.  
The German way of saying it is "zu viele Kartoffeln". Which doesn't mean "You're pregnant", but rather translates to "Too many potatoes."  
But I'm not letting it get me down.  In fact, my figure is so cooperative I can fit into any scarf I try on.  Go me!! 

Side note: Aaron, who loves to read over my shoulder, just said "I don't get it."  Adding that the above post is "Only funny if you know you're trying to be funny."  Just to clarify, I was trying to be funny.