The Dutch Way: een

*original writing date: 9 March 2006*

We have passed our six month mark here in the Netherlands and it would be fair to say we have learned a great deal in the past six months. Collectively and individually we have discovered many things about ourselves and about the world at large. Chief among these discoveries is the realization that there is a ‘way’ to do things in life and then there is the “Dutch way”.

Take for instance: toilets. Not everyone’s favorite subject I know. But it must here be discussed that Dutch toilets are a wonder to behold. In a country where there is no water shortage and indeed no threat of drought, these are the most extreme water saving apparatus on the planet. Indeed, these are low flow toilets taken to the lowest extreme. Most toilets here consist of a tank and seat as you would expect, but the bowl itself is built with a "shelf" above the water, where all leavings must first fall.

I know, ooo-ick, but bear with me please.

I borrow here heavily from “The Undutchables” by Colin White and Laurie Boucke (a must-read for any ex-pat or long term visitor to Holland) to explain the Dutch way of bathrooms and other unmentionable acts within.

“Nowhere is the sense of claustrophobia more pronounced than in the water-closet. The Dutch have taken the term literally, and made that most private of rooms the size of a cupboard.… By far the most distressing feature of the Dutch WC is the toilet itself. The bowl is uniquely shaped to include a plateau well above the normal water level. Its purpose becomes obvious the first time you see (or use) one.

Why the worldly, cultured Dutch have this sadistic desire to study the

recent content of their stomach remains a mystery…”

I know what you’re thinking… you are saying, "that’s just exaggeration for purposes of satire", but I am telling you this is true! And add to this the strange ways of flushing said contents into the nether regions. With the conservative water supply (again-in Holland? Why?) there is rarely enough pressure generated to sweep the bowl clean if you get my meaning. Inevitably, among the other decorations in a WC the one of utmost importance is the toilet brush. Which oddly enough, is an item "ever present, never discussed, yet always wet."

Accidental Exposure

*writing date: 25 October 2005*

It's October now and the outside temperature is steadily cooling down every day. But before the shift in the thermometer and the onset of the rains, we woke not-so-long-ago on a Saturday morning to a blue-sky-high-wispy-clouds-very-warm-late-summer-day and thought “Ah, good day for the beach!” So we prepared our beach bags, donned beach attire and climbed on the bicycles ready for the ride out to Katwijk.

(It is an unbelievable pleasure to be only a few kilometers from the ocean.)

As we approached the beachfront town and followed the streets down to the shore, we became slightly suspicious that we were not alone. No, indeed, it seemed as if ALL of Holland had the same “Ah, good day for the beach” thought that we had. As far as the eye could see in every conceivable direction, there were people! I don’t think I am exaggerating when I say that there must have been a million people on the beach that day. Okay, maybe I am exaggerating a little bit, but it was at least thousands. There were beachcombers, sunbathers, swimmers, surfers, seashell hunters, footballers, picnickers, sandcastle builders and beach babies occupying a spot in the sand and sun.

Undaunted, we locked our bikes, gathered our towels, our toys and our courage and set off to stake out a tiny bit of sand to call our own. As we walked through the sand toward the shore line, literally making our way through a sea of people here, we (meaning Don and I) became quite aware that there appears to be no dress code for beach wear in Holland. I think it reads something like this:

Rule1: If you just don’t want to wear a suit to the beach, well, you just don’t have to.

Yes, that’s right I am talking about *gasp* nudity. Mostly just topside nakedness, except for some of the toddlers who were completely buck naked—but as for shock value that doesn’t count at all, does it? But indeed nakedness all the same. I realize that this makes me sound like a bit of a prude, which I don't think I am--in fact most certainly am not, but I was feeling especially protective of my kids, who to this point in their lives hadn't experienced such a thing before.

So we exchanged a look, grimaced just a bit and wondered in whispers together what to tell our pre-adolescent, American born and raised son, and postured that perhaps not saying anything at all might mean he wouldn't notice. (yeah… it could happen!)

You’ve got this pictured in your head right? And you are getting a good giggle from the story, yes?

