Did you ever have woodruff ice cream?
No German childhood is complete without woodruff ice cream. Alan and David had their first this week. They don't understand why you can't buy the stuff in a tub (well, why can't you?) but only in ice cream parlors. Waldmeister, hm. (And doesn't "Forest Master" sound a lot nicer than "woodruff"?)
They also developed a serious liking of raspberries which brings with it -- the sounds of indignant shrieking because the last ripe raspberry was picked by, of all beings, your older brother. Alan loves red currants and David loves black currants and Jacob loves gooseberries. They all love the freshly picked lettuce and tomatoes. The giant kiddie pool, an entire fleet of kid's scooters and cars, the sand pit with 200 kilograms of sand (440 pounds), the treehouse, and of course, Oma and Opa. Nothing could be better. They got to see a practice run of the volunteer fire brigade (very German, every small town without a professional fire brigade has a volunteer one) in Urspringen, a soccer match in Oberwaldbehrungen. Opa owns umpteenth hectars of forest with walls of wild raspberries and yummy deer. Long summer nights with stars galore and strange animal noises.
David told me a few days ago that he never, ever, ever wants to go away from Oma, ever again.
Making memories to last a lifetime. Maybe they will help with the shrink costs...