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Showing posts from 2016

Christmas Magicking

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It's funny how Christmas takes on different flavors as I get older. December as a whole becomes different, and instead of a spectator, I'm the orchestra director. I'm the one doing the Christmas magicking, whereas as a child it just seemed to happen. Back then, the music wrapped around the days in a soundtrack of jingle bells and choirs. My parents called us downstairs for the Christmas story, and explained our traditions as we lit candles and unpacked the tree. My mother taught us special Advent crafts, and we made ornaments of clay or felt that represented Baby Jesus coming to this world to show God's persistent love to surprised humans. As a child, I watched as presents appeared under the tree, and wrapping paper rolls appeared in the closet. Guests showed up at our house to feast and laugh and hug. As an adult, and especially as an adult living in Holland, I know that Christmas dinners only happen when everyone synchronizes their schedules and messages about who

Being Busy

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In Dutch, there's a phrase  mee bezig zijn.  It translates literally to 'to be busy with', but it means more than just being busy and extends to the idea of being occupied. If you asked, I could say, " Mijn blog? Daar ben ik niet zo mee bezig, de laatste tijd ." I haven't been occupied with my blog lately. A word you can use in combination with  bezig  is  druk  - which also means busy. Work can be  druk , traffic can be  druk , a hyper toddler who wants to touch everything and run everywhere in our new house is definitely  druk . And together, the words come out as (very) busily occupied, which is what we've been since we signed papers to buy a house in August. Since then, we've been packing, moving, unpacking, and renovating a huge house in a quaint old neighborhood, down the river from Rotterdam. Or up the river, depending on what way you're looking. It's a beautiful old house, dating back to around 1910, but is also a major fixer-upper, s

The Man on the Bench

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I crane my head back to check the bench. It's probably nothing to be worried about. Probably. I'm sure he's fine. It's broad daylight. Chilly weather but no snow. Moms will be picking their kids up from school soon. If there's a problem they'll call for help, of course. Or will they be like me and just go on by?

Sudden Stop

"Your body has only one agenda," a friend messages me. "Maybe you're stressed about something?" I laugh in the middle of our conversation. "Sleep deprivation, drama at volleyball, (not yet) moving, trying to be a perfect wife and mother... there's stress in plenty!" Which is apparently why my body - or at least my jaw - is forcing a stop to all this. Raging pain has resulted in two dentist visits in the last week and then even a trip to the ER last night. No cavities or abnormalities to see on the x-rays, so the most probable diagnosis is TMJ. And the way to treat the poor overextended, pain-radiating area is rest (along with painkillers that aren't as helpful as I'd like.) Friends and family are praying for me. Strangers I don't know are praying. It's beautiful and humbling. My father-in-law drove me home from the dentist. My wonderful mother-in-law came over yesterday to help watch Pippin so I could rest. And my husband has don

Ossim Day

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Some days we just burble along here. Other days are OSSIM. Today was an ossim day.

Coffee for the Scrubman?

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From my kitchen I can hear his argumentative voice echoing through the stairwell. Phoning a friend? Venting to a coworker? Times are hard. People don't pay what's fair. He has to working extra to make ends meet. He scrubs and complains, tossing in a few curse words. And his loud frustration might wake a napping Pippin. Should I interrupt his rant to ask him to quiet down a bit? Probably not. I've been missing the other, older workmen. I'd started to think of them as 'ours' during the weeks that they were in and out, chatting with the awestruck Pippin as they painted and operated the machines outside. It felt like having uncles around when they offered to help me haul the buggy downstairs or complimented my coffee. Their singing (yodeling?) made me smile. But this new guy, with the loud angry voice. Who's to say he wouldn't pause talking on the phone long enough to cuss me out or give me the finger? I'll just ignore him and hope Pippin sleeps thr

You Know You're Ingeburgerd When... (Part 1)

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Ingeburgerd can be translated as 'adjusted' or 'integrated'. Not surprisingly, the Dutch government has made inburgering mandatory for most people applying for residency or citizenship. If you intend to stay in the Netherlands long-term, the requirements include language and social tests, such as the NT2. While legal paperwork and diplomas are important, not everything can be measured by piece of paper. You don't get a certificate for just feeling like you're well-adjusted in Dutch society. But approving nods from colleagues and friends, or sometimes even just the lack of patient corrections can show you're on the right path to blending in. Sometimes it really is the little things that matter.... You know you're ingeburgerd when.... You nonchalantly swipe your card past the reader in the tram, train, or metro station without looking. You finish someone's sentence with an appropriate slogan. I.e. "That's the power-" "

