Double Shot

Today is another first for me.

Allison the great, the lovely, the wonderful woman I share the photoblog site Looking Into with, as well as the author of the incredible insights at Soccer Mom in Denial, has been working up a rhythm of late as she writes about the music in her life. She calls it Music Monday and she dedicates some time each week to sharing some grand bits of personal music memorabilia with her readers. Now, she's created a button and she is sharing the fun. I can't help but want to play.

So I am jumping in for the first time today. That's the first first.

The second first I want to share with you is posted just below. I tripped across this video completely by accident last week and I giggled until I snorted. You may know her right away by name but I did not. For me the recognition was delayed until she opened her mouth and sang.

Yes, I can name that girl in ONE NOTE.

Her name is Kristen Chenoweth and my first acquaintance with her voice was my CD recording of WICKED, the Broadway musical. She played Glinda the Good Witch for the initial run on the Great White Way. In my opinion, she is one of the premier talents of the realm. I love her. Really, I do. I have found myself in a dedicated internet search for more video clips just to watch her genius--and her cuteness. You see, not only is she brilliantly talented, she is also freakin' adorable. I freely admit I have a mild deep crush on her.

Really, it's all about the music.

I am going to stop talking typing now, so we can get on with the show.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you KRISTEN CHENOWETH!

Things That Make You Go Hmmm...

"Jennifer, I will marry you."

That's exactly what he said. We were sitting on the front lawn of my 12-college-roommates-in-a-house-we-collectively-rented-and-shared under the large willow tree and that's what he said.

Just. Like. That.

But you have to know, I hardly knew this guy. Thus it is safe to make the assumption that he really didn't know me.

We had never kissed.

We had never held hands.

We actually had never even been on a date.

I'll be honest here and say it straight out. I didn't even like him. And? And I had a boyfriend.

Yet, here he was--this twitterpated boy--on my front lawn proposing. Or not proposing actually, but dictating. And declaring his love....


Tune in next time for more in the soapy story I have always wanted to share. Yeah, there will be more to say about this. I promise.

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Thanks to Brillig and Kate for sharing the sudsy goodness. I am proud to be your host for today's Soap Opera Sunday. Enter your link below and let's get our drama on!

1. The Break-Up 2. Brillig 3. Goofball 4. Dedee 5. Kateastrophe

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Even After the First Cup of Coffee

knackered.

See what was singularly on the minds of these folks:

Anno

Fourier Analyst

Wholly Burble

Jen in MI

If you've played tell me so and I will link you here.

And What Will Poor Robin Do Then?

We're under the weather around here. And by saying that, I mean there is a severe weather warning for The Netherlands tonight. The winds are supposed to be fierce (fiercer than normal--which is really saying something) and the rain is already pouring. We haven't seen the sun in days, but that's not news for folks in the low lands. The sun doesn't hang out much in Holland, at least not in the winter. There is only one weather here during the winter months and that is, oh, how can I say it best?

Yucky.

We have a friend who has a not so endearing term for Holland's weather. I can't share it with you here because, well, it contains some not so very nice words. Don't get me wrong now, I can say these words, I can even write these words, I am just a bit uncomfortable writing them down in this post. (My mother in law reads my blog after all!) But the three word adjective-noun-verb phrase (rhymes with bitty-bit-buck) completely cracks me up every time I hear it. And then I cry a little because it's completely, totally true.

The winter weather here sucks.

This morning as Andrew and I saddled the bike to ride into the school--he to class and me to work--we had a discussion about the weather.

"Oh, no, it's windy!" he said.

I responded. "It's not windy this morning baby, it's just fine."

"Yes!" He said and stamped his foot for emphasis. "I see a wind."

I looked to the sky and then said again. "No, babe, there's no wind, we're going to be okay."

"I see a wind" he insisted, pointing at the last remaining leaves on the oak in the front garden. "There is a wind." he said. "Look!"

I looked and I could see his point. There was a light breeze gently shaking the last leaf on the branch.

I tried in vain to add the new vocabulary word breeze to his repertoire, but he was having none of it.

"That's a wind. I told you Mom. I see a wind."

