(¯`·._.·Our Blooming Jungle -·´¯`·._.ღ

New Year Brings New Changes

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 13:27:52 GMT

Our Christmas vacation was full of fun and good times. We were busy baking and partying from start to finish. The girls were tickled pink that Santa again made a stop in the Netherlands just for them. The stockings were filled with goodies from both lands which did slightly confuse them, but they soon understood that Santa knew a good thing when he saw them and collected the best of both worlds when choosing the items for their stockings. We did not have a white Christmas as we'd thought we might. The ice soon began to melt, but not before the girls could get out and walk on some ice. I wish it had been thick enough to get out our skates, but it was just too risky. Besides, there was a deadline to meet: Christmas. As you may have already read, our finances were stretched to the last thread during the most critical month of the year and so when the paycheck finally came in we made a last and final mad rush along with the rest of the last minute shoppers in Amsterdam.

To put a little rest into our busy shopping day we took the girls to the English Reformed church in the middle of the begijnhof just to the north of the Spui for their Christmas Choir service. Sitting in the middle of this sanctuary sheltered from the hustle and bustle of the streets and crowds we were welcomed into the English speaking church and enjoyed an hour of Christmas songs and a simple Christmas service. The girls did remarkably well for not having attended a church service for over a year and we left with warm hearts and general feeling of Christmas cheer. It didn't take long to finish our Christmas shopping and we were headed home to our lonely kitten and sparkling tree.

I had meal upon meal planned so we feasted all Christmas on this recipe or that with a few Christmas cocktails thrown in for a little extra warmth during the cold nights. Luckily the liquor lasted to ease our nerves after the frenzied birthday party with 14 children running through our house as well as to help us sleep through the neighbors drunken New Years Eve party. Though, I am glad we have run low as it is now time to say farewell to the holidays and approach the New Year. It is always hardest to say goodbye to this particular holiday. Summer vacation is shrugged off with knowledge that you'll still have several remaining weekends with sun and beaches before the cold fall winds began to blow, but the Christmas/New Year vacation ends abruptly leaving you with only cold and dreary weather to look forward to for the next several months. Still, it has left us with many a happy memory.

Squirrel Monkey turned 5 in a blur of all things pink and princess and has chosen to stay just as cute as she ever was with a little extra sparkle. As tradition would have it we gave her the choice to get her ears pierced or not and she braved the many stores which rejected to pierce a child so young and the many clerks who tried to scare her into thinking it was "too much pain" to finally find a store and clerk willing to give the child what she so desired. She walked out with beautiful red earrings and huge smile on her face. We did go ice skating, though not on the canals it was just as fun as we were in the company with friends who we hadn't spent enough time with over the last several months. Friends and fun have filled our holidays this year and we will remember each event with happiness.

Though I feel like we walk out of those happy holidays into an empty year, I am also looking forward to a new year. I have never been one to put much stock into New Year's resolutions, but this year I have a few things in mind for the betterment of my soul and my family. There will be some changes in our routine and the way we live from day to day. Things have gotten a bit slack in the last couple of years due to so many changes and we seem to have lost our focus or headed in the wrong direction here or there. While change can be a stimulating experience I prefer not too much to change, so I'm on a mission to redirect our path to find some of those treasured walks we miss to much in little family.

Along with the changes will be a relocation of this blog. I've been talking about moving it for some time and it is high time I give myself a little treat and move the blog over to a more comfortable format. This MSN Spaces format has not been cozy enough for me for a while and I would like to graduate into the bigger blogging world with a "real" blog. No, I didn't purchase my own url, but I did move to a format which will let me if I feel so inclined in the future. Swing on by to continue reading here.

Christmas Chaos

Thu, 20 Dec 2007 13:54:39 GMT

Oh, the weather outside is frightful . . .

We've been suffering through freezing temperatures this last week. Actually, it's just the Dutch who have been suffering. I've been suffering only for a lack of snow and ice, but I'm hanging on to the hope that the chill will last just long enough to put a couple more inches of ice on the tops of the canals so we can go ice skating for Christmas or New Year. Nobody here wants to hang on to that hope, even though they each count back how many years it's been since the last time they were able to have ice skating parties. It's a big deal when the canals freeze over; they set up hot cocoa stands along the ice and rent out ice skates. I couldn't really tell you in detail as I've only heard the stories. You'd think by the Christmas card images you see of the Dutch canals frozen over and people skating on them with the windmills in the background that it is a regular occurrence, but in reality it has been somewhere between 10 and 13 since the last time the Dutch people have been able to ice skate. That they can't seem to remember how many years it actually has been is testament to the fact that it has been too long. I suppose global warming has reached even the lowlands. Still, each time I see the ice on the water and the cluster of ducks hanging out in the little spot left open in the middle I get a little thrill that we might just have shipped our ice skates with us for a reason.

In the meantime I've been preparing for several celebrations. Martha and I know each other on a first name basis now. We've consulted each other on many a project over the last week and I think I've convinced her to change several recipes and even some of her templates. As a result my projects have turned out a considerable higher quality from hers as I'm sure you're bound to agree when you see the provided photos (yes, I'm begging for compliments).

Last night was the children's winter gala. Every age gets dressed as if heading out for an evening at the prom with sparkles and glitter and gems. Even the gents put on coat tails and hair gel. Unlike America there is no Christmas program. Instead the children enjoy a candlelit dinner in their decorated classrooms and only at the end of their fun-filled evening do the parents "happen" to hear them singing carols when they show up about 10 minutes early to pick them up. The parents provide the delicacies for the Christmas dinner and so this is what I contributed.

The children wouldn't eat it either because there were Christmas cookies to be eaten instead, or because it had red spots, but the teachers claimed to love it. It didn't hurt us to finish it off after the children were sound asleep in their beds either.

Seeing that it is Squirrel Monkey's birthday during the holidays we decided to celebrate it at school beforehand. Again, a whole different set of traditions happen for school children here on their birthdays. For one, the first half hour is dedicated to celebrating his/her birthday and we, the parents and non-school-aged siblings, were encouraged to sit in. Songs are sung, games are played, and candles are blown out. The child then takes one friend, a large card, and sweets from classroom to classroom for signatures and stickers and well wishes from each of the teachers. And instead of bringing a box of Safeway cupcakes, the children bring something of the equivalent of party favors (bags full of candy and little toys) to pass out to each of their classmates at the end of the day. My child picked a special little gift box off Martha's website and I was more than happy to oblige . . . until it came to putting the boxes together. The cookies to fill them were fun to make, but then to find 3" square boxes to fit them into? Impossible. I spent days searching store to store for them, only to fail. So, I chose to do something even more impossible: redesign Martha's print-out template to create a box, instead of the intended slip cover for the impossible to find 3" square box. After several hours of fiddling on Paint.NET and finally printing them out on heavy weight paper came the hours of tedious cutting and gluing. I have not used a glue stick since I was in grade school and I tell you now, don't go back to those days!! It's a mess and a horrible frustration. Did you know you have to hold those edges together until they dry? Each and every wall of those 20 little houses!?! The outcome was beautiful and my daughter was enchanted with them, but I will NEVER do this again. Well, maybe if I wasn't passing them out to 20 little kindergartners. Perhaps when their parents help hang them on the Christmas tree I'll get a little deserved recognition, but that isn't why I did it, did I? No, I did it to see my little girl jump up and down with giggles and twinkles in her eye when she saw the tray of canal houses waiting for her on the morn of her birthday celebration.

Now I just have to keep my mind off of the ball I'm throwing for my little 5-year-old the weekend after Christmas and concentrate on Christmas itself. I've got very little time to prepare for the dinner itself, let alone the stocking stuffers and extra little items to stuff under the tree on Christmas morn. I still haven't wrapped those presents their grandma shipped over almost a month ago now. We'll be heading to Kalverstraat on Saturday for some of those last minute items and then I'll be ready to settle in for Christmas. I've got lots of ideas from a Sinterklaas gift, a BBC cooking magazine, so I'll be cooking up Jamie and Gordon's best dishes. Jungle Dad has requested there be 12 days of Christmas this year after he's seen all the recipes I've been pouring over so I'll do my best to accommodate his appetite.

This will likely be my last blog until after Christmas so "Merry Christmas" to all! Spend it in good cheer and with lots of love and hugs for the family members you can hold close to you this year.

