Thinking of the Cherry Tree

I am barely holding it together myself.

She has walked into my office, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her nose is crimson and her cheeks flushed with emotion. She flops into the chair beside my desk and waits until I hang up the telephone. I turn to her in query and the emotion breaks loose. Her thin shoulders heaving, the echo of sniffles resounding, I beckon for her to join me in my swivel chair and I pull this lanky 11 1/2 year old onto my lap. We sway from side to side as I gently coax answers from my overwrought pre-teen girl. Her words, choked through belly wracked sobs, lay out the tale from start to finish.

It's not an emergency--just a moment.

A moment with her teacher applying too much pressure and her peers too little understanding.

It is not the first moment like this in her life and it will not be the last.

It is as if suddenly being a middle schooler takes on a fully new meaning for her. Now it's not only about having a hallway locker, a new teacher for each subject, and a steady load of homework; it is about growing up.
And coming to terms.
And learning to cope.
More than anything, it's about learning to roll.

With my arms wrapped around her neck and my lips pressed against her ear, I whisper my encouragement.

I tell her that I believe in her.
I tell her she is strong and capable.
I tell her that I love her.

I wish I could tell her that growing up is going to be a breeze.

But I can't lie.

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

Wordless Wednesday

Hold That Thought

...I'll be back.

I promise.

Sink Your Teeth Into It

You remember my shadow? Here is another simply-must-be-shared moment with Maia. As told to me by her Mom.

"Mum, I want to bite my teachers."

"What darling? You want to bite your teachers? Whatever do you mean?"

"You know, I want to bite them over to my house."

"Oh, you want to invite them to our house! Well, that sounds lovely."

"Yes, I want to bite them over. My class teacher and my Dutch teacher and that one teacher with the perfect nose."

Wise Beyond His Years

Wordless Wednesday

Cause for Celebration

This one doesn't need much in the way of introduction, so by all means, press play and enjoy.

Possibly the only translation needed, the sign at the end reads: In case of a shoplifter we ALMOST always will report this to the police.

The Middle Road

When I was young, I longed for a middle name.
My parents didn't award one to the girls in our family at my Mom's insistence that once married we would never use a middle name again (she didn't) so I was middle nameless for the first 23 years of my life. Of course, not having a real middle name didn't stop me from making up one of my own. In bold childhood scrawl you can read it on all my first grade papers:

Jennifer Jane.

My brothers still tease me relentlessly about it, but I thought it had a lovely ring.

Once married, I did indeed move my maiden name to the middle slot and for the first time was the proud owner of a middle name. It appears on my drivers license as well as my passport. I sign legal documents with that name smack in the middle between my first and last. Though certainly it doesn't carry the same ring as my self imposed JENNIFER JANE, it does carry the legacy of who I am and so it will do.

For the past 18 years I have been proudly identified as Jennifer Gwilliam Taylor. No worries, no questions, no problems.

And then I got a job in The Netherlands.

As best as I understand it here, all work documentation for a married woman needs to be done with her maiden name as the identifier. Suddenly at my intake with the HR department I became Jennifer Taylor-Gwilliam.
Fine. No worries, no problem.

Except.

That's not how my identification reads and for whatever reason, or set of reasons, it took positively FOREVER for those working on my file and/or writing my contract for the school year to get their minds around the fact that what LOOKS like my middle name is indeed my maiden name.

Yes, hi Jenn. I just have another question about your maiden name.

Sure. okay.

Yes, my question is what is your maiden name? I see we have here written that it is G-W-I-L-L-I-A-M but on your passport that name is your middle name.

Right. In the states, as is custom, when I married, my maiden name became my middle name.

Yes, all right. So your middle name is your maiden name?

Yes. That's exactly right.

So you don't have another middle name?

No, I have no other middle name.

Just your maiden name?

Right. My maiden name is my middle name.

Yes, okay, I think I understand.

Before you think to yourself that a single conversation sorted this controversy I am going to ask you to think again. And then think again. Right after you are finished thinking, please commiserate with me over the fact that I have had this conversation or some version of it no less that 7 times in the last two weeks.

A middle name is proving to be the bane of my existence.
I really should have stuck with Jane.