Well, we opted for the ever courageous, “don’t say anything” stance and pressed forward to find a spot to plant ourselves. Once found we sent the kids off into the water and waited it out. After some frolicking in waves and water, Ian came back up the beach from the water and ever so casually said “So...I guess no one has to wear a shirt here” to which we mumbled something of an ascent while surreptitiously checking his facial expressions to make certain we hadn’t overdone the exposure (pun intended) to European culture. All that said, he took it in stride and went back out to enjoy this stolen day in the sun. We, of course being the sophisticated parents we are, giggled. Until our shoulders shook.

I suppose this, the attire and the attitude, is all in keeping with the “nothing to hide” tradition of the Dutch. In general, the Dutch seem to have a much greater ability to embrace the uniqueness of their own bodies and don't seem to feel the need to “cover up” that we seem to feel excessively in the States. Indeed, it seems a much healthier sense of self image. That day at the beach, those who were clad in beach attire, didn’t seem to mind that their bodies didn’t fit the model thin image some feel necessary to possess before donning skimpy swimsuits. As a result, we saw a parade of people in clothing not exactly at the cutting edge of fashion and taste, but they were having a damn good time hanging out on the beach for one of the final summer days of the year. Enviable and perhaps something to aspire to, if ever I can shed the shadows of the culture I come from.

All that being said however, I really have to draw the line at middle aged pot-bellied men in Speedos.

Sorry, gents. I am so American.

Bilingual

Don says: "Hey buddy, I hear you're going to the zoo today with your class at school."

Drew says: "Uh... yeah, I am. I'm going to the zoo!"

(*Andrew punches the air for emphasis*)

I say: "Hey Drew, tell Daddy about your name tag for the zoo."

Drew says: "Um. It says my name."

I say: "Right, what else does it say? Does it say you speak English?"

Drew says: "Uh, yeah, it says that. But I speak English AND Dutch."

(*I giggle*)

Don says: "Ah, spreek je Nederlandse?"

Drew says: "Ummmm...yeah, I said I speak English AND Dutch."

(*I guffaw*)

Disappearing Act

(Mama opens conversation)
"Hey, Ian, Emma... it's gettin' late."

(Teens collectively sigh)
"Uh-huh."

(Mother speaks)
"So...um...yeah, time to be making preparations for bed?"

(Unison monotone vocal response indicating lack of enthusiasm for above named task)
"Hmmmm."

(Clock moves forward one, two, three... 10 minutes.
Teens remain glued to computer screens and keyboards.)

(Mom ups the ante)
"So, here's what I am thinking. Anyone still down here in 5 minutes is cleaning the kitchen before bed."

(Room immediately clears. Parent quiet time commences)

No applause, please. Just throw money.

Would Smell as Sweet

I am not in Lisbon this week.

As it goes with all best laid plans, something came along to change them.
This time the something is spelled P-N-E-U-M-O-N-I-A and the affected set of lungs belong to A-N-D-R-E-W. Which is to say, we've had a very sick boy on our hands since last Friday. On Saturday we huddled and fuddled and finally decided wellness trumps tourism.

We stayed home.

Thankfully, there is the magical world of A-N-T-I-B-I-O-T-I-C-S and I am happy, nay thrilled, to report that Andrew has rallied and is getting better almost as fast as he descended into rampant-fever-heavy-coughing-ragged-breath-purple-extremity-lethargy hell.
What I mean to say is he's sassy as ever.

And to prove my point, a scene of silliness, conversation in two farts parts:

"Woah, what was that Mom?"

"What was what?"

"What was that I heard? Did you fart Mom?"

"No, baby. Mommies don't fart."

"Yes they do!"

*mama suppresses giggles*
"No, really they don't. I would never."

"You did! You farted!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

*boy begins to wave hand in front of nose*
"Oh, mom, yes you did. You farted! And it smells disgustin'!"

* the mama sheepishly slinks from room*

Deliver Me

"Ack. What time is it?"

"looks like almost six."

"Bah. I suppose I should start thinking about dinner."

"yah, okay."

"What do you think I should make?"

"ummmm... a phone call?"

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

There are other reasons I love him. But this kinda thing?

Totally makes the list.

Phoenix Rising

...or Celebrating Good Times

___________________________

American Football is not my sport. Not really. I find it far too full of itself, its special teams and its rules. (So many rules!) But to be honest, unless you are belting out a tune at maximum decibles whilst simultaneously kick-turn-turn-kick spinning on stage, you are not really my kind of athlete at all.

Nope, not a sport fanatic. Not at all.