We Favor Rejects

Fri, 14 Dec 2007 09:46:40 GMT

As a child we've each had our favorite stuffed animal from time to time. Not unlike the rest of us, our babies have each happened to fall in love with bunnies, but not just any bunnies. Please let me explain my bewildered state of mind over their choice in childhood loves.

The first animal my daughter, Spider Monkey, fell in love with was a scrawny pink bunny my mother had sent as an extra little something in an Easter-themed gift box. I loved everything in the box, but that ugly cheap bunny. It wasn't your really soft and cuddly top of the line version of a stuffed animal and came attached with wires in its ears to keep them positioned straight up in the air. She had so many other really lovely and expensive stuffed animals already that I admit I was very tempted to throw the scraggly thing out, but I never got the chance. She grabbed onto those ears and didn't let got for years. In almost every picture of her from that time until the age of 4 or 5 she's dragging that bunny around behind her. The wires gave out and ended up in balls at the base of the ears closest to the head, the color is faded after many many a wash but is still recognizable as pink, though I can't say that for the ribbon around her neck except that it hasn't been lost, and the fur is just as scraggly as it was the first day we got it but hasn't sustained any rips or bare spots. This bunny has lost it's "favorite" position in her long line of stuffed animals, but has a prime position on her bed every night none the less.

When Squirrel Monkey was just and infant we were invited over to a professors house who had two girls and a basement stacked to the ceiling with boxes of cloths. She littered her living room floor with box after box of cloths and even though we left with bags of clothing I failed to make a noticeable dent in her collection. In a last attempt to create some space in her home she pulled out a box of baby toys as we were opening the door to leave. Already a house who had seen one baby and knowing there were more baby toys than I, myself, could store awaiting me at my own home I tried to pry the rest of my family away from the box. If you think it's hard prying a 3-year-old away from a box of toys, try prying a grown man away from one. He was set on bringing home a large connectivity set with marbles and things and last, but not least, a white and pink bunny with an elastic strap on its head that squeaked sweetly when bounced up and down. I laugh at myself when I recall the fight I put up over this tiny addition to our family. Again, my thought was the space in my tiny student-sized house and the many other possibilities of stuffed animals already existing at our house that in time she could fall in love with. It is rare that my man will put his oar in with regards to anything baby, so I relented and stuffed the thing in one of the bags in exchange for leaving the clutter of maze pieces and marbles behind. Once home he dug through those bags and pulled out the stuffed bunny enchanting her into a long relationship with the bunny. This bunny remains her favorite stuffed animal and sleeps in her arms every night to this day. It was once forgotten at her grandparents lake cabin in Montana and the adventure is etched in the annals of our family. The elastic strap used to bounce her up and down still serves its purpose even though it has given up its elastic abilities, the squeaker still squeaks just as pleasantly as the first time we heard it, though the thin fabric encasing it and its sea of beads is threadbare and almost see-through and the soft face has been kissed so many times on its nose that all the softness has disappeared leaving a bare patch of fabric which is still kissed long and hard regardless.

With the knowledge that my babies each had an affinity for bunnies I was determined not to let my third choose her own undesirable version. I was 9-months pregnant and on a mission to find a beautiful stuffed bunny for my baby to attach herself to. I waddled the mall up and down with tot, Squirrel Monkey, in tow. For hours I wandered from one store to the next in search of the perfect bunny for my baby until I found a snuggly soft white Ty bunny. The bunny came to the hospital with us and snuggled her from birth, but as the months wore on she showed no particular interest in the softness or the sweetness of this hard sought after bunny. Still, we brought the bunny with us to the Netherlands and I continued my efforts. Our new friends here began donating bags of toys and clothing (accepted gratefully since we came with only a few suitcases of cloths for our whole family) and after I let the children sift through and play with everything I started pulling aside the toys they didn't seem to take an interest in. One of the items I tucked away into a reject box was a small yellow bunny with an ugly plaid bow, but wouldn't you know that would be the one item all three of my children lamented over when it went missing. The big sisters scavenged the house until they found my hidden reject box and pulled that bunny right back out and presented it to the littlest of our monkeys, who welcomed it back with open and eager arms. They've been inseparable since. And my beautiful and soft white bunny? I have not given up complete hope. She tends to sleep with both in her arms, but when she cries out in tears, "Bunny!!!", we all know she's calling for the little yellow one. I foresee the short rough fur taking a beating in the washing machine for many years to come without affect and possibly the ugly plaid bow will eventually fade into something more becoming or happen to get lost somewhere between washing machine and baby arms . . .

Old-Time Fudge

Fri, 14 Dec 2007 08:47:10 GMT

Prep: 20 minutes

Cook: 20 minutes

Ingredients

2 cups sugar
3/4 cup milk
2 ounces unsweetened chocolate, cut up
1 teaspoon light-colored corn syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup chopped nuts (optional)
2 tablespoons butter

Directions

1. Line a 9x5x3-inch loaf pan with foil, extending foil over edges of pan. Butter foil; set pan aside.

2. Butter the sides of a heavy 2-quart saucepan. In saucepan combine sugar, milk, chocolate, and corn syrup. Cook and stir over medium-high heat until mixture boils. Clip a candy thermometer to side of pan. Reduce heat to medium-low; continue boiling at a moderate, steady rate, stirring frequently, until thermometer registers 234 degrees F, soft-ball stage (20 to 25 minutes).

3. Remove saucepan from heat. Add butter and vanilla, but do not stir. Cool, without stirring, to 110 degrees F (about 55 minutes).

4. Remove thermometer from saucepan. Beat mixture vigorously with a wooden spoon until fudge just begins to thicken. If desired, add nuts. Continue beating until the fudge becomes very thick and just starts to lose its gloss (about 10 minutes total).

5. Immediately spread fudge in the prepared pan. Score into squares while warm. When fudge is firm, use foil to lift it out of pan. Cut fudge into squares. Store tightly covered. Makes about 1-1/4 pounds (32 pieces).

Make-Ahead Tip: Up to 2 weeks ahead, prepare fudge. Store as directed.

Decking the Halls + The Best Puke Day Yet

Mon, 10 Dec 2007 15:04:16 GMT

Just call me Martha! I haven't been posting this last week because I've been up to my ears in creativity. I finished off a few final Christmas gifts which I'm leaving undisclosed for the moment due to certain readers. Suffice it to say it was the equivalent of writing, illustrating, and printing two books. The work that went into them can't be fully appreciated and I doubt I will ever take up the hobby full time because it was such a disappointment to have to do it all alone. There are several groups for this type of hobby back in the states and now I know why people get together to do this. Much like quilting, it's better with company. Otherwise it was just me with a mess spreading across the table and three rambunctious children screaming wildly through the house uninhibited.

My second project was to use up a bag full of beads which I had purchased last year for a project I never got around to. (I had bought several varieties and brought them home to match up with the colors in our bedroom intending on returning the rejects. I was still learning and the lesson from this experience was that sale items were not returnable, even if you actually returned them within the one week deadline stated on the receipt. I was so disappointed at having to spent 70 euros for beads I'd only use a quarter of that the whole project became a sore in the back of my mind best left completely alone.) While looking through some original ideas for Christmas ornament projects I could do with the girls I ran across this one. I envisioned myself wrapping up tassels, stringing them to the end of wire, passing them one by one to my children and watching them create one beautiful icicle after another. Little did I know how impossible it would be to, one, figure out how to create a tiny tassel and, two, interpret Martha's 4-step tassel how-to with a tiny photo of the four steps not any bigger than the tassel I was attempting to make. Here I was, so proud of myself for having purchased the extra materials while the kids were in school and had all my supplies on hand by the time they were done with their after school snack to sit down together and create, but I failed to realize there was a flaw in my plan. It didn't take long for the kids to figure out they wouldn't be stringing beads onto provided wire in a jiffy after mom threw a temper tantrum or two and banished them to the attic while I tried to figure out the instructions within the comfortable confines of silence. I think it was too late, I'd already muddled my brain as to how I thought my fingers should proceed and it was an hour and a half later that I'd actually created a complete and beautiful tassel. Sigh . . . It didn't take too long after that to get four strings made, ready and waiting at the abandoned posts, and I was soon keeping up with their fast demand. I made as many strings out of as much rope I had bought to tassel with and we'd still only used a quarter of those beads. Still, I'm a happier person now that I've created a Christmas masterpiece (mind you, even with moments of peace) with my children.