AND NOW, with that exceptionally long introduction I am going to play a tag given to me by both Gunfighter and Songbird. I don't really know the rules and even if I did I am bound to not follow them. If you really want the details I am sure you can scout it out for yourself. But as I remember, I am supposed to define my middle name by identifying something about myself with each letter.

G--Grateful. The gratitude list in my life is endless. I am exceptionally grateful for my family, immediate and extended, and for my friends.

W--Willful. As in unbelievably stubborn. But only when it comes to personal expectations and goals. In all other things I am a great team player.

I--Insightful. And occasionally creative.

L--Loving. Even to spiders and other creepy-crawlers. I will carefully scoop them up and carry them tenderly to a new place to make a better home for themselves than say, spinning a web on my bike handlebars or living inside my shoe.

L--Loved. Lucky, lucky me.

I--Inspired. By my friendships; my relationships; and the beauties of the earth.

A--Attached. To people, to sentiment, and to truth.

M--Mixed up and a little confused. But that's what keeps me interesting, right?

You want to play? Then, tag! You're it!

Breakfast of Champions

That's My Girl

Wordless Wednesday

Let Them Roll

It's that time again! Thanks to Momma K and Lindsay who developed and host it each and every month, we have once again arrived at PERFECT POST day.

It is my pleasure to present this award to Whiskeymarie at Never what you think it should be... for her post My Inner Esther. When I read this, I laughed until the tears flowed. Go read it and see if the same thing happens to you.

Congratulations WM! There are always good things happening at your place.

*****************************************************

The good things happening at my place look a little like this:

Jams O'Donnell of The Poor Mouth shared a little award with Allison and me. He feels our new photos only site--Looking Into--deserves the Creative Blogger award.

Isn't that cool?

Jams is a cool cat out of the U.K. I meet him often on Wordless Wednesdays and enjoy his photography immensely. This award means a lot coming from the likes of him.
Cheers Jams and thank you so much.

(If you haven't been to the new site yet, I'll make it easy for you. Just click here to visit.)

Now, last things last, there is one more place I want to send you. Scribbit has been talking about me and if you are interested to see what she has to say, you can pop over to her blog and read this. If you don't want to go, you don't have to. However, if you don't click over, you'll miss the picture.

But whatever, do what you want....

It's all good.

A Matter of Taste

From a conversation with 5-year-old Maia, my new friend (and shadow) at the ISH.

"Maia, I have to go down to the storage area right now, do you want to walk with me?"

"Oh, yes!"

"C'mon then. Can you carry this?"

"Okay."

*walk, walk, walk, walk...

"You know, Maia, I sure like your red hair. It's beautiful."

"I don't grow red hair! I only grow brown."

"Hmmm. Well, it sure looks strawberry to me."

*Maia pulls a lock of hair forward to look closely at the color then touches the strand to her mouth.

"No, it's mostly chocolate."

Points of Light

The brand new campus for the International School of the Hague is something of a monumental wonder. I cannot account for the years of planning and designing, I wasn't around for that. I was neither nearby at the groundbreaking nor at hand during the bulk of the construction. I was around for the finishing touches as the school opened in 2006, while construction was still underway for a good portion of the massive building. I also was there for the ultimate Grand Opening Celebration, which was attended by the Queen herself. That was a seriously cool moment. A glorious morning of pomp and circumstance, and a glimpse of Her Majesty Queen Beatrix.

Seriously cool.

I have attended various events over the last school year, and certainly have been in my daughter's classroom multiple times. (Not my son's though, a Mama cannot hover around a middle schooler's classes, no! That is seriously NOT cool.) Each time I am in the building or on the grounds I have discovered something new and unique to its architecture. Every time I see it, I am in awe.

This week has been no exception. It is an impressive place.

Without rival in my mind, the best bit is the massive amount of glass used in the design. Large windows let the light pass unabated through the corridors and classrooms. Offices are divided by glass walls, and even classrooms offer a streak-free peak inside through wide glass doors.

In the center is an area dubbed "The Glasshouse" where all-school assemblies are held. It is a perfect venue for activities and social events like school festivals, or science fairs. Quite often the area is used as the rainy-day playground so the children can move their big muscles on those days when outside play just isn't possible.

