The Report

I've been without reliable internet service for a couple of weeks. (A handy cable plug in provided by my handy husband has resolved that issue now) Instead of surfing, reading and writing in the blogdom of my life I have been *ahem* accomplishing other things.

For instance the ironing basket now stands empty and the closets are full of freshly pressed clothing. (I am kind of thinking no one should wear any item of said pressed clothing, since it all looks so nice in the closet. Also, I am thinking of imposing a moratorium on further clothes getting dirty and thus needing washing and ironing...)

Also, in my web-less time away, I have been reading.
Mmmmm.... reading, reading, reading.
3 novels to be exact. 2 which I thought were good, 1 which I felt was phenomenal.
And? I have devoured cover to cover, 3 hand-me-over New Yorker magazines sent in a care package by a wonderful friend in the states.

The recovery from bronchitis (two-rounds of antibiotics later) seems to be nearly complete. Of course, as it seems wont to do in this house, my return to health is echoed by Andrew's descent into CAMP ILLNESS (where, let's be honest, he is a frequent visitor) and just yesterday afternoon as we waited in the doctor's office I discovered his body was covered in itchy-burny-angry-red-rash. In addition to that apparent viral infection he's fighting there is also the set of infected ears, a ruby red throat, and a chest infection! (Is there a prize for most infections when you see the doc?)

So, we are home together this week. (While I find it a point of pride to press forward and work through my own sick days, when my baby is sick, it's a different story.) And the good news? It looks like we may be joined soon by sick Emma and sick Ian.

Because sharing is what this family is all about.

In the Still of the Night

There are these stolen moments at the end of the day--assuming that I manage to stay up later than my night owl teenagers--where all the world is quiet.

Really quiet.

The hum of the computer tower is the white noise behind the click-clack of my fingernails on the keyboard. Surprisingly that staccato sound does nothing to disturb the internal hum of calm and consciousness I am streaming now. Distantly, there are thoughts echoing; agenda for the upcoming day, to-do lists and other measure of accomplishments and ways to dissect the time. Relentlessly, those will bubble to the surface soon and define my existence, but for now, in this moment, there is mostly stillness in my world. In the rush of pure thought, which clicks into rhythm, lines up with logic and answers all of life's quandries in split second coherency, I am understanding personified.

Trust me when I tell you, if you could climb into my brain right now, there would be awe.

If I could, I would capture these moments, bottle them and hold them fast. There they would sit on the shelf, proudly displayed, next to my other favorite, very esoteric things. Like that moment just before Andrew falls asleep, his eyelids so heavy it seems he can't manage the sudden weight of his eyelashes. The next breath after they slam closed is heavy, slow and warm.

And like the dawning realization moment when I recognized for the first time that I was looking up into my Ian's eyes, not down at the top of his head. Days of my firstborn as shadow and companion long gone and in his eyes I see the seeds of every bit of independence we've attempted to plant over the years. Harvest feels like it's merely days away.

Moment to moment with my daughter, ever increasing in her beauty, interweaving her own way with patterns of mine. Gestures, phrases, and expressions could be a mirror, but I know that's not me. That's her. And she's on her way to something--some things--very, very good.

And every moment (yes, all of them) with a companion who knows me every inch and still he's here. His very presence echoing the I love you forever message he promised me when we were forever young.

Maudlin moments, sure. But they are mine.

And I am gonna hold them tight.

Return of the Family

Overjoyed.

click here for the rules.

1. Anneke

Powered by... Mister Linky's Magical Widgets.

Brown Paper Packages

I have some favorite things in life. A few of them are the raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens variety, but many are a bit more esoteric than that, and deeply personal to me.

One of them I shall tell you about here.

Because that's what I do here. Tell you about stuff, I mean.

My husband is a musician. A music maker of the talented play by ear kind of guy. I first discovered this about him when we had been dating for just a few weeks. On a dare, and to show what a compassionate kind of guy he is, and I suppose to ensure that the wrapping himself around my heart was complete, he took me "home" one weekend. I was homesick, he was my hero and we made the 5 hour drive from Southern to Northern Utah beginning at midnight one Friday night so I could spend the weekend with my family. Sometime mid-day on the Saturday (after sleeping in a bit) I was wandering down the hallway and heard a lovely melody being played on the piano. I remember thinking to myself that perhaps my sister had decided to really take her lessons seriously and had somehow mastered the instrument in the few months I had been away. I turned the corner into the living room and spotted my boyfriend sitting at the piano, his long fingers tickling the ivory.

