DutchInLaw

When I first started 'practicing' homeschool with Pippin, I had high hopes but not a lot of context. What could a 2.5 year old learn? What would they enjoy? I read about some children who could read at 3 years old, others who didn't learn until 6 but were strong in other areas. I hoped to use the Sonlight homeschool curriculum once Pippin got older, but the teachers guide and books started from the 3/4 Preschool year. At two and a half years old, he fell more under the category 'totschooling'. So I focused on materials that would be a fun and casual introduction to letters, numbers, and the world around him. I wasn't ready to commit to a curriculum or materials that would be expensive or exhausting, especially if homeschooling didn't work well for us. I also didn't have much of a budget, or access to homeschooling communities from our home in the Netherlands. What I did have was plenty of free time, a working printer, and fast internet. So I started s...

This house is full of wobbly steps these days. Literal ones, in the form of my walking one year old who melts me with her hazel eyes and determination and the occasional casual THUMP as she lands on her little butt, gets up, and starts toddling off again. But there are more wobbly steps. Like me trying to clean the kitchen while avoiding the painful infection on the sole of my foot where an infected splinter punishes me for walking barefoot in the garden in one of the sunny days last month. Wobbly steps as D and I try to navigate the piles of junk in our attic because, as hard as I've been trying, I just can't clear it out. And every time I organize it (or, you know, take TEN GARBAGE BAGS to the kringloop in one week), it still spreads out again. Or I undo my previous organization so that I can move all of D's super cool, super manly power tools to a new storage room, and never put away what I moved out of that storage room. Wobbly steps as my big boy Pippin rides on...

A Day in the Life - Homeschooling a 4 Year Old in Holland As introduction, homeschooling in Holland is a tricky business. Homeschooling anywhere is a tricky business, but in the Netherlands the educational stance on homeschooling is complicated, which adds an extra layer to the daily challenges of stimulating a child's mind and building their knowledge base (and maintaining personal sanity). Currently we have a (second) official letter processing at the City Hall, and within the next month or two we hope to get official confirmation and acceptance of our notification of homeschooling. More information on Dutch laws here .  It is possible that we would be denied (technically illegal, but possible), in which case there will be discussions at home, negotiation with the city hall, and who knows what after that. Other homeschool families have been denied and then negotiated their way to success, or given in and enrolled their children in school, or moved to Belgium, which has ...

When I was homeschooled, my mother was fairly dependent on physical books; the Internet had only just been invented. Since we lived overseas, she ordered an English, faith-based curriculum called Sonlight. It was a fantastic fit for our family at the time, and I assumed I would use it if I ever wanted to teach my own kids. In January 2017, when Pippin was about two and a half years old, I decided to start our own homeschooling journey. The mandatory school age here in Holland is 5, and at that point a child either needs to be enrolled in school or have official exemption ( vrijstelling ) from the government. D and I discussed everything - in depth, read up on the laws, and talked with other homeschooling families here. Whatever the future held, we decided that starting early would give us time to see if homeschooling was a good fit for us. I did hours of research, and found that the Sonlight curriculum starts at preschool, for three and four year olds. During our last trip to the US...

One of the things I find fascinating in mainstream Dutch culture is the way normalcy is prized. Calling a person  " n uchter " - down-to-earth - is  a compliment. (It's also the word for sober, and I was very confused when I read a medical document that called for blood taken on a ' nuchter ' stomach. In that context, it just means empty, not that for other blood tests it's fine to show up totally drunk.)  Doutzen Kroes, the famous supermodel, said in an interview that she considers herself  nuchter , and values her simple background in Friesland, one of the northern provinces. Googling ' nuchter ' and Doutzen Kroes brings up several hits, including a page that even calls her, translated, 'the Dutch downtoearther'. High praise for a globetrotting international beauty. But if she keeps fame and fortune from going to her head, shouldn't we all? A common phrase I've heard here, especially from parents, is " Doe normaal ." Act...

Maybe I'm totally crazy to even consider it, but I log into the familiar blue and white NANOWRIMO website anyway. National Novel Writing Month? Sure, I may be about twenty weeks pregnant, living in a fixer-upper house overseas, and spending my days as expat mother and wife, but why not start writing a new novel this November? I'm sure the first people who signed up for the NANOWRIMO challenge were crazy too. And the people who first had the idea to turn the international, vague dream of "Write a novel some day" into a website with definable numbers and a voracious writing community. I didn't know anything of the sort existed until a few years ago, and now I enthusiastically sign up for almost every new session or 'camp' throughout the year. But the big pull is, of course, the month of November, when people around the world look at the slogan on the site header, "The world needs your novel," and decide it's somehow true.  The site...

In our old house, the kitchen piled high with the mess, and in our new house, the kitchen piles wide with the mess. The two adults and the child who live here all have more interesting things to do throughout the day than clean, which means it's normally evening before anyone takes action. And by anyone, I mean D clearing off his part of the counter so there's space for the bread machine, and me clearing off my part of the counter so I can set out breakfast bowls and spoons. In the morning, the counter fills up again quickly, but I'm teaching Pippin to help unload the dishwasher so I can load it again. Sometimes the mess in my kitchen stresses me. On rainy cold days, when the world seems against me, even just clearing the counter can seem too much to handle. Other days it's much more manageable, fortunately. When guests come over, the kitchen gets cleaned quickly. If there's a good movie on Netflix, the kitchen gets cleaned thoroughly (like when I binge-watch...

I hesitate while filling in the website form. Me, a teacher? I was looking for a free download, not a psychological cross-examination. I'm browsing a resources website while Pippin naps. By entering simple information like my email address and a little about myself, I get access to free downloads like coloring pages and preschool 'printables'.   It only takes a few seconds to fill in my info, down to the last question or two. A few simple clicks will get me to the downloads page I'm looking for. The part that's making me pause is the dropdown box with, "I teach___ " and then a drop-down menu. The choices range from pre-K to homeschool to adult education. There's also a simple "I don't teach" option. 

Tonight I was so bored of painting my nails and reading adoring fan mail that I decided to clean my dusty-from-unuse stove. Wait. No, that's how it happened in the alternate reality where I'm a famous but and reclusive writer, living in a seaside loft by my lonely self, writing best-selling songs and poetry and subsisting on organic salads and fruit smoothies. In this reality, I took a break from all my other to-do lists to scrub the stove that we use every single day. The stove that has five glorious burners so I can cook Christmas dinners for nine people or just spread out fresh pans of chocolate bark. The same stove where a gleeful Pippin helps me mix pancake batter and fill muffin molds.  The same stove that was filthy and sticky from a concoction of dust, grease, and miscellaneous spatters and practically screaming for a bath.

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...

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,...

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?

"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...

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

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...

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-" ...

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....

"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...

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. 

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?