The Glasshouse is named such as it is nearly surrounded on all sides by windows--three stories worth--beckoning the sunlight to enter and play on the polished wood floors inside.

It is my favorite place to linger.

Especially just as the afternoon sun wanes toward the west and the light floods in and dances along the walls, over the staircases and splashes out over the ground.
Seriously cool.

I really think I am going to like this place.

That's My Name

My feet are tired.
My shoulders are a little sore.
My eyelids are on the heavy side.
I am ready to pull the covers to my chin and dance off to slumber.

But. My spirits are high.

I love my new job.

The week has been hectic and crazy busy. I have been sorting, filing, tossing, rummaging, painting, stapling, labeling, cutting, taping and LEARNING.

Learning, learning, learning. And I have to admit, a little bit of faking.

"Good afternoon, International School of the Hague, this is Jenn. May I help you?"

"Yesh. Hallo. It is Jan here. I must speak to KT."

"KT?"

"Yesh. I think my pronunciation is correct. KT."

"Um. Okay, I am looking at the extension list now. I am new here. Very new. And I admit I don't know everyone. Could you possibly spell the name of the person you need to speak with and I will find them for you?"

"Shure. KT is spelled K-A-T-H-Y."

"Oh! Yes! Kathy! Excuse me. KT! Absolutely! I will get her for you. NOW."

Ah, me.

The children will begin arriving at school next Wednesday. I have roughly a single week to get my act together to be ready to pull off this new role as OFFICE LADY EXTRAORDINAIRE! (You think I could get that on a t-shirt? ) I am looking forward to the chaos and the energy of the students in school.

In the meantime as I memorize the layout of the school building, learn how to operate the coffee machine, commit the teachers' names to a permanent place in my memory and prepare the mailbox/lockers for the staff, I have had the chance to meet a few new-to-the-country-kids as they have come to school to get a look around this week.

I don't know if I can express the ultimate joy of meeting an eager new face and after a few minutes conversation hearing the sound of absolute music to my ears. A small voice which says:

"Miss Jenn, can I show you something?"

Yeah, kiddo. Say my name, I will follow you anywhere.

From My Office Window

Wordless Wednesday

All wordless. All the time. All welcome.

We've Got the Goods

The potty seat shaped like a red bear stands waiting.


The filler seat for the toilet (looking something like an open-top Stetson) is ready.

The Scooby-Doo underpants are purchased, laundered and sitting in the drawer.

And this boy?

Wants nothing to do with any of it.

I Love it When a Plan Comes Together

Once upon a time there was
an old woman
a middle aged has been
*ahem*
A Young Girl who got a new job. It was a very exciting job at the International School of The Hague (That's in The Netherlands). While it was a thrill to land a full time job, the young girl suddenly found herself in need of a nanny. Someone who could come to help with her three children. Most especially, she needed a someone to give watchful daily care to her youngest child, a willful, headstrong beautiful and enthusiastic 4-year old boy.

Oh, I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight said the young girl one night when she saw the wishing star up in the sky. She closed her eyes and made her secret wish for a perfect person (someone she already had in mind) to come to her aid.

Meanwhile, across the big wide pond, there was an even younger girl who heard from a little blog bird that the young girl in Holland might be needing a nanny. And she wanted that job.

Through some faerie technological magic the young girl in Holland and the even younger girl in Arizona exchanged notes via the worldwide interweb and discussed all the particulars of the position.

(Now, it just so happens that the young girl and the even younger girl were already acquainted. In fact, they had known each other for many years already. When the even younger girl was even younger she was the babysitter/nanny for these children when they all lived in Arizona.)

So the young girl and the even younger girl decided that it would be the coolest thing ever if they could make this wish turn into something real.

And you know how it works in faerie tales...

The even younger girl contacted her college and put her scholarship on hold for one semester; then she packed her suitcases. This would be her second trip to visit the young girl and her family, but this time she would be staying for THREE MONTHS (which as it happens is exactly the amount of time her tourist visa allows her to stay). For the even younger girl this would be a rich and exciting opportunity to live overseas and experience life in Europe.