I. Was. Smitten.

Musicians really do me under.

Of late, his instrument of choice is the guitar. As he likes to say, he just plays at it.
I tend to think of him as fabulously gifted.

My musician really does me under.

When the big kids were little kids he often sang them off to sleep with a private concert in the hallway near their bedrooms. This was the first tutelage in music appreciation for Ian and Emma and both could sing every word to not only "Puff the Magic Dragon" but also "Bye Bye, Miss American Pie" before they were in kindergarten.

It's these little things that make me happy.

So, music is a constant background in our home. Often that is our own homegrown concert courtesy of the musician I married. He plays, he sings, he entertains with spontaneous improvisational blues performances. I love to listen to him play whether it is in earnest or in free-play, and I find myself still smitten over him. Just nearly everything about him. For years now the show is often complemented with dance performances and do-wop backup by the children. I love that too.

That definitely ties it.

Lingering

If you've ever wondered just what it might be like to celebrate Christmas with a houseful of comedians, then I am warmly extending the invitation to you to join us next season.

It's been a laugh factory around here as we planned, purchased and executed the frivolity around our house.

I will sum up.

Traditionally, we put our names into a hat, a box, or a bathrobe pocket--we're not all that particular--and exchange with one another the wish list we've created. With name and list in hand, we then plan and shop for the person we've selected. The spending limit is 25 euros. It's meant to be a way for all of us to single out one other of us and select something meaningful for that person.

I got Andrew this year.

Andrew got Emma.

Emma got me.

Don got Ian.

Ian got Don.

Don worked feverishly on his list before folding his paper and placing it into the upturned baseball cap. As he scribbled, he asked only one question: "what is the spending limit?"

His list read something like this:

The things I want for Christmas--

One 20 euro bill and one 5 euro bill, or

Two 10 euro bills and one 5 euro bill, or

Three 5 euro bills and one 10 euro bill, or

Two fifty cent coins, one 2 euro coin, two 1 euro coins, and two 10 euro bills

OR

One Folbot folding Kayak, 1500 euros plus shipping.

So we all did our shopping bit and when Christmas morning rolled around there was a grand buildup of excitement in the air in anticipation of presenting family gifts.

Andrew got police cars and firetrucks.

Emma got a discoball lamp. (Really. Andrew was certain this was THE gift for his sister.)

Ian got some cool new clothes and a game for his playstation.

I opened my gift to find this note:

Dear Mom,

First of all I want you to know, whatever I say from now on is in a Spanish accent.

What, oh, what could your gift be?

So little and small and tineee.

I know you will like it, it came from my heart, and the 25 euros dad gave me, but mostly from my heart.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Emma

Don's gift was double or perhaps triple wrapped with this note taped to the outside of the second layer:

Fulbot Folding Kayak

Size: Extra extra extra extra small (xxxs)

Color: Blue

Capacity: Your big toe

Dimensions: 5" x 2"

Warning!

Not for ACTUAL use!

Precautions: Keep away from water! If kayak comes into contact with any form of water, the kayak will disintegrate immediately.

We made merry with our giggles and then merry again with our guffaws. I am beginning to think that they who coined the phrase "Happy Christmas" had premonitions of just how it would roll at our house.

Here's hoping we keep Christmas in our hearts all year.

Merry Christmas, Darlings

Hope your holidays are joy-filled and joyful. Catch you in this space post chocolate-bingeing-present-discovering-eggnog-laden debauchery.

All my love.

Wise Beyond His Years

Wordless Wednesday

Moments and Memory

The bags packed and ready to go. We hired a seven passenger van for the road trip to France. Now, lest you think a seven person van in Holland also has room for seven person's luggage, I must dissuade you of that notion immediately! Consider it a mini minivan.

mini being the operative term.

Undaunted, we crammed every nook and stored items in every cranny, then strapped ourselves in for the ride.

The route we planned toward Praz sur Arly would take us past Brussels into Luxembourg on our first night. Second day road tripping took us through bits of Germany where we lost track of the highway we needed to be on, then did some backtrack and took the road through France. Ultimate destination: The French Alps! Specifically, the village of Praz sur Arly tucked high in the hills.

And now, without adieu, I give you the memorable moments of our week in the hills.