Throughout the day this storm has rolled in at a relentless pace. And, tonight with the wind whipping in earnest outside--howling through the door jambs and forcing tree branches to scrape along the balcony ledges and the windows--I am confident that I will soon have a bed partner in the form of a four-year old boy. I am also certain that he will remind me once again,

"I told you Mom. I told you I saw a wind."

Uncertain What to Say

A note to my blogger pals:

Three words. Six syllables.

SOAP OPERA SUNDAY.

Yes, friends. You with your stories of love, drama, disaster, and romance. The place to share the epic tales is in this very venue. Created by Brillig and recently co-launched globally with the lovely lady Kate over at Walking Kateastrophe, SOS is a can't miss Sunday experience.

And this week I get to host the goodness.

I just know you can dig into the recesses of your memory and come up with something delicious to write and share with the world. Certainly, you know you want to, and now you know I want you to, so really, how can you resist?

The rules are established and posted here. When your juicy tidbits are entered and ready to post, come back to my place to leave your link.

Come on baby, light my fire.

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

I told you before that recently I got this really nice award from Allison over at Soccer Mom in Denial, right?

Next I got this cool award from Bonnie Jacobs who writes Words From a Wordsmith.


Now I have another to add to my stash. I am deeply appreciative to Jen in MI from A2eatwrite for sharing with me another beautiful button.

Look here-->

I am truly blown away that the queen of niceness would consider me. Jen is not only a loyal reader and commenter here at this blog (even when I have nothing to say), she is also a daily visitor and commenter at the photoblog I share with Allison. There just aren't words enough to express how very, very nice it is to have her support and to read her insightful words. Thank you Jen. Thank you very much.

I want to share this one by passing it along to these three blogpals of mine.

1. Leslie of My Mommy's Place. She's nice, she's hilarious, and she is a remarkable human being.
2. Patois of Whee! All the Way Home. A loyal commenter who always has a sweet or funny something to say here.

3. Gunfighter of The View From Here. Who is a seriously nice guy.


Now then, a note for all of you, my readers and my friends. Do something nice for me will you? Release your email address with your commenter identities. What I mean to say, is that for many of you who come by here and take the time to say such nice things to me, I have no way to respond to you. Your comment comes to my inbox marked "no reply". And you must believe me when I tell you that I really, really, really want to reply. With the new status quo in my life--a full time job on top of that kid-raising thing that I do--I don't have as much time on my hands to blog around and comment like I used t'could. However, I do so like to comment on what you have commented upon. Yes, I love to discuss, and the best way for me to engage you is for you to offer me your email so we can exchange ideas and messages and well, yes, so I can pester and annoy you with my notes.

Will you do it, huh? Will you please? (Instructions on how to process my request and enable your email are here)

Look at that, I had something to say after all.

Calf's head in WHAT?

Lots of words on a Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday Participants

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7. Comedy Plus 8. rhonda 9. ONwebCHECK 10. Meisha 11. Katya 12. giles

13. Wendy 14. Blooming Idiot 15. pelfy 16. cyberbones 17. patois 18. Lisa Milton

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Now That's What I Call Action

Yesterday, a letter went home with the students which read in part like this:

The school day ends at 15:00 on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and on Wednesdays at 12:30. Children who are not picked up timely from the playground will be brought to the primary office to wait. We ask that you make every effort to arrive promptly at the end of the day. The week before half-term our office staff were not able to work after 15:00 as they had over 10 children waiting in the office every day (on two consecutive days it was 20 children!) As the office is not staffed to watch your children at the days end, habitually late pick up will incur charges as follows:


Pickup between 3:15-3:30 (12:45-1:00 on Wednesdays): € 15
Pickup between 3:30-3:45 (1:00-1:15 on Wednesdays) € 30
Pickup between 3:45-4:00 (1:15-1:30 on Wednesdays) € 50

It was then signed by the headmaster.

And we held our breath here in the office and waited.

I am writing this post at 3:25 p.m. and you want to know how many children are in my office awaiting pick up?

Z.E.R.O.

Can you hear the strains of my hallelujah from there?