Sunday evening, Don and I found ourselves in company of some of his colleagues with the playoff game (conference championship) of the NFC as the impetus for the gathering. That's right. I attended a football viewing party.

But, you are not a fan of football, you say.
That is correct, I reply.
So, why this one? You ask.

I shall tell you.

Phoenix was playing.

Yup, Phoenix, my hometown. Or rather, my town of 8 years before we moved to The Netherlands. The fact that the team had risen through the ranks this season, winning game after game had certainly eluded me, but The Cardinals arrival at this championship game, precursor to THE SUPERBOWL couldn't be missed. Well, I suppose it could have, but with the plethora of email and facebook messages arriving from LOYAL FANS (aka my friends) back in Phoenix lauding the accomplishments of the hometown team, I didn't miss it.

I presented myself honestly and openly at this viewing party outing myself immediately as the person in the room who easily knew the least about the sport and likely couldn't care less about the game.

And then, there was the National Anthem and the kickoff.

And somehow, I was completely swept in.

Suddenly, I was the person in the room jumping up and shouting louder than anyone on the good plays. I was also the person in the room holding head in hands and biting her nails on the bad ones.

In a word I was looking: Fanatic.

Midway through the game I publicly declared my enthusiasm for all things PHOENIX CARDINALS announcing to all within earshot: "If the Cards win tonight I am getting cornrows in my hair tomorrow!" (Follow my logic here, this in honor of the ever-amazing Larry Fitzgerald, Number 11, Wide Receiver, who I admittedly developed a bit of a crush on through the course of the game--but honestly, what's not to love, admire and emulate when watching the powerhouse of grace, speed and finesse?)

(Oh, and he's super good looking too)

I know Don was secretly (he even may have said it out loud) hoping that my enthusiasm for white girl dreds would leave me or I would retract the statement by the end of the game. I did neither but offered the compromise that I would merely throw a few plaits into my coiff as talisman token gesture of fanaticism support until the Superbowl.

So,that's that then. The Phoenix Cardinals won the game and are on their way for the first time to the mother of all bowl games. And me? I am braiding my hair in devotion. Upon consensus there will be one into the 'do for me. One for Elway, the stuffed bear who was watching along with us (that's a whole 'nother story), and one in for Don's boss. Raise your hands in the air in support of The Cards and I just may add a braid for you too.

Don't worry, I will complete the look with red and white beads hanging from the braids. It's going to be grand. I am celebrating the way only a fair weather fan can.

American Football is so my sport.

One Up

"Hey, mom, can you help me zip this up?"

"Sure, buddy, come here. Hey, can I tell you something?"

"Okay, what?"

"I love you."

"Oh. Well, I love you more!"

"That's impossible, because I love you more plus one!"

"Um... well, I love you more PLUS FOUR!"

Pakjesavond (Sint Eve)

Success.

click here for the rules.

Jumping for joy too? Leave a comment if you love me, and your link if you're playing!

1. Anneke 2. soccer mom in denial

3. Flower Child 4. Goofball

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

Bonne, Bonne, Bonne!

The countdown is on.
Seven more sleeps till the Sint
and his bag of gifts!

Shoes by the fireplace
have been filled nightly for days~
The best night still waits!

A knock on the door,
a mysterious brown sack
delivered to us.

Peer inside to find
gifts for everybody.
Dank u Sinterklaas!

On the 6th he'll leave
back to Spain on his steamboat
Oh, we'll miss you Sint!

Chainchoo

Wishing you full bellies and lots of cream on the pumpkin pie!
Happy Thanksgiving.

(Thanks be to Flower Child for posting this vid first.)

Long Story Short

Music Monday hosted by Soccer Mom in Denial

This one goes out to Brillig, because I know
she will appreciate this story.

Midway through our holiday in Italy (did I mention that I went to Italy?) I stood in the bathroom assessing my way-too-long-bangs which were hanging into my eyes. Knowing all the time that if I were home I would snatch the hair scissors from out of the locker and begin trimming my hair, I sighed aloud, then ruffled my hair thinking maybe I could just endure staring out underneath the locks for a few more days. That's when I spotted it. My VENUS!
Yes, the razor I use for my legs. Hey! It cuts hair of a sort. I thought. Surely I could use it to cut HAIR, right?

I pulled the razor out of its case and gathered the front shock of hair on my head and began shaving the end bits to make them shorter. Gratifyingly, strands of hair began to fall into the sink. I paused, ruffled again, and assessed the result.