1. Singing at the top of our lungs "We are a family, such a happy family..." as we started on our way. This song comes to us by way of our good friends in Arizona (thanks, M!) and includes a verse for everyone in the vehicle by descending age. Yeah, that's seven verses. One for Grandpa, one for Grandma, one for me--because I am older than Don, one for that cute boy I married, then for Ian, Emma, and Andrew in succession.

2. Playing with Andrew's new race car in the parking lot of the hotel as we waited for the check in. Toy cars go really fast down hills!

3. Sightseeing in Luxembourg.

4. Things like this:

5. And this:

6. And this too:

7. Starburst for breakfast.

8. McDonald's for lunch. (Okay, that's really not a highlight but I didn't want anyone thinking we were eating any such thing as fine french food on this road trip with kids.)

9. Stopping for groceries in Chamonoix. We discovered a big chain store there in France which feels something akin to walking into a Super Wal-mart. (Strange, the things that make you nostalgic). The best part of this particular stop was watching my Mom dig deep into her high school French of 45+ years ago and ask an employee where we could find toilet paper. En voila! The search was a stunning success.

10. The chalet style homes we rented for our stay. Two small apartments on the third floor, each with a tiny kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom with a tub--no shower, a toilet and a set of bunkbeds in the hallway. Is there a word for something this cute? Quaint doesn't even cut it. There is just so much atmosphere and coziness there. Sleeping at the Caribou II chalet simply makes the experience. Makes it perfect.

11. Waking in the mornings to see goats grazing on the steep hillside. And stunning cloud cover breaking over the mountaintops.

12. Little walks into the village, long explores through the forest, throwing rocks into the stream.

13. Playing cards at night around the kitchen table. Laughing until I cried listening to my Dad's stories and anecdotes.

14. The train ride up the steep mountainside of Mount Blanc. The train pitched at so steep an angle you could lean into the ride and not lose balance on your feet. Like this:

And at the top of Mount Blanc? This (in August!):

15. A long car ride homeward replete with laughing, snoozing, car counting games and not-without-enthusiasm singing for Andrew's entertainment. Finally, a crash and burn kind of sleep in our own beds and the pleasant sensation of a thousand memories etched into our psyche.

Friday Fifteen

Journey

An anniversary.

Two years.

That's 24 months.

104 weeks.

730 days.

Give or take.

We have been in The Netherlands for two years.

Which isn't bad considering this adventure was scheduled as a one year experience. I guess you could say we have extended our stay.

Where did it all begin? I don't know if there is a cut and dried answer to that question but I will pick the point in our past where it all began to come together and tell the story from there.

Summer 2003. We had just recently become a family of five, had moved to a new house, but had not yet purchased a minivan--the seemingly compulsory vehicle of a family passing the two-child mark. The summer was a whirl of activity. In spite of the fact I was on maternity leave from my full-time teaching job, I spent that summer in the same way I spent the summers previously--as Performing Arts Director of a summer camp for children ages 4-13. With three-week-old Andrew in tow (or in sling as the case may be) and my big kids enrolled in the Arts Academy, the eight weeks of summer were filled with dance classes, art classes, tumbling practice and performances.

Somewhere in the midst of that frenzy, my husband Don jetted over to Europe (The Hague, specifically) to attend a conference in International Criminal Law. If ever there was a beginning place which ended with landing us here in The Netherlands, it would have to be that moment in time. When he returned from that conference it was with a head full of thoughts and plans for how to change it up and take on a new challenge both personal and professional in nature.

Though, it was never as simple as a single conversation I like to tell people that he just might have snookered me into this experience thusly:

"Hey Jenn, I'd like to do something really different with my life and career and was thinking we could strike out with the kids to parts unknown."

"uh-huh Like what babe?"

"Well, you know there is a criminal tribunal in Africa."

"Africa?"

"Yeah, Africa."

"With the kids? In Africa? Where in Africa? How safe is Africa?"

"I don't really know. We would have to do some research. Of course there are all the courts in The Hague. We could move there and I could work in International Law."

"In Holland? You're on. We can move to Holland."

What began that summer as a dream took roughly two years to bring to fruition. If I tried, I don't think I could really trace the myriad discussions, brainstorming sessions and back to the drawing board moments of our life in the following months. Ultimately, by spring of 2005 we held in our hot little hands an acceptance letter from Leiden University for entrance into the LL.M. program in International Criminal Law, and a Fulbright Scholarship which would help make a dent in financing the year abroad for a family of five.