My next project was old-fashioned fudge which was meant to replace our "traditional" marshmallow mixture fudge. Not having access to the jars of marshmallow here in the Netherlands I took my new candy thermometer and ventured into the world of "real" fudge. I was intimidated. My mother scorned me in recent years saying her new fiance could make "real fudge, not that fake marshmallow kind" and I've since been dared to achieve it and, simultaneously, scared to fail. The chance presented itself this weekend and I pounced with determination. I succeeded and my husband has since begged me to trash all other recipes for this melt-in-your-mouth fudge. I set aside the best pieces for a dinner party we were invited to and saved the scruffy edges for our tree decorating evening.

My neuroscientist husband had a rat to take care of this weekend so we didn't see much of him. I was very disappointed that we did not have time to get a Christmas tree on Saturday and by Sunday I'd given up on the whole idea and figured all that fudge would be eaten throughout the rest of the week without the Christmas tree tradition. Then, around 5:30 Sunday evening, my man came tromping in through the back gate with a Christmas tree over his shoulders. He'd found the last one in a the next town over and walked with it the entire way home. I'd say he made up for missing the family outing last year. Hmmmmm . . . it seems I have left it out of the blog last year probably because of the heart breaking effect it had on me. I suppose you'll want a recap:

I'd learned of the places I could find a Christmas tree from a new friend, although she didn't realize we had only our bikes to get us to and from and the place she mentioned was not easily found via bike. Still, I was willing to attempt the process with the reward being great activities and concessions to be found and the kids were guaranteed to love it. I'd planned the day out starting with traveling to pick up the tree, bringing it home, eating sweets, and decorating it with the few items we'd picked up here and there during our holiday shopping. The key to this day was actually having my husband come home from the office at a prearranged time. The girls and I waited hour upon hour for him to come home and we could wait no longer. The table was set with sweets, the floor was cleared for the tree, and yet there was no father to take us on the excursion. They were in tears and I gave them the option: wait for another day when dad can join us or head out on the bike right now to pick up a tree on our own. They have proven to be as impulsive as I and so I was not surprised at their immediate answer. We headed out into the cold and rainy night to find our tree. Because we only had an hour left before the stores closed I only visited the nursery down the road. We bagged the tree and went in search of a stand with no luck. I reached the conclusion that nowhere near had a stand for purchase and, determined to put the tree up that night, I stopped by said friends house and begged to use a spare stand in promise of eventually purchasing them a new one whenever I found a place that sold them. So off I went in tears through the rain with wet kids and tree piled in between them in the stroller behind my bike. We returned home to find the man of the house waiting for us. He'd chosen to spend 50 euros on a taxi to try and get home before the stores closed, but missed us anyway. It was one of the most miserable nights I remember of last winter. The tree was hacked into a pencil shape to fit into the borrowed stand and decorated in strange silence.

This year was just the opposite. Everyone was so thrilled to see a Christmas tree come through the door with Dad. Nobody was disappointed that it wasn't obtained in our traditional family adventure, but then you can hardly call picking up a pre-cut Christmas tree at a store the kind of outing we're used to. The table was quickly adorned with the home-made fudge, candy canes shipped from Grandma and Grandpa in America, hot chocolate with whipped cream on top and hot buttered rum for mom and dad. The tree was adorned with the newly made icicles and topped with the angel we brought with us from the states that my mother had made. The evening was perfect aside from the fact that Squirrel Monkey was ill.

She had taken ill suddenly upon arriving at our friends place for dinner the night before and we ended up leaving early because she was hovering over the toilet expecting the worst. She slept through the night, but awoke with a fever and aches in the morning. Literally, just as Dad walked out the door for work she threw up. I have learned not to take her bought's with puke days lightly as they normally result in a hospital stay for rehydration so I stepped up my efforts to keep her hydrated. I thoroughly expected her to fill the bucket every 5 to 10 minutes as usual, but instead the times she threw up could be counted on one hand from the time her father walked out the door to the entrance of the Christmas tree. Still, she lay limp and listless through the evening only peaking out of the slit of an eye to watch the decorating process, though she did partake in a candy cane as we thought the sugar and peppermint may do her some good.

At the time I am writing this blog she is eating her first full meal of oatmeal and apple and only running a low grade fever of 100.8 F. You've no idea how happy I am not to have ended up in the hospital again. That right there is something to be thankful for this Christmas.

Weekend With Sinterklaas

Mon, 03 Dec 2007 12:27:16 GMT

Sinterklaas and his Piets arrived in the Netherlands several weeks ago and we were among the crowds to greet him when he dropped anchor in our own little port just the other side of the town center. Boat loads of Black Pete's (Zwarte Piets) pulled up first and flooded the banks showering the awaiting crowds with tiny treats. Sinterklaas surprised us this year by rounding the corner in a car instead of taking the boat. We figured he's had enough of sailing since he'd come all the way from Spain and wanted to get his land legs back. We may have heard his explanation if Squirrel Monkey hadn't decided she could no longer hold her potty in and began crying in fetal position on the wet lawn. We were forced to exit the crowded park and find the nearest toilet which was many blocks away. By this time the family was ready to call it a day and we left disappointed in not having had the pleasure to hear Sinterklaas speak. He's paid us regular visits anyway dropping off chocolate letters, little cookies, and various little toys in our shoes if we remember to line them up at night and sing a song for him to hear. Actually, he's taken it easy on us as we're still so new to this region and he'll drop things in our shoes if we forget to sing, which we seem to have a problem remembering to do. He's leaving the Netherlands in a day or two and is making his final rounds and saying goodbye to all the little children and their grown parents, so we've seen a lot of him lately.

He stopped by the local Albert Hein on Saturday afternoon to fill a few shoes with goodies so we met him there while we picked up the kids' shoes. This was something Spider Monkey had been hesitant to do from the beginning. The week before his expected visit we were riding over with a shoe in each basket we stopped along the way to drop off a bag of dirty diapers in the diaper recycling bin she called me to a halt. "Mom, do we really have to go to Albert Hein? I mean, where are we going to put our shoes there? I feel kind of funny about this . . . do the Dutch people leave their shoes at the grocery store for Sinterklaas?" I laughed and assured her that if we didn't leave our shoes at the grocery store for Sinterklaas they'd certainly guess we weren't Dutch. Still a bit wary and reluctant to walk into the store with an old shoe in hand, she walked in to find a large table front and center overflowing with children's shoes. Each one of these children showed up on Saturday to claim their shoes and a rightful position on Sinterklaas's lap for a photo op and a bag of Albert Hein goodies from Zwarte Piet.

After returning home the girls could not keep their hands out of these bags and began devouring bags of chips, chocolate letters, skittles, yogurt juice boxes, and oranges with their new Zwarte Piet hats on. We were just in time to welcome good friends, Daphne and Bob, to our home. They must have run into Sinterklaas on their way over because he'd given them a few presents to give to the girls which he hadn't had time to slip into their shoes the night before. The girls delighted over their new toys and things while the adults spread out a table of all the season's goodies: candy, cookies, chocolate, and more. The evening progressed appropriately with handfuls of sweets and a dinner of powdered sugar covered poffertjes until we got to the hot chocolate. Between what happened next and our guests dreadful fear of cats I doubt they'll ever spend another evening in the Jackson Jungle.

First, we dished out the warm chocolate milk topped with whipped cream something which we have each done at one time or another happened, but for Squirrel Monkey it was her first time. She couldn't resist the hot chocolate and took a big sip of the scalding hot liquid and promptly spewed it all out over her pj's which resulted in a blistering mouth and bright red and burning legs. The scream which resulted is still reverberating through the house. We were just getting our hearing back and our nerves settled when the second incident occurred. Everyone was finishing their final sips of the delicious Dutch chocolate milk and Screech Monkey sat at the end of the table licking her lips. I was relishing the peace of the moment, for there had been few this evening. A momentary look of concern crossed her face and we watched as she did the cute little baby thing of pulling up her shirt and looking at her tummy. Just as I was about to comment on that big round tummy full of yummies she looked up and emptied them all onto herself and the floor. As I said, it was a date set up to be wonderful and yet determined to be full of the regular ruckus.