Join Me Someplace Warm

Some Enchanted Evening

A couple of months ago, a friend moved in with us. Partly for her enriched experience of living in Europe for a few months, but mostly for her saving-my-rear-end by fullfilling the need for a full time babysitter as I began my new job, Elise has been an absolute godsend to our home.We have loved every minute of having her here.

She is a gracious and gorgeous young woman--not quite 20 years old.

These are things I have known about her forever. These are also the things displayed with crystal clarity as the two of us took a weekend trip to Brussels last month.

Most of the time I don't notice the tremendous age gap between us and when I hang with her I am caught up in believing that I too am a mere 20-something year old. Then of course I look in a mirror and wonder why in the world this old woman is staring back at me. But that of course is a lament for a different post. We are talking about Elise here, and I intend to stick to the point.

A weekend in Brussels. Perfect weather; perfect food; perfect company. The two of us schlepped from point to tourist point, enjoying the sights, the shopping and the eating. So much delicious eating!

On Saturday evening as we boarded the underground train there were a couple of men who literally were craning their necks backward to get a better look at Elise as we rode the escalator downward and they rode up. I laughed out loud and said, "You are totally getting checked out here!" She laughed too and demured with an "I know" response.
We set off to see the Atomium at night with it's sparkly lights shining and then took the return trip back into the city toward our hotel.

That's when the oogling fun really began.

On that train were several men (okay, three) who literally couldn't take their eyes off of my traveling companion. They noticed her. We noticed them. They smiled. We laughed. Then one of them got up the courage to approach her. Now, I must mention without sounding too snotty or rude that this man was not what one would consider a "catch". Not by a long shot. He was not tall, dark and handsome but rather a bit on the short side, bald and a slightly funny looking. But he had his eye on Elise (who is tall, blonde and exceptionally beautiful). It took a few minutes of charades and broken speech to determine that between us--in spite of 5 languages--we had very little vocabulary in common. We settled on English as the best option and he struggled through a few questions in order to establish his message.

"This your daughter?" He asked me.

"Yes." I told him. (The truth is I could be her mama. I am old enough and she is young enough and there was really no way to explain the actual relationship. Plus, I can say "yes" in French, so I felt I was doing my part in the multi-lingual exchange)

"Oh, your daughter. Beautiful!"

"Yes, thank you. I think so too"

"Yes, beautiful your daughter. She is my heart."

At this point Elise is getting more than a little creeped out, but she's too sweet to say "ick" and run away, and besides that, where are we going to run? We are on an underground train after all.

The stilted conversation continued for several more stops as this guy declared his undying love for my daughter, and his buddies got up the courage to make a few comments of their own. It was hilariously uncomfortable and I think Elise and I both were tremendously relieved when the train reached our platform. We stepped off.

But so did her suitor.

He just wanted to have a picture taken with her, and he pantomimed what he needed as he handed me his phone and walked toward Elise putting his arm around her waist.

What could I do? (I am nice too, you know) so I said "okay" and got ready to take the photo of them together. At which point he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek!

So somewhere in this great wide world there is a picture of my beautiful nanny and her Portuguese/French loverboy in the Brussels underground. That she looks ready to vomit in the photo could not possibly have dissuaded this man from believing that he had found his true love that night.

And Elise? Couldn't get to the hotel to wash that cheek fast enough.

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This is my first run at Soap Opera Sunday, conceived and launched by the incredible Brillig and her lovely friend Kate. Today's links are being hosted by Thalia's Child and you can read more stories of love, drama and romance by clicking over there.

Can't Seem to Find the Rhyme

salamander

******

1. Soccer Mom in Denial

2. Fourier.Analyst

3. anno

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Blossoming

Years and years ago I remember reading the phrase "color me sorry" somewhere. I cannot recall if it was on a greeting card, or if it was a sentence in some super-sappy-angst-filled-teen-drama-novel I was reading at the time (I did mention this was years and years ago). Regardless of when I first tripped across it, it is a phrase that has stuck with me. I have even used it a time or two in my life. Not in my speech--it seems just maybe a bit too odd to say aloud--but certainly in written form. The notion of the color sorry just resonates with me. Or is it the verb-noun combination--coloring sorry--which is appealing? I am not sure.