Of Bureaucracy and Bad Smells

After stressing over paperwork for an international regulation I didn't even know existed, due to no financial advisor, and finding a container of decaying fried chicken behind the fridge in the process of scrubbing dried coconut milk inside the fridge, I'm ready for a nice scented soak in a bathtub that apparently wouldn't even be standard issue in a 4-bedroom house that could hypothetically be bought if we did find a financial advisor who knows things about mortgages and international tax regulations. Maybe once the paperwork clears there will be a blog post (hopefully not too scathing) about the hassle of trying to find answers on buying a house, sharing a bank account, and paying taxes as an expat spouse....

The Sandman

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"Can you call me instead of ringing the doorbell when you come? I just put Pippin down for a nap...." I text. The sanding machine starts up with a roar five minutes later. The workman warbles. The ladder creaks. I debate my choices. It's been a good morning. My mother-in-law came by for coffee this morning, then 'parked' a bag with us to pick up later. "No problem, we'll be home all day," I had told her cheerfully, but that was before the workman arrived. A friendly bear of a man rang the doorbell holding a bucket and asked politely for some warm water. He said he'd be sanding and scraping today, and working on the old white wallpaper in the stairwell (who wallpapers a stairwell in the first place?) Since we three inside were having coffee and pastry, why not share? My parents used to make entire pots for workmen, and I feel very grownup to be able to offer some from my own kitchen. The workman returns the coffee cup and plate at bre

Party at J's House

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Dorcas moved through the living room curiously, looking at the simple but homey furnishings. "Such a lovely idea to have a housewarming party. Your siblings will be here, of course, but it is a small apartment. I hope you weren't planning on too many other friends coming?" "Oh, you'd be surprised how many people can fit when they're welcome." J's eyes twinkled. 

Little Moments

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Our lives are made In these small hours These little wonders, These twists & turns of fate Time falls away, But these small hours, These small hours still remain -Rob Thomas I'm sitting on the kitchen floor with my toddler. Lasagna is in the oven and we're licking the sauce pot. Soon he'll be off to play with blocks or demolish a pile of laundry, but for now, it's perfect. It's the kind of homey relaxed moment I want my life to be filled with as a mama. There are a lot of those moments in my days and weeks. But there are also other moments that are everything but homey or relaxed. And who takes photos of the tough times, or talks about those tear-my-hair-out and we-may-never-have-another-kid moments?

Clear the Halls

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We received an official letter with a notice of upcoming painting scheduled for our apartment building. The letter included a warning that all inhabitants of our building will be equally billed if painters have to clear the public spaces. A week later, there are still broken bikes and old couches in the basement. Since we have several foreign neighbors, I printed a friendly note in English and dropped a copy in everyone's mailboxes. Then I saw a to-the-point Dutch note already hanging in the hall.  It's fascinating because this sort of issue brings up conflict. 

New in Rotterdam

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I often see comments and questions in the expat facebook group from people who have just moved to Rotterdam from another country. I had a chance to adjust gradually - 5 years in a village in the north of Holland, then a year and a half in a town nearby Rotterdam. By the time I actually moved into this metropolis I was fluent in Dutch and knew my way around the city. But to come here directly... that could be quite a shock.

Sleepovers

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I'm a member of a Rotterdam expatriates Facebook group. It's a great place for discussions on Dutch culture,  travel tips, and articles on parenting.  Today a parent referred to James Dobson's attitude that sleepovers should be discouraged for safety reasons. Not surprisingly, other parents commented with their own opinions, and it turned into a fascinating discussion. Is the discouraging of sleepovers just f ear-mongering? Or a good policy for concerned parents in today's world? Some people responded to the post in just a few words, while others wrote long replies . Here's mine. As expats, we're already creating a different-than-average life for ourselves and our children. We question educational methods, the price of renting-vs-buying, and the safety of biking in the city. Then we decide what is right for our own families. Why not question the value of sleepovers?