From that moment, it was just a matter of divesting ourselves of well, everything we possibly could, and packing the rest of it into our suitcases. We had managed to find the perfect rental home for the student year. We would be living in the home of a Leiden University professor who would be on a year's sabbatical with his family.

The goodbyes were tough. Arizona had been our home for twelve years, we were established and grounded there. In fact, the children had known no other home in their young lives. As we made the rounds to say farewell, there were those among our friends and family who were suspicious about that "year" we kept talking about. Many voiced their opinion that we wouldn't be back anytime soon. But we demurred and assured that the graduate degree would be achieved by the following summer.

However, life has a way of keeping things exciting doesn't it?

Just as the program was wrapping up coursework and Don was working in earnest on his thesis* an opportunity to work for the very International organization which had captured his interest years earlier arose. He jumped. That temporary contract extended immediately into a second short term contract, which was followed up by a third short-term-temporary-but-long-enough-we-could-announce-we-were-staying-in-Holland-for-another-year contract with the courts. We moved to The Hague.

The last piece of this linear telling is this. Spring 2005 Don was offered a permanent position in the organization.

He accepted.

We celebrated.

The truth is if I had told the story backwards from the end result to the beginning you would see just how perfectly it all came together for him and for us, which is just how you want a story to be. Even if it all sounds too good to be true.

*you will note that I discuss this going back to school thing in "we" terms, right up until the time there are courses to attend or a thesis to write, then I hand all credit to my husband whose job it really was to do all those things. I make no claim to be the actual brains in this marriage. He was a stellar student and deserves all due kudos for a job well done.

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

A Note for my fellow bloggers:

If you haven't entered Scribbit's Write Away contest yet, consider it. I am judging the entries this month. My blog hopping will be scarce until the judging is done next week so I can be open, fair and un-biased. I am not ignoring you, I am being impartial. If you didn't enter and are not planning to enter (and I ask you why not?) leave me a note saying so and I will haunt your blog and plague you with my comments.

It's good to be back.

On Lots of Ideas; and Nothing to Say

Inspiration is a funny thing. I feel the need to write this morning; my brain is literally buzzing with thoughts. But nothing is lining up to march down my fingertips at the moment.

It's raining as I write this and the sky is low and gray. Which probably has something to do with the mood. Things like that swing me. Markedly.

I just discovered a new blog and have been reading it voraciously. The author shares my name, Jennifer, and is also currently an American expat. That's about where our similarities end, other than the basic we both have a nose and two arms kind of sameness. Or maybe not. I look forward to knowing her better and finding out what else we share. She lauds the fact that she is a stream of consciousness writer, and having been swept into the magnetic pull of her words, I am fully in support of the style.

Maybe that's why nothing is lining up this morning. It all wants to come at once.

I have been in close e-contact this week with another Jenn (just what is it in my life with all these Jennifers?) who sent an incredibly touching note after reading my post about Grandpa's passing. She and I share that experience now; the heart wrenching experience of losing a loved one when you are far away from home. In her email she told me,

"One of my friends described grief of someone important to you as a perennial emotion. That it comes in intense waves, even long afterwards. I thought it was a good way of putting it."

I think it's a perfect description.

Sometimes those waves seem capable of pulling you under.

Generally in my life, I respond to events and happenings with emotion. I wear them all on my sleeve, so to speak. When something is pleasing to me, or I like what I see, I get goose bumps on my skin; and tears in my eyes.

When I am angry, I cry.

When I am happy, I cry.

When I am sad, I cut my hair.

I stepped into the bathroom yesterday to put some finishing touches on getting ready for the day (at noon, after my shower, which was at eleven.) and in studying my reflection knew I was overdue for a trim. It's been on my mind lately, this need for a haircut. In fact, I dreamed that I was pulling great handfuls of hair from my head just the other night. But as I stared into the mirror, I figured I would just give it a whirl myself. Who needs the salon with its trained technicians when what you really need is a cathartic experience in the privacy of your own home?

I started at the front with my bangs and then moved to the longer bits at the outer edges of my head. Soon great sweeping strokes were being made with the scissors and hair of varying lengths was tumbling into the sink and onto the floor.

The sound of the scissors cleanly swiping at my locks was fabulous. It was electric and charged and I was having a blast of the most personal kind.

After the cut, I colored it with a box of "warm blond" hair dye I found at the back of the bathroom supplies shelf. And strangely enough, after changing the length and altering the color I looked in the mirror and felt more "me" than I have felt in awhile.

It was fun. Really.

And now I am a red head.

And I survived that wave.