A few months ago Jennifer of The Verge wrote a bit about this idea: the colors of her life, the color of emotion. As it always does, her writing speaks to my soul and I have come back to this notion over and again lately.

Tonight I spent several hours in the company of friends--you could nearly call them family--and celebrated a birthday for the youngest member of the group (she's 22). It was such a terrific evening full of open sharing and caring conversation with like minds and fellow travelers. I reluctantly dragged myself from the gathering as the time grew late, knowing that I needed to get home but really wanting to linger in the warmth of the moment. I rode my bike home in the crisp fall air with my heart singing out a color. I can't name it, but I can show you it's best approximation.

This is the color of my life tonight:


Perhaps it does have a name. I think I will call this color friendship.

Does This Spell Anything?

P is for perfect. Or at least pretty darn near. If you are not a blog hopper and therefore missed the song of motherhood over at Brillig's place this month, then you must drop everything NOW and go forth to read it. And more to the point, if you are a blog hopper and you read it before, I simply must insist you drop everything NOW and read it again.
Among other simply perfect things she says in her piece In the Still of The Night she whispers this line:

"But in those sacred hours of the night, while “important” people are sleeping, my little baby and I share powerful moments full of love, peace, and serenity—things that society doesn’t give him but that perhaps one day he’ll give to society. As I rock him, I tell him who he is, I tell him who he can become, I tell him who loves him."

A bit of writing which brings tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat even as I cut and paste it from her blog page to mine.
It's simply a can't be missed post. A perfect post. And it deserves this:

Brillig, ya done good, baby.

(P is also for postscript. That is this: More perfect posts for October can be found at Lindsay's or Momma K's. Just thought you should know)

F is for first. Meaning First day of the month. The first day of this month--November--signals the beginning of that crazy blogging fun begun at NaBloPoMo. I know the word looks silly, but the intent is terrific. National Blog Posting Month. A post every day for the month of November. Every. Day. Yes, I shall say it again: Every. Darn. Day.

Visit NaBloPoMo

Certainly sounds like a gauntlet thrown down to me. And since I can't run from a challenge, I am giving it a go. You'll come around all month just to see what I have to say, right?

S is for something new. Or Saturday. Either one is a decent segue to this: Part of my NaBloPoMo fun will be a new Saturday game I will play. I thought of it myself, but you can play too if you wish. I shall call it Singular Saturday and it will consist of posting only a single word. From the ridiculous to the sublime, I will wrap it all up for you (my many deep and profound thoughts) in a single word on Saturdays. Now, that's sensational.

[I am going to need a badge for that, I guess.]

Cat Nap

Wordless Hallowe'en

A Day Like Any Other

"Good Morning, International School of The Hague. This is Jenn, can I help you?"

"Hi. Yes, I have a question."

"Sure."

"Is the school closed on November 1st?"

"No, the first will be a regular school day."

"Oh, okay. I was just wondering if the school would be closed because in Belgium the schools close for All Saint's Day."

"Um. Right. Okay. But this is Holland."

"So it will be business as usual on the first?"

"Indeed."

Every Last Bit

Back in the Spring of 2005, our family began preparations to move from Phoenix to Leiden. In hopes that the experience would be longer than the one-year academic course my husband would be attending, we divested ourselves of most of our possessions. We held garage sales and Internet sales (I sold my car by email). We donated goods to charity and gave goods to friends. When August, and our imminent departure, rolled around, we had reduced our mass to virtually what fit inside our 10 suitcases plus carry-ons. That we left a corner of our Arizona house stuffed with a few remaining--too precious-to-toss--items didn't deter us from believing that we had truly simplified. It was liberating to imagine that everything we needed or wanted could be carried with us (albeit with a luggage carrier).

The first year in The Netherlands we lived in the home of a Leiden University professor who was on sabbatical with his family in the U.S. It was an ideal living arrangement for us as they had left everything of household necessity behind and available to us. From dishes to bicycles we were covered and found ourselves wanting and needing nothing.

With the mentality following that we would be repacking for a possible return flight to the USA after that first year, we kept our accumulation in check.

Somewhat.