Sunday we attempted another get together with our adopted family, the Brinkhuijsen's. It is customary for families to get together and celebrate Sinterklaas on the day of his departure from the Netherlands to his "retirement" home in Spain. It is difficult to explain the traditional gift giving ritual as it is very quirky and while trying to explain this among other traditions they just settled on inviting us into their family circle for the celebration. It was a memory never to be forgotten. Sinterklaas paid us a visit bringing along a few Zwarte Piets and even discussing each of our habits or bits of daily life he takes a particular interest in with us. Each child got a chance to sit on his lap and talk with him about the things he was most interested about in their life. The girls were still talking about their close encounter with the fatherly figure as they tucked under the covers for bed. He left behind a series of clues and games to help find several bags of wrapped presents for the family which the kids undertook with skill. Each family member took turns opening their gift and picking a present out for the next family member until the bag was empty, as well as our stomachs. As the day progressed we ate food and and followed clues and opened gifts at intervals until the grand finale: the adult presents. This is when it gets a little tricky to describe, so think quirky thoughts (No, Dad, not those kind of adult presents!). This family does as we sometimes do for Christmas and they draw names to pick who is going to give a gift to whom. The person who you pick will likely have something unique about them and that is what you have to work with. It can be something to make fun of or it can be their hobby or about some recent incident which happened with them. So, you pick your "surprise" (pronounced in the French way), gag or good, and "wrap it" in something fitting. I say "wrap" rather loosely because this is the word which threw me off. The gift themselves are actually wrapped in wrapping paper, but the wrapped gift is encased in some form of the present which represents the gift and/or the person whom it is meant for. Example: My gifts were related to my cake decorating and were inside two boxes created to look like a staked cake, even with the candles on top! Along with each gift the present giver must make a Dutch rhyme/poem (Sinterklaasgedicht) about the gift and it is usually quite funny. These little ditties have to be read aloud to the room, of course. I have a feeling I still did not portray this exchange of gifts properly, but imagine an even more creative white elephant party with assigned gifts to fit each personality. It really was fun and the gifts really did fit each person.

An event took place at this final farewell party which brings up a topic worthy of it's own blog, though I will refrain from writing a separate blog only because the latest in this series of Screech Monkey antics just so happened to make quite a scene in front of the entire party. We all know that the jungle brings with it it's own amusement where ever it goes and Screech was determined that this party should be no exception. She's lately had a fascination with forks and requires the use of one whatever the meal in front of her consists of. If she finds her place setting void of one of her beloved forks she will let the household know of the mistake by yelling out, "Oh, f%*k!" as that is her best attempt at forming her little mouth around the word. Usually the incident occurs only within our own earshot and we giggle it off, even as she repeats the word in utter frustration if we take too long in fishing one out of the silverware drawer, "Fu%k! F#cK! Fu*k!". It made several giggles during Thanksgiving with family and friends and has continued to be pronunciation disaster even into yesterday. As mentioned, she's fascinated with the particular utensil and not only requires one for eating, but refuses to let it go even when she's done. Not restrained to her usual highchair at the party, she took to running off her sugar high in circles around the room with her favorite "f%$k" between bites while I desperately chased her down and either stole the said item out of her grasp or returned her to her plate. In the process of reaching for the dangerous utensil during one of these encounters one of my flailing appendages strait-armed her in mid stride. My other had thankfully acquired its target before the child was flung flat on her back onto the hardwood floor. The damage was more shock than pain and would have been forgotten if she hadn't realized her beloved "f&*k" was MIA. Amongst her screeches of pain she began mourning the sudden loss by reproachfully calling out for her lost implement over and over again in the midst of concerned onlookers, including Grandma. If you can imagine the sight my swearing child made at that moment than you've got an acute sense of humor and are worthy of reading the adventures and scrapes Our Blooming Jungle can get itself into. A mispronunciation for the baby book indeed.

Loving Baby Time

Thu, 29 Nov 2007 08:55:16 GMT

A few of my baby's favorite things.

This morning we went for a walk, my baby and I. A girlfriend informed me of a bad throat ache so I took it upon myself to bring her some of Grandma's famous cure-all tea. It gave me a chance to walk with my girl without the usual rush involved in transporting the other girls to and from school. We met some friendly puppies along the way and investigated dropped rose hips all mushy on the ground. She informed me in her baby Dutch language that they were "bahx", that last part being a lovely guttural "g". She's progressing about the way I did: I turned everything from "ck" to "ch" into a guttural "g" in my journey to incorporate it into my regular vocal sounds.

I began the process of teaching her the difference in paths, a vital survival skill here in the Netherlands. She has a tendency to wander freely between foot path, bike path, and auto path and there is no better time than now to start the training as to which path her own two feet belong. As we walked down these paths and I repeatedly pulled her off of the red-paved bike path and either scolded her, scared her, or explained the differences in colors and their meaning I watched the grandmas walking their dogs eye me in curiosity. Actually, I understood their look quite clearly (as you may remember all emotions are betrayed quite clearly on the faces of the Dutch women, good or bad); they were giving me the look which said, "Oh, I remember those days . . . if only they had lasted a little longer." And for once I was not looking back at them challengingly and wishfully thinking they could trade places with me any moment they chose to step in. No, I was thoroughly enjoying every moment with my little toddler. She'll likely be my last and I am not going to let these little moments slip out from between my fingers so easily. Likely, no matter how hard I try to hang on to them I'll always be one of those grandmothers walking her dog on the frosty morns gazing at a young mother and wishing time hadn't run away with me so fast anyway.

Last night after I gave her a hug and kiss before turning out the light and closing the door she held her bunny (pictured above) up to me to land a goodnight kiss onto as well. When I gladly bestowed a precious mother's kiss on her bunny she held up her other favored bunny for another. After I'd kissed them both she delightedly tucked each under her arms and prepared to sleep with a huge smile on her face. I am glad those simplicities still mean so much to her. The older girls were just as charming in the things which gave them a smile before sleep, but these were more mature. Spider Monkey felt happiness with a bit of pride over the breakthrough of actually liking school and her school work. Squirrel Monkey was just thrilled that her dress that Grandma Nett made for her still fits and a new discovery was made: when sitting on the floor with it on she can spread it out in a large and beautiful circle of satin around her. Both of these are precious, but there is something so sweet about a baby taking joy in the mother's shared kisses with her snugglies.

Conveniences

Wed, 28 Nov 2007 16:41:05 GMT

1. Our toddler, Screech Monkey, discovered how to open the doors just after we bought a kitten whom we'd prefer to trap inside and on the first level of the house only.

Why is it that when I really wanted her to learn how to open the doors she would not? Rather, she would scream and throw a temper tantrum the minute she got to the door dividing our lower level to the entryway/stairs regardless if I was standing right on the other side or not. Suddenly, the moment we get a kitten and actually had a need for that door she can open it multiple times a minute out of sheer pleasure of the accomplishment, unfazed by the frantic yells and screams as I try and keep the kitten caged. Just as this new accomplishment is getting old she discovers the backdoor works the same way. This is actually convenient because . . .

2. Squirrel Monkey has suddenly formed a sleep walking habit.

We heard the girl wake up and walk downstairs in the middle of our peaceful sleep. We often joke about her because it never seems to fail; the minute we drift off she will awake and let out this long and dreadful whimper as she pitter patters as fast as her little feet will take her down to the toilet. This happens almost like clockwork every night and it normally gives us a giggle. This last time was void of the accompanying whimper, but upon her return to bed the whimper began in an additional state of panic. She'd returned to bed and couldn't find her blanket and worst of all, she had to go pee. Hmm . . . something just didn't add up. While she went to the toilet we searched the house for her blanket which was hanging out around the open first level door. Upon further inspection she'd also moved around some of the furniture (the cat slept through it, even when she was sleeping on the same chair which was moved) So, we'll be keeping those doors locked now. But this is not the only way she has amazed us lately.

3. It just so happened that the day my diaper dumping toddler decided to use her toilet training it was in the presence of her big sister, Squirrel Monkey.

This is what we heard exclaimed from the lips of our overjoyed child after the incident. Somehow the youngest let it be known that she required the use of her training toilet and the older thought it best to remove all lower articles of clothing along with the diaper. What to her surprise, her little sister sat on that provided toilet and used it for more than just the liquid excrements. She then proceeded to let the little sister run loose as she disposed of the little extras into the toilet, wiped it clean with toilet paper, and flushed. Then they both proceeded to storm the room with huge smiles expecting cheers from the stands. I knew I was putting off training that kid for a reason . . .