Good.

Pretty damn good actually.

Then, I wondered, what if.... well...can a girl cut a full head of hair with her leg razor?

Answer: Absolutely.

I can, anyway.

For the next half hour or so I stood at the sink, letting the locks fall forward in great bunches of floaty protein strands, and cut my hair. With my venus.

End result?

Something between Pinky Tuscadero and Farah's feathered back hairstyle. But I love it.

Yeah, I love my hair.

Shadow of the Son

Photographing him

Is like grabbing a sun beam
elusive and bright

No Longer Timely, Still Totally Funny

Just in case you were still unclear about how I voted in the election. :)

Pop Art

Dear Them of the Internet;
Makers of Games, quizzes and other time wasting goodness,

Whoever you are and whatever it is that you do which causes you to clearly have too much time on your hands, I salute you.

Because this? This is just what I needed.

Most sincere thanks,
Jenn--who has been a little stressed out of late--in Holland

Pickin' and Grinnin'

Here's the deal friends. I am up to my eyeballs in preparation for first day of school arriving this coming Thursday. And while I (of course) have a lot to say, I have no time to say it, at least not this week. Don't cry for me though, strangely I thrive on this kind of madness and chaos and find myself grinning ear to ear as I work the long hours.
You can cry though for yourselves if you want to. And okay, you can tell me just how much you miss me, and my charm, wit, grace and photography this week. That would make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

BUT.

While you wait for me to generate some sort of masterpiece-ical post, do this for me won't you?
Pop over to see Lilacspecs at her place and read this piece.

Why you ask? Because it just got a perfect post award. From me.

Go see why I love it so, and then tell her you love it too.
She'll feel all warm and fuzzy inside, which she will really, really like. And which she totally deserves.

What are you still doing here? Go there. Go on now. GO!

Look here or here for more of August's posts of perfection.

Nothin' But Net

For years I have tried

To land bottle in basket

Today: VICTORY!

Recall with me the attempts and the failures in this lifelong quest.

And then, let's hear the applause.

More haiku can be found today => here.

Peas in a Pod

There has been a long standing battle situation in our house regarding the sleeping arrangements of a certain soon-to-be-kindergartner. He was never a good sleeper as a baby. As in NE.VER. until we found the magic ingredient of wrapping him cocoon like into an oversized blanket and soothing him to sleep with lots of rocking and shushing and patting and bouncing and singing and swaying and...

In the years since, he has mastered sleeping well and it is now quite easy to put him to bed for naps or nighttime, but the discussion invariably ensues over the WHERE he will sleep and HOW LONG he will stay in the WHERE he should be.

You see, he has a bedroom of his own. With a way cool bed and an even cooler bed cover which he adores (we take it along on all trips and vacations--it is THAT important). But, uh, yeah... he doesn't sleep there. Generally he opts instead for my bed (as in my half of the bed which causes me to contort into all kinds of pretzel shapes in an attempt to get some further shut-eye after his post midnight arrival. Because I should also mention that while he wants to be in my bed he is NOT a snuggler and in his sleep will cast aside any brush of arm or leg against his body. So while we are crammed together like sardines in a can, we are NOT ALLOWED TO TOUCH!)

Sometimes, he crawls in next to his brother and occasionally with his sister. Same scenario in each place--as in "I'm crowded, ROLL OVER" and his mandatory bedmate ends up significantly cramped while Drew happily settles into the space available.

The better option we've found for better sleep all around was to put his mattress on the floor at the foot of our bed. Once set up, he quickly dubbed it his "hotel bed" and he happily crawled in at the end of each day to snore the night away.

BUT.

We got the notion that it may not be the BEST idea for him to continually sleep on the floor in the draft so at the end of the school year Don announced to him that he would now be moving back into his own bedroom to sleep (being a BIG BOY now and all) and as Daddy made it sound like such a BIG DEAL and SO MUCH FUN to do so, he went for it. For several weeks (with lots of reminder conversation upon the tuck-in time) he has slept in his own bed, in his own room, all night long! Hoorah!

AND THEN.

Daddy left on vacation with Ian and Emma in tow (they are in the USA on the family/friends/home places tour). So, yeah, there is a wide open space in my bed now where a sleeper used to be. And I ask you, who could resist that?