I began to be suspicious of our collective ability to pull off the simple life when we moved from Leiden into our friend's home (we would house sit for the summer) in July 2006. That it took more than one van load to haul our things to her house was mildly disconcerting. Still, all in all, I figured we were still maintaining that idyllic reduced-possessions lifestyle I so wanted to keep.
From that moment onward, that hope in keeping it simple has been a lost dream. Part of it is understandable, really. When we moved to The Hague last summer it was into a home without furnishings. I adjusted my thinking to include the notion that it would be all right to once again own furniture. Surely, I could make my home comfortable without overdoing it in the accumulation department.

However, it just didn't stop there.

Admittedly, once our placement here in this country moved from temporary to exit-at-an-indefinite-date I allowed myself to think bigger and more permanent. We bought stuff. Stuff we needed sure. And stuff we wanted, most definitely. Hell, I even bought more shoes. And a computer. A file cabinet. A television.

And other stuff.

Trust me now when I tell you, my belongings no longer fit into 10 suitcases plus carry-ons.

Here then is the source of this diatribe. I spent the better part of my Sunday morning cleaning out my closet--removing summer gear and replacing it with heavy winter sweaters and long sleeved apparel. I also took the opportunity to throw out (meaning: ready for donation to charity) old clothes which I no longer wear for a variety of reasons. I filled 3 large plastic bin sacks full.

And yet?

Yet my closet is full. More things than I can possibly wear, more than I can definitively declare that I NEED.

And as I sit here at my brand new computer with my feet clad in my (just purchased yesterday) fuzzy pink slippers, I am suddenly loathe to consider just how I would live without it.

All of it.

Beautiful Berlin

Wordless Mittwoch

It Can Be Done

An entire blog post

written only in haiku

bringing you the news.

Half-term break is here

which surely means vacation,

no work and no school!

Six will board the train

Our destination: Berlin.

(Germany, of course).

Just one week to play...

Post trip I'll share everything

Back here at the blog.

While you're missing me

You can visit everyday

The other blog I keep.

At Looking Into

Allison and I both share

the photos we take.

I will miss you all

And I hope you'll miss me too

You can leave love notes.

xoxox

jenn

XOXOX

Repaired now for Cynic's sake

I'll sign off: Love, Jenn

Status Quo

"Hi Mom, how was your day at work?"

"Pretty good."

"So did anyone come into your office with so much blood gushing from their nose it soaked their shirt today?"

"Nope. Not today."

"Well, did anyone come by who fell on his back on the playground and really got more scared than hurt and just needed you to say 'you're okay' before you sent him back out to play?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Hmmm... Did a little girl come in to tell you that she had stabbed her own knee with a pencil?"

"Again, no."

"But for sure someone came limping in for an ice pack because she twisted her ankle at P.E.?"

"As a matter of fact, nope."

"No one came to your office to say that they had thrown up in the toilets and might need to do it again RIGHT NOW?"

"Sadly, no, son."

"So, let me get this straight, none of these things happened today?"

"Nope, not a one."

"Wow, you had a really boring day today"

"Yep. You got it. Some days are like that I guess."

Falling All Over Holland

Wordless Wednesday

Taking Care of Business

Second only to feeding the goats at the neighborhood Kinderboederij, the favorite activity for a certain four-year-old in this house is the glass recycler just around the corner. Once each week, or perhaps not quite as often as that, we gather all the empty glass jars and bottles in the house and carry them down the street to the green metal bins. Marked carefully for white, green and brown glass, this receptacle is built partially in the ground and is the perfect height for our little man to heft the bottles into the slot and push them on their journey down-down-down into the deep cache of... what? Broken glass I guess.

Whoosh~CRASH! The bottles slide through the opening and land splat on top, shattering with a satisfactory cacophonous sound.

"Again!" Andrew cries. "Another one!" And we watch bottle after bottle disappear into the deep chasm.

It's always a little hard to wait until the next jar of peanut butter is empty so we can play the game again.

The truth is I have always been a lover of the recycling mantra--reduce, reuse, recycle--but never knew it could be so much fun to send glass on the first part of it's journey to become something new.

I find the double measure of entertainment while taking care of the earth to be extremely appealing.