We are well into Week 30 now, and I’m a 5’2″ lady growing a baby who is hugging the top of the growth charts.
It all started when an American girl met a German boy…
Last week marked the Centennial anniversary of when America officially entered World War One. As I’ve been digging for information on my American relatives from that generation, I’ve also been finding more about Martin’s German family from that time period.
We got a hold of these photos just last year, showing Martin’s great-grandfather Georg. He was a career military man who joined in the late 1800s: he was already a non-commissioned officer by the time German fighting broke out in 1914.
The photo on the left was taken sometime between 1908-1912. The photo on the right is dated 1915. By then, he had five children at home, all under the age of 7. The difference in his appearance is remarkable. He survived the war, living well into his 60s, long enough to see two of his three sons conscripted into the Wehrmacht during WWII and taken as POWs by the Russians.
Only one son (Martin’s grandfather) returned after several years.
For the past week, my son and I have both been dealing with a cold that won’t quit … a real test on his asthma and our methods for managing it. (Photo taken during one of his treatments a few days ago.)
Today, he had a doctor’s appointment to get some new meds. Unfortunately, Martin could not join us, which meant I was on my own to communicate in German, to explain and describe what we’ve been experiencing. I was so anxious!
For the past few days, my son has been coming to us in the middle of the night, seeking help when his asthma flares up, and he can’t stop coughing. Fortunately, a few puffs of albuterol do the trick, but I keep him with us so I can listen to him in the night.
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