Learning to Ride

Wed, 28 Nov 2007 13:24:20 GMT

Shortly after our arrival home after our huge European Vacation we decided our 4-year-old was well past the age to be learning how to ride a bike without her training wheels. The kids in the Netherlands seem to be riding their bikes before they can walk. Granted, you see the few who still have training wheels, but it always amazes me to see these kids who are no taller than their bikes who are riding right alongside their parents. I don't know how they do it, but I think the Dutch were just born to ride their bikes. Some friends who came up a month ago or so were amazed to see the rows and rows of bikes and lines of bike traffic weaving in an out of the auto and foot traffic. It is often likely to find one or two of these small fry being escorted alongside one of their parents.

I am afraid to say that Squirrel Monkey did not attain Dutch citizenship this day. She gave up after a few failed attempts and preferred to pose for the camera in front of the slide leaving her father let down and exhausted after his workout. After a month or so of renewed attempts he resigned defeated and put the training wheels back on, albeit a little lopsided just for some extra encouragement.

Now I've got a "real Dutch person" teaching her on a smaller bike and with a little peer pressure as one of her little boyfriends learned how to ride just last week without training wheels (his mom volunteered for the task). Still . . . she'd rather look all cutsie than show off on two wheels.

What a little stinker! Think she'll ever learn? Sure, but not on the Regular Dutch Standard Timeline.

Keeping Pace

Wed, 28 Nov 2007 11:01:49 GMT

I'm making an early New Year's resolution: I will not continue to keep playing catch up! You've seen it in the blog, if only you could see it in my life. Everything is two steps ahead of me . . . or is it that I'm two steps ahead on the wrong path? Well, whatever the case, I'm living on the wrong plane and must settle my feet back down on the firm ground of reality, this blog issue being just one of them. If you knew how many drafts I've got sitting in my file folder right now you'd be shaking your head with disbelief at the amount of reading you'd be up against, so let's not mention the amount of writing I'd be up against. We all know that I do this writing out of my own joy of doing it with a tad bit of the therapeutic release element thrown in once in a while. Neither of these elements have been present as of late. I look at that mountain of undone, past due, forgotten, buried with unmarked headstones, and "please forget me's" and either slowly avert my eyes or high tail it out of there. So, I will begin now by going back to my normally way of blogging. This is my life . . . today. Yes, you've missed a big chunk of what's been going on in the process of my long and groaning race to catch you up to speed, but I assure you snippets will appear when they are warranted. I will not be among the brave few who dare to blog every day because, as I mentioned above, my life in general is suffering the same bad affects of whatever it was which put me here in the first place. I mean, I had kids so I could enjoy them, right? I moved to the Netherlands so I could enjoy it, right? I got a kitten so I could sit down with her purring on my lap, right? Well then, so be it!

Today . . . right now . . . my little kitten who is growing so fast is sleeping on my lap between my ever expanding "jiggly belly" and the warm laptop. My two oldest daughters are in school and learning at their proper rates with a few chocolaty incentives awaiting them in the lazy susan as a well earned reward. Yes, we've taken drastic measures to help cure them of their continued dilemmas at school, so let's hope this works. My two-year-old is taking her one nap for the day. I have given up on switching to the one afternoon nap as that just isn't the way she wants it to work out. So I give her a snack before her 11 o'clock nap and she sleeps well past lunch when she'll have her own separate lunch. This is supposed to tide her over until her father can arrive home between 6:30 and 7:00 for dinner, but it actually doesn't, even with several snacks in between. We're still working on that. My tummy is growling so loudly that the kitten is waking up in fear. Our cash in the bank is again at an extremely low point and with only €200 left for the whole month of December I've decided to see how much chocolate I've put in reserve in that every growing tummy of mine. No snacks for me, no evening wine, not even the cheap juice they're so fond of here. I've got the most extra reserves of the family so I'll give up some of my portions and dish my "budget meals" out to the rest to try and keep our daily spending below €10's a day. Something I know I could have done back in the states, but which seems an awfully hard thing to pull off in these expensive parts of the world. I've tried before and without success, but I'm armed with new really cheap meal recipes and hopefully a better determination: growling tummy, no Christmas tree, and empty Christmas stockings! I'm bound to make it work this time and I know I'll be rewarded at the end of the month with my husbands Christmas bonus and his reimbursement for the extremely expensive trip to the states last month. Yes, we'll have to pay off the credit card with most of that money, but thankfully the American dollar is doing really poor right now so we should be able to pocket a few left over euro's out of it in the end. Maybe even enough for him to get his dream car . . . he he he. I laugh at this because my husband is "going European" out of sheer desperation. He cannot justify his hour to hour and a half bike rides or bus-metro-bus trips into work so he's set his sights on a scooter. Can you blame me for laughing at the thought of my American man hopping on his little scooter everyday for work? It will be cold and wet no doubt and it will eat a lot of our cash, but in the end if it gets him a few extra minutes a day with his family or, as I'm sure he likes to see it, a few extra minutes a day to get that work done in the office than it is worth it. Well, we'll see. As for this very moment I am a very determined woman and will stick to these ideas until I beat them or they beat me. Again, we shall see.

We're On The Road

Tue, 20 Nov 2007 17:55:58 GMT

I had a number of blogs I wanted to get out before this moment arrived, but I find myself sitting in front of the computer for the last time I will have before we travel for Thanksgiving. I promise I will explain the name Antje and all that comes with it when I return. In the meantime, I hope you all have a blessed Thanksgiving. Travel safely and eat heartily! Enjoy all those wonderful American dishes that we can only "rig up" in hopes of a similar success. We're going back to my uncles country cottage in France again this year. If you'd like a taste of what we're looking forward to feel free to roam back to the entries of last November or look through the photo album.

Au revoir!

The Jackson Clan

Battle Lines Drawn for Nothing

Fri, 16 Nov 2007 09:58:27 GMT

Continued . . .

So we've experienced the long period of expectation and let down concerning the addition of a little kitten into our already bungled jungle, but this was all for nothing. As it turns out my man had already waved his white flag in the air, just where none of us could see it. He knew the minute he walked through the door that night and saw the kitten in the house that we all needed a little cuddly kitten. He's a very smart man, you've got to hand it to him. I personally think he just wanted to see the lengths I would go to get a kitten because he has not been particularly happy with the cleanliness of the house the past few months and maybe wanted to see if any of us would or could forget about the little joys a kitten/cat could bring. At some point in this train of events he began the secret hunt of a kitten to no success. He had not put as much effort into the search as I had silently behind his back and did not know you could rarely find kittens in a pet shop and if you could everyone here knows you just don't get them from there because they are usually infested with all ranges of illnesses. He unceremoniously confessed his failure in the search and gave me leave to take over for him. He only requested to be able to pick up the kitten and present him/her to the family as a surprise on his way home from work so that was my aim.

I had a girlfriend help me with marktplaats.nl (the Netherlands version of eBay which I do not particularly get along with) to see if there were any remaining litters of little kitten in the Netherlands. To my utter surprise there were several "nests" within biking range giving me my choice of leads to follow up on. It all happened rather quickly because I did not want to miss out on any of these last chance offers, so after we arranged a viewing ASAP. My man had only one request: striped and friendly demeanor. The baby and I were assigned to the project.