Our conversation at bedtime last night went something like this:

"Hey Droopers, are you ready for bed?"

"Yah."

"Hmmkay, let's go climb into your bed then, okay?"

"No."

"Yeah, it's time for bed, so let's go get in it."

"Uh, no. Actually I think I'm gonna sleep in your bed."

"Oh, you do, do you?"

"Uh, yeah."

~He held up his five fingers on his left hand and pointed at each in turn as he spoke.

"I think Ian and Emma are on a trip, right?"

"Yep. They are. So they are not here right now. And who else in our family is gone?"

"Ummm... I think it's our dad!"

~He folded down three fingers so only the pointer and thumb remained out-which is the gesture he uses to signify "two". He nodded his head repeatedly and said:

"So, it's just you and me, right mom? Just you and me."

**********

I ask you again, who could resist that?

I tucked him in. To my bed.

this photo taken by 1 Picture A Day

What I Did During My Summer Vacation (by Andrew)

More sights, sounds and stories from the week in
Croatia coming your way soon!

we're back.

What To Say

Occasionally, as I have hopped from blog to blog, I find a post here and there exposing how readers find various blogs. (Search engine trackers such as google analytics keep track of such things) Always on the fascinating side, sometimes leaning toward the risque, I have found myself intrigued by the notion and wondering just what it is that leads people here to this page. (I mean of course, aside from my charm, wit, beauty and ultimate humility...)

So, I went to look.

As you might expect with a blog title such as mine and the subjects I cover here in my writing, most of the referral searches were phrased in some variation of "Life in The Netherlands". I suppose it's obvious why such a search might lead someone here, and while that in and of itself isn't a total thrill a minute revelation, what admittedly was just a little on the cool side is the fact that given that particular word search my blog hits at the top of the page. (Thanks google!)

Randomly though, a search for "Serbian Rappers" also brought my personal blog to the front page of listings. I haven't had much to say about Serbian Rappers other than this post, but let's be honest, is there really a whole lot to say about Serbian Rappers? Perhaps, that's why my post ranks near the top of the list when a random someone makes a random search about such a random subject. However, if ever Serbian Rappers take off and hit the big time I will feel proud that I knew them when...

Educationally, someone set a search with the words "What is Karnemelk?". I am not sure what information they gained about Karnemelk by linking here to my blog, but I am happy indeed to answer this question for the inquiring mind: Karnemelk is yucky.
There now, we all feel better with that tidbit of information filed properly, don't we?

Curiously, someone wants to know about "Life in Netherlands not so good, great". I hardly know what to say in response. "Life in Netherlands not so good" may indeed be a phrase that has leaked from my lips on occasion. But so has "Life in Netherlands, great". The latter being more often uttered than the former. My guess is, no matter where you are living you could utter the same set of phrases interchangeably too. But that's life, ain't it?

Laughably, a search for "Nederland in Globe" also led someone here. I am still kind of scratching my head over this one. Just what is it the reader wanted to know? Is the Netherlands on the globe? Why yes, yes it is. It's a small country sure, but most mapmakers and globe builders have indeed heard of the place.
It could be a question regarding Nederlanders as stars of the GLOBEtrotters, maybe. The Dutch are certainly tall enough, and Haarlem was after all a city here first, but alas, this country doesn't play basketball.
Is it Nederland at the GLOBE theatre? Ah, yes, Shakespeare in Dutch! Could a rose not smell as sweet?
How far can I push this?
Nederland in the Boston Globe?
Nederland in Globe Communication?
Nederland in Global Warming?
Okay, I'll stop.

Sweetly, someone inquired "Love Words in Dutch" to which I reply a hearty "ME TOO!" I love words in Dutch! Especially words like Koffiepadapparat and achtentachtig. As to the actual "love words" in Dutch, I remember several Spanish speaking women in my beginners Dutch class going on a rant over the awkwardness of saying I love you in Dutch. I've never gotten over their giggles over the sound of Ik hou van jou and the absolute triumph they felt with the far superior Te quiero of their native tongue.

Lastly, is it wrong that I find it a point of pride that the search "Mama Had a Baby and His Head Popped Off" led more than one reader straight to this page?

These are the things that make me laugh.

So, this is what leads the random readers here. I suppose with the revelation of how they got here it begs the question: what will bring them back again?

Oh, are you still here? Tell me why.