Today, my husband is on his way to the States to reunite with his family and support his Mom and pay honor to his grandfather. It was a virtual impossibility for all of us to go. A flight across the ocean is no small matter, and traveling with a pre-schooler, makes it an even bigger deal. So we send the dad of this clan with our prayers and hopes. And our well wishes for everyone in the family as they celebrate the life of our dear Grandpa.

I have my concerns about the week I am facing of single parenting. Usually in our lives, the children have reserved the moment of head injury, or stair tumbling, or emotional meltdown, to coincide with there only being one parent around to manage the crisis. I really hope we break with that pattern this week. Also, I love the company of the man I married, and find that when he travels I just don't sleep as well. In spite of the fact that no one is hogging the blanket.

Tomorrow I get the chance to meet a blogging friend in real life. In person. For the first time. Marloes is driving across the country to rescue me from reading boredom, and has promised she will arrive with boxes of books. I am really looking forward to the moment; to sharing a cup of coffee with her; and to chatting in person with a supportive new friend.

That should carry me through the next wave.

This is pure honesty here isn't it? And after all of this putting it out there, my brain buzz is quieter .

That feels good.

Farewell to a King

My dearest Grandpa-

It was late Friday evening in Milan, Italy when we got the call. [Don's brother] in Maryland had managed to track us down via Skype and with [his] Mom on speaker phone from Utah we had a Transcontinental-International phone call. I thought it would tickle you to know that this call was actually made through the computer. For a man who spent years laying cables and checking miles and miles of phone line, I figured the idea of this wireless phone call would make you smile.

But it wouldn't be possible to share that with you. The news from the across the pond was that you were slipping from us.

We scrambled to dial out to the U.S. to reach you in the home, hoping that we might get the chance, with a telephone held to your ear, to say a last I love you and tell you goodbye.

But you were already gone.

Quietly, silently, peacefully.

Gone.

Immediately the tears poured and I let them come, unhindered, undirected, uninhibited. I cried alone. I cried with my husband. I cried with siblings across the sea. In truth, I haven't stopped crying since the news came in. And it's fair to say that the emotions accompanying the waterfall have been as diverse and innumerable as the tears themselves. I cry in grief, in joy, in peace, in celebration and in sorrow. Most of all, I cry for the missing of you Grandpa.

I cry remembering you.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am not an actual flesh and blood granddaughter, because I have never felt anything but unconditionally loved and adored from the moment I stepped into your Mesa home more than 20 years ago. As I have reflected often over the years since first meeting you, and Grandma, I know I am deeply blessed to have had your influence and your love in my life. My relationship with you has been everything a granddaughter ever dreams a friendship with Grandparents could be. Ours was a reality which because of circumstance and illness, I wasn't so fortunate to have with my own grandparents. But I had you.

I had you to talk with for hours on end after Grandma's sudden passing 10 years ago. Our weekly dates for lunch, or a quiet walk, or holding hands on the living room couch are priceless treasures to me.

I had you to teach me that jalapenos are meant to be snacked on like candy, eaten straight from the jar. And that any meal could be improved by adding a side of pepperoncini. I am certain that my pregnancy craving of a hot dog smothered in jalapenos has a direct link to your training of my taste buds.

I had you to challenge me to wonder about where I came from. Your standard question when meeting new friends was "Who are your people?" and it sent me on journeys through journals and family records to understand who I was by understanding who had preceded me.

I had you to share a little "spanish food" such as refried beans, mexican rice, enchiladas or salsa and chips from your favorite El Charro a few blocks from your house. And we could share an order of tamales hand-made and delivered by one of the women in the neighborhood.

I had you to teach me about the nuances of The Lawrence Welk Show broadcast every Saturday evening from the local PBS station.

I had you to "halvers" the last piece of toast, or the last scoop of scrambled eggs, or the last slice of pizza with me.

I had you to smile with as each of my three babies arrived and I placed them into your large and loving hands for the first of myriad kisses and squeezes which would follow. Soon they would know a great-grandpa who loved them intensely and unconditionally.

I had all of this and so much more. As fast as my thoughts spin now through the memories, I know there will be many yet to surface that I can hold in my heart. And with each blessed recollection, I know there will be tears.
Tears of honor, of happiness, and of longing.

I cannot stop them falling Grandpa, and I cannot imagine when it will feel okay to wake up in a world without you. But I want you to know that I love you deeply. I love you fiercely. I love you without end.

Your darling,
Jenny