The trip wound its way along canals and past old country homes and pastures of cows and sheep. When we arrived at the address a typical Dutch farm house awaited us with large barns surrounded by large pastures, a pen of geese and ducks in the front yard and a rambunctious puppy to jump up and kiss our faces in welcome. It very much reminded me of my childhood home . . . just another countries version of the same. I never had luck taming the wild kittens born on my childhood ranch, but I was certain the farm breed was the best there was to find. The kittens were born and raised in the farmhouse kitchen and a few greeted us by running to the door as we opened it and licked our hands. I made note of these who showed the obvious signs of preferred social behavior and the first one to the door had caught my eye particularly. I followed her back to her siblings and picked her up to see how she'd respond. She purred and curled up in my arms long enough for me to become convinced I'd better put her down if I wanted to ever consider another kitten. The kittens were of all colors and temperaments and I was particularly tempted in a beautiful white cat with blue spots, but was disenchanted with her shy temperament. The dominant male of the litter was fat and happy and rolled over to let me rub his belly without so much as a nibble, but when I was informed he was actually the most feisty of the bunch and woke everyone up in the house with his howls at 6am I had to reconsider. Screech Monkey was taken with every striped red male she could grab, but I did not want another cat which looked so much like my favorite childhood kitten so ignored her interests. Then she found the kitten I had first laid eyes on and quickly nabbed her up by the tail. Anyone in his right mind would have quickly grabbed the helpless kitten from the godzilla of a child, but both adults in the room held back their instinctual impulses to observe the outcome. The kitten didn't resist a single bit and instead limply succumbed to the abuse while hung upside down by it's tail in the hands of this little monster of a child. It was settled. She was the cat for our household. Mother cat cuddled her rescued kitten, the monster was reprimanded, a deal was made, and I left knowing I had gotten the pick of the litter. Even the owner admitted she was most smitten with the very kitten I'd had my eyes on during the intercourse of the viewing. Now I only needed to wait an extra week for the rest of the weaning to take it's course and my man could pick up the surprise.

I was all atwitter for the entire week of waiting and could barely keep my joy a secret from the children. I dreamt of the kitten every night and could barely keep the smile off my face. I secretly went to our friends pet shop, bought the supplies, and hid them. We arranged the date to pick up the kitten but Mr. Monkey seemed shocked when I refused to let him carry the kitten in his jacket for the trip home. Not only did I think neither he nor the kitten would survive the ordeal, but I'd gone and bought a carrier just for the purpose. We do not have a car, but we have a bike cart; one that he couldn't reason into dragging behind him all the way to work and back when we could meet him at the farm after work. It just so happens that the day we'd arranged to pick her up was the coldest, wettest, and windiest day we'd seen in the Netherlands all fall. To convince the little monkey's the trip was worth it I told them we were going somewhere where a surprise was waiting for them. They'd falsely assumed we were headed towards a theme park or indoor playground and at the sight of a farm at the end of our long and cold journey they were in no mood to be excited. Our little adventure only charmed the Squirrel Monkey and she joined me in entering the farmhouse where a few remaining kittens lay in a box awaiting their new owners. My precious dream of a kitten hopped into my arms and purred and my little daughter jumped up and down in excitement upon realization of a dream come true. We tucked her away into the carrier and returned the long cold journey home. I have to admit I was a little unsure that the long and cold trip was worth it after such an anticlimactic end, but once we were home and the man and his children were acquainting themselves with the newest addition to our family with smiles and giggles all doubts were forgotten.

Welcome home, Antje!

Six weeks old

The Long and Silent Battle

Thu, 15 Nov 2007 12:34:51 GMT

Continued . . .

The war began when he blurted I win every argument we ever have. The object was no longer about a cat, it was the fact that he could pinpoint one of my major human flaws. He was right. I do normally win every battle there is to fight in our relationship, but for the most part he can manipulate me into thinking his way is just another avenue to get my way. I set out to prove to him that I would not fight with him, because I really didn't want to be proven once again to get my way. Did I want a cat? Yes, but I did not want a cat at the expense of our relationship. I'd much rather have a happy husband than a cuddly cat. Did I secretly hope he'd love me enough to go out and steal my little kitty back from the afore mentioned undeserving household he originally came from or find another little kitten? Yes, but I also knew there were other issues to be dealt with first.

As it turned out, he had begun a cold the night he stepped through the door, saw the kitten, and sneezed. So it was still unclear as to the status of his allergies. I did some research and found out you can drastically reduce the symptoms by cleaning daily and using special HEPA filters via vacuum or air purifiers. We did not have anything HEPA but I looked into them (along with the prices of return tickets to the states, the cost of shots, food, litter, and passport). I also began the routine of daily cleaning according the standards it would take to keep the allergens down to minimum. All this I did in silence. Though I have to admit I hoped he'd notice the cleaning. He did and when he asked I mentioned the fact that I'd looked up how to keep allergens to a min. He said nothing more. At some point I became ill and, satisfied that I could keep to the rigorous cleaning schedule and that he was no longer interested in my attempts, I stopped. Why clean so hard when you don't actually have the allergens to deal with in the first place?

The kids were set on a kitten though and brought up the topic repeatedly. They also were rebuked by their father and soon they held their heads as low as mine, but I would often hear them mumbling amongst themselves solemnly, "we can't get a cat because daddy is allergic." I refused to encourage them and started bracing myself, like them, never to have a cat. Okay, so I wasn't completely silent about the issue. At one time I do remember mentioning something along the lines of "I will never have a cat, at least not until you die or I'm stuck in a nursing home." But surely he understood that as an irrational outburst during an overdue heated conversation about this silent issue, right?

I refused to blame him for our lonely circumstance. He had not shown signs of allergy to cats after he'd been taking the allergy shots for a while, but you never know if the trick worked until you've tested it after having not had the shots for a while. He also had experienced the same wild and obnoxious trailer park cats and certainly that memory still weighed heavily on the side against getting a cat. He was also reasonable to consider the cost of a cat and the difficulties it could bring in finding a place to live once we get back into the states. Though ,after talking with a friend back in the states who has two cats of her own, I had my friend have her husband send my husband an email detailing their easy experiences with finding an apartment. Surely it was just happenstance that we broached this topic and upon hearing my yearning desires nothing could keep her from forcing her husband to write this letter . . .

Maintain my silence I did. I kept quiet until I was quite certain the time of kittens was long gone and even if he did want to surprise us he would never be able to find a kitten until next summer. All hope was lost and I began my silent mourning. It was painful to know I would never have a kitten, but I would not let him know. I would only let my tears fall silently down my cheeks in hopes that he would~~n't~~ see. He did and mentioned that he'd even considered getting us our own kitty, but that I didn't seem to be able to keep the house clean. Maybe a normal wife would have gotten on her knees, begged, and promised to keep the house clean if only she could get a precious little kitty. Instead I took quite an offense at this and seeing as the time of kittens had already passed I opened the floodgates and began the argument anew.

"I will not barter to get a kitten. I will not promise to keep the house spotless in return for payment of a kitten. And why keep the house spotless when the house is barren of kitten presence anyway?"

Famous last words . . .

A Cat For a Day

Wed, 14 Nov 2007 09:02:48 GMT

As you know, I had been dealing with emotional up's and down's as the honeymoon phase with the beautiful Netherlands wears off. There have been instances in my life when I experienced mood swings or bouts of insecurity, but I never felt the need for anything extra to help me cope. No, I will never be dependant on anything else to make me happy because I am a happy person and will fight my way through any circumstance life my throw at me, although I would consider a natural element proven to calm the distressed soul and smooth the moods: a cat. I'd grown up with cats and loved them until we'd lived in a trailer park overrun with senior citizens and their armies of unkept cats. The experience left me disgusted at the thought of ever owning a cat but, as fate would have it, something recently happened which made me reconsider the possibility.

Vacation was over, the man was back in work, the kids were back in school, and I was settling back into my routine days. We were preparing for bed and, as I am always the first one done with the evening hygiene routines (my man can take longer than a teenage girl in the bathroom) I lingered next to the bedroom window for some brief reflections while looking out into the dark backyards before tucking under the covers. While I was observing the quiet neighborhood I heard the tiny cry of a kitten and I thought to myself that one of the neighbors must have gotten a new kitten while we were away. I waited to hear the response of the happy owners back door opening to let the little thing in but it never came. The kitten continued to cry and I couldn't shake the feeling that the cry was coming from our own backyard. So strongly did this haunting me that I snuck downstairs, peeked my head out the door and gave a quiet "here kitty, kitty, kitty" call. After no response I shook my head and returned to warm the covers, but was awoken early the next morning with the same small cry. I do not pull myself out from under those warm covers easily, but for this little cry I did. Again I peeked out the window and saw nothing.

The morning progressed as normal. My man ate and ran out the backdoor to hop on his bike for a long ride to work. My children ate and I rushed them out the door to get into their classes on time. I returned and loaded my littlest onto the bike and off we went to stock up on the daily groceries. Upon return I again heard that small cry. I was sure it was only wishful thinking that the kitten was in my own yard and continued to unload the groceries, again waiting to hear the kittens owners respond with the opening of a backdoor. There was no response and I couldn't ignore the cry any longer. I started digging through the jungle of a backyard garden that we have and grew increasingly certain that the kitten was indeed somewhere in my very own yard. The bushes were thick and I had a hard time digging through them, but deep in the center of the thickest growth was a beautiful and terrified kitten. Once the way was opened for him he bolted into our home via the open backdoor.

