No Mac & Cheese

This weekend, Der Deutscher and I were idly discussing the possibility of him getting a job in Germany and all of us moving overseas.

I'm all for the idea.

A) We're talking living in another country here for an extended period of time! And a chance to get my Germany skills up to par with my Spanish abilities.

B) It would force Der Deutscher to accept me as a SAHM, at least for a little while. The government wouldn't allow me to work for a few months, then I'd have to finish getting my language skills to the point where I could earn enough to make my working outside the home financially viable.

C) It would mean JBP would be fluent in at least two languages by the end of elementary school. Of course, then we'd face the problem that all the good High Schools, or Gymnasiums, hold classes minimum every other Sabbath. But that's a few years down the road.

Anyway, JBP overheard our discussion and wild postulations and piped in, "I don't wanna move to Germany!"

We stare at him in some consternation, as he's been begging to go back to visit almost since we returned last November. "Why not?"

"They don't have macaroni and cheese there!" he wailed.

Everyone has their priorities.

Nimitz' Lady