For her part, the young girl felt overjoyed that this whole little wouldn't it be nice if... wish had come to such splendiforous realization. Now indeed, she would be able to head off for her first day of work, and all the days thereafter (at least until the THREE MONTHS was over) assured that her children were in loving and capable hands at home.

Where they could all build happy memories together.

And that is how this story begins.

******************************************

Monday, 27 August 2007

Day ONE at the job!
(I am just a little nervous)

Something for Sunday

Spend some time reflecting.

Click on over to the photo blog to see today's photo.

Imagine That

When the daily mail arrives at our house, the carrier places the post in an narrow opening just to the right of our front door. From there it falls into a side cabinet on the wall and waits for someone's curious retrieval.

I suppose I should clarify that the arrival of the mail is not a deeply anticipated event around here. Most often it is only bills, or a boring blah-blah-blah kind of general correspondence. There is a sticker on the outside of the house declaring NEE (no!) to advertisements or junk mail kinds of deliveries, so there isn't even the hope and joy of looking at the grocery store flyers or ads for the latest miracle wrinkle removing cream.

Nope, mail time is not so much a party time around here.

Except for the day when you get a postcard in the mail.

I shall repeat that.

A postcard! In the mail!

I got a postcard in the mail.

One day last week I casually opened the door to the mail cabinet and there sitting on the shelf was a postcard. Cool, I thought. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands.

On the front of the card: an Edward Hopper print. And on the back a handwritten note, but not in a handwriting I readily recognized. I scanned through the message quickly and then my eyes fell to the signature.

Allison.

My friend Allison.

Yeah, you know her too. Maybe you call her SMID, but you know her. The socially conscious, deeply passionate wife, mother, blogger, advocate, mentor and friend who speaks without a Boston accent.

She also sends postcards.

Isn't that the epitome of cool?

Seriously, I was so touched that she took the time out of her day to write a note on the back of a card, address it, stamp it and send it. To me. It made my day. Nay, it made my week.

And I have been thinking about it a lot ever since it arrived.

Think-think-think-think.

This is what I hit on. I want to pay that thrill forward. I want you, my friends and readers, my readers who are my friends, to receive a piece of cool mail in your letterbox. I can't make it a surprise like the arrival of my postcard was, since I am telling you about it now, but I do want to make it a little something to look forward to. C'mon, a postcard from Holland? That will be some fun, right?

Here's my plan.
(Pay attention, this is also the way I am coordinating this post to work for my Friday Fifteen for the week. Stay with me here, and applaud me for my creative thinking.)

1. If you want to play, meaning:you want a card, leave me a comment.
2. Your comment needs to be a 15 word reply.
3. Not fourteen.
4. Nor sixteen.
5. Just fifteen words in the comment box.
6. Be creative.
7. Be redundant.
8. Be enthusiastic.
9. Be brief.
10. Fifteen words. (That is words NOT syllables)
11. Sign off with your email address.
(which doesn't count as part of your 15 words)
12. Encrypt it anyway you like.
13. I will need that so I can contact you
to get your HOME ADDRESS.
14. Because I am going to send you a postcard.
15. In the mail.

Friday Fifteen

Something to See

Consider this your personal invitation to visit the new blog.

Come on. Click the image. Enter and enjoy.

See you there.

Something to Count On

It was a metal box.

I can still see it in my memory, sitting there on the front porch. The logo from the neighborhood dairy emblazoned upon the front panel. When the lid was lifted the thin metal would bow and wobble just the tiniest bit. And when the lid was dropped? There was a satisfactory clang as the top slapped the squared edges of the box and jangled back into place.

It was our milk box.

Lid open--little wobble.
An evening chore to place the empty glass bottles inside; the box's inner metal rack holding them tightly. Six bottles standing at attention.
Lid closed--clang.

Lid open--little wobble.
An early morning discovery of bottles full; foil tops pressed and sealed onto the narrow rim. A careful lift and carry to bring the newly delivered milk into the house, bottles nestled on the refrigerator's shelves.
Lid closed--clang.

Every week it was the same; empty bottles in the evening, full bottles next morning.

Fresh milk delivered.

To the top step of my porch.

In a metal box.