This kitten received all the sympathy any abandoned kitten could have wished for. He got pampered and loved and fed and naturally made himself at home. He was a smart cat and responded to "nee" (no) and loved to snuggle. I knew I couldn't get too attached because we might find his owner, but he really was a great cat. We got our neighbors involved in the search for his owners and at the sight of him even they wanted to keep him. The kids knocked on doors to no avail. The kitten would stay with us until we were sure it's owners wanted him back. Or until the master of the house returned from work . . .

He has many allergies, one of them being cats. When he had his allergies tested the cat allergy did not show up as one of his most severe, but he got shots for the allergy along with the rest just so he could enter a friends house who owned cats without going into fits of sneezing. He's been off the shot treatments since we moved to the Netherlands and we have not had a chance to see if they've stuck, but we've always resigned ourselves to the fact that we'll be a household which will never have a cat. This was again confirmed when he walked through the door, witnessed a kitten in our house, sneezed, and tossed it out the door into the rain. I had promised my neighbor that I would be a proper caregiver of the cat, more specifically, I would not put the kitten out into the predicted evening rain. I begged my man not to leave the kitten out in the cold rain and he proceeded to accuse me of always getting my way in any argument, which immediately turned a little cat spat into a full blown argument.

While were were bickering about anything within the range of "will we ever be able to have a cat" to "why can't we pull the poor kitten out of the rain" my neighbor heard the pitiful cries of the rain-soaked kitten and took him in herself. They debated themselves whether or not to could keep the perfectly cute little kitten until a call was made to their own man of the house who knew of a neighbor who recently had a litter of kittens. She took the drenched kitten to this house where a man opened the door, unfeelingly admitted to be the owner of said cat and took him back. She reported to me later that she felt bad giving the poor kitten back to such a house which didn't even seem concerned at the loss of him.

To be continued . . .

Tagged for 8

Tue, 13 Nov 2007 09:33:41 GMT

It seems my friend, Brenda, has chosen to hear what curiosities I may be able to come up with for this taggie. With so many habits to choose from it's going to be hard to narrow them down to just eight. I asked my dear husband what he thought I could list as part of my facts or habits and he came up with some particularly unpleasant personality traits which got me thinking. I was quite tempted not to list them, but upon some reflection I've chosen to give you a window into my life.

Here are the rules. (1) Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves. (2) People who are tagged need to write a post on their own blog (about their eight things) and post these rules. (3) At the end of your blog, you need to choose three people (I've changed it from the ridiculous number of eight) to get tagged and list their names. (4) Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

1. I was feeling a little down with myself after having my quirky qualities listed and wondered why I have friends at all. You may be surprised, but I have real superior quality friends. Even my husband wonders how I've landed such good friends. Here is my answer:

What's Your Best Quality? Your Result: Personality Your best quality is your personality! People like you because you are an all around good person. You have good manners and values. You also like to express your personal style and interests.
Loving
Out-Going
Intelligence
Sense of Humor
Ambitious
What's Your Best Quality? Take More Quizzes

2. It seems personality is the glue which attracts these wonderful people to me. Only you'll laugh when you see how many disorders that personality has got!

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid Personality Disorder:	Moderate
Schizoid Personality Disorder:	Low
Schizotypal Personality Disorder:	Moderate
Antisocial Personality Disorder:	Moderate
Borderline Personality Disorder:	Very High
Histrionic Personality Disorder:	Very High
Narcissistic Personality Disorder:	High
Avoidant Personality Disorder:	High
Dependent Personality Disorder:	Very High
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder:	Moderate
-- Take the Personality Disorder Test -- -- Personality Disorder Info --

3. According to that ever so observant husband of mine I only think in black or white. There is absolutely no grey in my world. So I took that point of view into the personality disorder test and answered all the questions with a very black and white view, which wasn't hard to do. Except for the questions which asked if I "often" feel or act in a way (hubby stood amazed that I even knew the meaning of the word "often") I answered the questions according to even single moments in my life.

4. Have I ever wanted to commit suicide after a breakup? My hometown had a tree on the main street decorated with flowers reminding me every time I passed of the boy who ran into it with his motorcycle after his girlfriend broke up with him. After that I wondered if I could commit suicide after each breakup.

5. Have I ever been in jail or done something which should have landed me in the slammer? Though the few key chains I pocketed from Spencer's with my friends in my pre-teen years may not have been enough of a crime to get me a juvenile mug shot and fingerprinted, the fact that I thought they should means the answer must be "yes".

6. Do you believe you have special extrasensory abilities (ability to "sense" a person's presence, for example)? Yes, for sure! I always knew Bigfoot was out there wandering our mountain no matter how much the rest of my family gave me grief over my convictions.

7. Have other people accused you of being cruel to animals or people? Absolutely. The one friend who actually scared me with her intensity to be my friend abandoned me in the midst of my second pregnancy because she didn't like the way I treated her son. She assumed it was a prediction of the sex of the child in my womb and figured I'd change back into the person she befriended before the pregnancy after I'd delivered. I guess I didn't change because we were never friends again. Curious . . . wonder why that friendship failed.

8. Have you ever exaggerated illness or other weakness in order to get attention? Are you kidding me? I just did! Though I really did take my answers to the extreme, as I read through the disorders there were too many truths to be ignored. I really do have an interesting personality, but please explain how I could be narcissistic and avoidant at the same time . . . Yes, my suspicions have been confirmed: I'm crazy.

Tagging my other crazy friends A Day in the Life of W, Daphne, and t i m.

He's coming 'round the mountain

Tue, 06 Nov 2007 09:49:44 GMT

Well, we've had our man out of the house since last Friday and all has gone well. The girls are just as feisty as ever and there have been a few moments when I questioned my sanity, but we've done this many times before, just not in a foreign country. Fortunately this country is not so foreign anymore and I feel I could at least get to the hospital if I needed (been there, done that). Scary thing is that I still cannot figure out the emergency number. I know it, but only after I second guess myself through three other sets of numbers I had somehow convinced myself of during our first few months here. Now I have it in my cell phone so if I can just keep my head on straight long enough to remember to look in my contacts we'll be all right. Again, sometimes I wonder about my levels of saneness. You'd think I'd suffered severe head trauma with the things I put myself through these days.

We talked with him through skype the yesterday. Fortunately he called just as we had a little mental breakdown on the part of Squirrel Monkey (A). I was working on a blog in which I had posted his picture at the top of and when she saw it she began to cry and lament about how much she misses him. As her sobs were picking up full speed we heard the ringing of a skype call. Her sobs picked up when she heard his voice and she spluttered out amongst tears how much she loved him and missed him and "when are you coming home?" I tell you, it brought tears to my eyes to hear how much she missed her father. With every other plane she sees flying through the air she remarks, "Daddy is on that plane, hu Mommy?" Maybe this trip wouldn't have been so hard on her if he wasn't going to San Diego. We were keeping our eyes on the news to watch the progress of the fires, not so much concerned about the fires, but more where they'd house the evacuees. If they filled the conference center than his trip may have been postponed or canceled. While the adults kept one eye on the status of San Diego the girls kept theirs on the fire. Tears again erupted when they found out we were shipping Daddy off to "that city" as if we were dropping him into the midst of a flaming hell. As they only see flames and smoke in the news then that must be what the entire city is consumed with, isn't it? How do you explain to them that the fires are a long ways away from the place where Daddy will be staying? If you remember a previous post you'll recollect that my children have a flare for the dramatic combined with a fear of the powers of nature. I am sure his return home with be even sweeter because of this death defying trip . . .

Blogging Backwards

Sun, 04 Nov 2007 13:33:49 GMT

This is one of those entries which has been written and rewritten several times over. How do you begin to write about normal life again after all those exciting entries of a glorious European vacation? Not that our normal life is anything close to boring, as you know it never is, but there are still those remaining feelings of let-down. I wish I could say it was just that. Let me be frank at this point and say that in each and every blog I've written to capture our "normality" has began with humor and smiles and ended in oozing with words from the pits of despair. No matter how hard I try or how smiley I am in the first paragraphs it always comes back to the same ol' depressing lines at which point I follow a wandering trail of rants until I can no longer listen to my pitiful cries and I walk away from the computer to finish another day. This time I am trying a new approach; I'll work backwards. Let's see if it works shall we?

We passed the day which marked our one year anniversary of our move to the Netherlands without mention or celebration. It slipped by in a frenzy of days which were jumbled together and unworthy of a backwards glance. It was just over a year ago that I found myself frustrated with the family, friends, and even strangers who would look at me with pity etched on their faces upon the announcement that I'd be taking my young girls and following my husband along his career path into a foreign country. The remark was almost verbatim from one person to the next: "And how are you with that?" I was irritated and angered at the thought that they should consider me some little wife who takes no part in the household decisions. We discussed our options together and made the decision together. Yes, I was the one who took the opposing position of the argument for months or weeks, I cannot remember which, but I was convinced of reason by the end and welcomed the inevitable adventure with open arms, just as I had our last assignment in life. (History Note: After graduating from undergrad with Cum Laud with a double major in Physics and Physics Engineering my husband was offered a very prestigious and high-paying position at the local Hewlett Packard and I was more than happy to settle down in a house with a back yard and a few kids right where we were; he was not. The position offered him little enthusiasm and he claimed he'd either be bored out of his mind in 5 years or have been laid off only to have to find some position who knows where, so I followed his dream of becoming a neuroscientist under the premise that it was only four more years of school and he'd have his dream job. Not long after arriving at said school person after person laughed in our face when we mentioned the nice round number of four years; the program may have said four, but nobody actually made it out that early and "haven't you ever heard of post-docs before?" He graduated with his doctorate after six years in the program and we're off to finish the first of his 2-3 post-doc positions, the first of which we decided to do in the Netherlands, and I'm still dreaming of the house with a backyard, a minivan, a cat and a dog; the kids have passed from dream to reality and wait with me in the cue.)

So, how am I with that? If I've never confessed to having a tendency of naivety before this, I will here and now. What I should have taken as a warning from those friends, family, and strangers I took as fuel for burning tenacity. Unfortunately, that fuel has run out and I find myself sitting in a foreign country with no self-esteem and even less will power. Those friends and family seem like a mirage I don't even have the courage to look back over my shoulder at, but I've no lack of strangers and they're of a finer breed than what you can get in the states. These strangers come from a culture which doesn't know the meaning of "zip your lips". I was once confident in myself and sure of my steps, I knew how I wanted to parent and if I didn't I had the resources to find the answers. I also knew what I wanted to do in my life and how I wanted to get there. Suddenly I don't know any of that any more. A strangers slightest reprimand or disapproving look sends me shaking back into the dark and deep cavern I peaked out of. How did I transform into an unstable freak from the confident young woman I once was? I wish it could be summed up in one little paragraph, but try as I might the experiences and feelings which got me here cannot be contained in such a defined and simple space. If you read through these blogs over the last year you may find some of the veins that this corrupted blood has traveled, but likelier than not you'll just see the smiling mask we so like to hold up for the common passerby to see. I wrote a blog somewhat along these same heart-felt lines not too long ago and, other than the few brief comments, I got an email from one friend back in the states. This should encourage me but rather I only remember her advice that I should take some time for myself (us mothers know how easy that is) and instead of writing my heart into a blog maybe I should "just keep these things more private" and start writing in a journal. How come that last part bothers me so much? This is all I can say, I did not began this blog just so passersby could return a smile towards my mask. If you come here looking for the life of an expat you'll not be tricked into the assumption that all is rosy; you're going to get the truth here and if that means you'll bump into the few rocks we've hit, so be it.

I am now over the illusion that I can achieve the status of perfect parent, perfect spouse, perfect daughter, perfect sister, perfect neighbor, perfect friend, perfect anything. Did it take screwing up? Nope, it took realizing there are forces out there even I cannot compete with. I came here under the assumption I could catch whatever the adventure could throw at me, but here I stand with a couple black eyes and a shattered soul. As bad and lonely and depressing as that sounds, it is not, for I know my eyes will not be sealed shut forever and I will glue that soul back together with the darkened cracks to show what I have learned and to remind myself that I can pull myself together again and get through the few rough spots one can encounter in life. Even the ones I've thrown myself headlong into with full knowledge of what I could be getting myself into, because it is not the unexpected mishaps which bother me the most. It is the situations I expected to encounter and fully expected to conquer. I expected to walk away from this with a life defining moment or two, I just didn't fully grasp what it would take to get those results. Here I sit in the midst of that moment, the confidence is gone, only blind faith keeps me getting out of bed in the mornings and some clearer definition is awaiting me at some point down the path of my future. I hope it does not take too long as I've began to realize I cannot keep myself stable in the shadow of this valley. My children will attest to that and my husband will confirm with a rolling of the eyes and any number of peculiar antics to recall, but out of it that blind faith will lead me and I'll probably tell the next young couple I meet, just as any veteran mother might tell an expecting girl that the pain of labor is worth it, that the experience of moving overseas is an experience one should never omit in a life. Though, if you'd ask me at this very moment I'd have a list of reasons to stay home. Wanna hear 'em? I'd list them, but like me you'd probably shrug your shoulders, say something like "'tis to be expected", and board the plane anyway. Much like labor, you never can know until you've lived through it yourself. I could relate the transitional periods, the moments when you want to drop your bag of groceries, grab your kids and run the the 5 kilometers to the next flight home without stopping, the time you'll give up on ever speaking the language and swear you'll never utter another word of it your entire life, the time you delude yourself that the friends you've made have each become your enemies over night because one of them has turned a shoulder away for a moments breath away from your pain, or the time you yell at your children for stupid childish antics only because of your own frustration at life and then yell at yourself in the mirror for stooping so low below your own firmly set moral standards. I could list the bureaucratic loop-holes and the daily irritations which steal time and sanity from your deluded sense of order, but they'll remain unexplainable to maintain my current state of remaining sanity. Besides, you'd only laugh at me and tell me it's just all part of the game anyway. Some will even recall their own expat experiences in an attempt to relate or bring me a sense of cheer and prove to me that you can live through it and exit the other side with enough sanity left to remain seen as a normal human being, but like the woman in the midst of her labor I can only see two things: the pain of my current circumstances and the desired end to it all. These pains a friend could not comfort as not even my husbands valiant efforts have succeeded, it is a battle within the walls of my own limitations which only I can end. It takes a great amount of effort and strength to pull ones self out of their own weakness, but I think I've got hold of the rim. Just don't let one of the strangers or, worse yet, a friend come and give me a kick because the slightest insult could send me spiraling again. How degrading this has been. I admit not all expats could be in for the same experience as this may have just been the time in life for my own reclamation, and no better of a time could it have picked.

There are those days when I peek over the rim and see the sunshine and blooming paths of my future jungle and it gives me hope through those days when even trying to reach the rim seems impossible. Fortunately, I have many more days with views of bright paths and even the warmth of rays which reach my cheeks and it is those moments which I will focus on from here. If I slip into another reverie of despair just know that it is all part of the process and something which needs to be looked into to ensure I am not stepping into a false reality. So, onward ho! We will march across those rosy fields and seed some sunshine from where once it shone, because it has warmed the paths of this family on many more than one occasion since our return.

Here's to turning head and gazing in the direction of the son instead.

Where to Begin?

Tue, 30 Oct 2007 12:57:44 GMT

What an absence it has been since the last time I blogged about our normal life upon returning to the Netherlands. Can you believe it has been over two months since we returned from that romantic European vacation? I can. It has been a long road since we unpacked our bags and I would love to fill you in on all the details, but you'll only get the basics, some of the best and some of the worst. We've been busy with this or that and not wanting to break my vacation theme I wrote nothing in between. Once I was done I had several cake orders and as soon as I was ready to settle down to the keyboard our internet was turned off unexpectedly. This is an entire story in and of itself that I will not go into here, only know that it has not been entirely my fault for the lack of updates on this space. Neither has it been for a lack of material for we have had many surprises, travels and sorrows since August therefore I will continue to play the catch up game on patching together the details of our lives. This task should not take so long as those fun-filled two weeks of summer vacation as I have had a chance to outline some blogs with things I didn't want to forget (not that I'd have been able to forget these) and I have no cake orders awaiting me (I am neither happy or upset about this fact).

I'm back . . .