The Train

The Bike

Funny, funny Spot

D'you know, the humor of the Dick and Jane books is exactly at Douwe's level. He thinks that it is the funniest thing ever when Spot shakes off his coat on Dick and Jane or sneaks Dick's hot dog off the stick when his back is turned. And when Puff falls into the wading pond, well, he just explodes in giggles.

Funny, funny Spot. Silly, silly Puff.

Two days of complaining is enough

So I am not mentioning that we were all wide awake from 2 am to about 5 am. We woke up starving. Tonight I made southern fried chicken and french fries for dinner, which guaran-damn-tee'ed that my kids would get enough protein to stay asleep tonight. If that doesn't work, I'm bringing out the big guns and feeding them turkey tomorrow.

Now the house is scrubbed, the cellar is bulging with things to eat and drink, the flags which say "I'm 4!" are hung, the pin which says "I'm 4!" is made (because the party shop where we buy them is doing inventory, and you are not officially one year older around here until you have a pin that says you are), the birthday cake is made and Spongebob is sitting on top of it with that shit eating grin, (the cake was not baked, you can't bake if you haven't got a real oven, so it's a cheesecake-y thing), the presents are wrapped, the balloons are strung.

No, we haven't got any flags which say "I'm 63!". Nel has no birthday anymore, remember? She gave hers to Daan. She will remain 59 in perpetuity.

The new bike which Oma hunted the whole of Holland for is sitting in the middle of the floor festooned with balloons. (Oma had to hunt the whole of Holland because Daan is small. Very small. So small that the bikes in his size are mostly toys and not "real bikes" at all. Wonder of wonders, she found a real bike that small. Photos tomorrow.)

The train which Grandmary sent is wrapped in the most god awful shiny gold foil paper you have ever gone blind looking at. Which will please Daan endlessly, a real magpie that kid of mine.

And I am going to bed. For a week. Except that I have to wake up in time to take the pictures.

Jet lag sucks part 2

Paul woke us all up at noon, which was pretty easy because...er, better back up. We all woke up at 2 am starving to death. So we trooped downstairs and had something to eat. Luckily we didn't wake anyone because both the night owls in this house (who are not jet lagged) were just going to bed.

Then the boys piled in bed with us and demanded a reprise of Hop on Pop before they would go to sleep. Then they bugged each other for about an hour (I'm bigger. No, I'm bigger. Wah, mom, tell Daan I'm bigger. No, I am bigger) before we all finally went to sleep (If I hear one more word out of the two of you I am going to show you who's biggest.) Then Paul woke us up at noon.

And the two of us who are hard wakers bitched and moaned and carried on and tried to go back to sleep on the couch. The one of us who is not demanded that I unpack his toys, most notably the sword and shield.

Then I did three loads of laundry, separated the sword fighters, cleaned the bathroom upstairs, separated the jousters, cleaned the bedroom, separated the Dark Magicians, cleaned the kitchen, sent Batman and Robin to different rooms to play in, swept the floors, confiscated the scissors from the makers of the Millenium Puzzles, came up with something for dinner, cleaned up the paste from the completion of the Millenium Puzzles, made dinner....my Cinderella complex is kicking in and the fairy freakin godmother is late. My primary complaint is the above mentioned laundry. Now, listen, I did my laundry from the trip, on the trip. Other than 3 sets of jammies I brought home clean laundry. So what laundry was I doing?

The laundry I left, of course, plus laundry since about Tuesday. It appears that Dearly Beloved did his laundry while we were gone and it never apparently crossed his mind to do the laundry that was already dirty. More on that later.

Dearly Beloved did buy me a really thoughtful gift while I was gone, it was a refill for my day runner. This is not the height of romance perhaps, but I do use it every single day, I use it quite a lot. So it was nice. Since I do use it every day quite a lot, I had already bought one. I did not want to tell him that because we Do Not Ever discourage a spouse from buying a thoughtful gift. I figured I would just exchange it and everybody would be happy.

Dearly Beloved did volunteer to do the shopping for food and also for Daan's and Nel's birthdays on Sunday. This got him out of the house while I was doing the aforementioned. All I had to do was make the list and tell him exactly what to get. Which I did except for the little toys to put in the party bags for Daan's party at school on Monday. I put right on the list, "16 toys for party bags".

This is a non-specific item, you see. When I say "exactly what to get" I mean I have to write down exactly what to get.

So he came home and said that he looked everywhere and there weren't any.

Really, not a single toy in all of Holland. None, zip zilch, zero.

So then after dinner I went with Nel into town and we bought the toys. Also the party bags. And we noted that they have Yu-gi-oh tennis shoes now. Something makes me think I am about to be a couple twenty five euros poorer as soon as my elder child sees them -- or Oma tells him where they are.

While I was shopping I went to exchange the day runner thingie. They refused to exchange it without a receipt. So I was going to have to throw it away, becasue Paul never, ever has the receipt, not ever. Unless you mug him when he gets home and wrest it from his hands or save it from the bag when he throws the bag away, forget the receipt thingie, it's a piece of paper and Dearly Beloved has a bad relationship with pieces of paper.

So when we got home, I had to go directly upstairs to say goodnight to Douwe, who had sworn a blood oath that he would stay awake until I came home to say goodnight. While I was doing that, Nel (who is a much more hopeful person than I am) went to Paul and asked him for the receipt. He said he did not have it. Closer questioning (Nel is also more persistent than I am)revealed that he did, miracle of miracles, have it. It was forgotten in his shirt pocket, which he had not washed while I was gone.

Good thing I never finished the laundry today.

Nel took it from him immediately. His father apparently had the same relationship with pieces of paper: my mother in law and I are equally dedicated to Never leaving Bits of Paper in the hands of any bearer of the Y chromosome, due to hard experience. ("Tax return? What would you want that for, we know how much we made. I threw it away. Did we need it?" That sort of thing).

And my sister called, which was lovely. Even if I was brain dead and could not think of a thing to say.

So that was my day, how was yours?

Jiggety jig, redux

Well, we are home. We are alive. Beyond that, I can only say I am getting too old for this.

I feel like somebody worked me over with a stick. I keep thinking "Never again".

Which is as you will recall what I said after Douwe was delivered, so that's what my personal vow is worth, lol.

The kids are yelling for me to come down and eat the yummy chinese food they just went and got. Have I mentioned that I hate the chinese available in Holland?

Ugh. Just ugh. I am so too old for this.

The kite

Daan's first tree

Making Auumn boxes with Oma

Fire Department Open House

Daan took one long and careful look at this thing and declined to try it, so he's not in the picture.

The Birthday boy

The Birthday Party

Big Softy

Somebody around here has been grousing and fussing and has most strenuously stated that I am not to be getting all extravagant with the toy buying and spil my children rotten.

And somebody also drove sixty miles in rush hour traffic to buy a certain pair of boys a collection of Yu Gi Oh cards, which they are presently insane for.

But I'm not naming names, oh no.

Big Softy.

And in other news

Daan now demands to go to school every day. He cannot go to school every day, nursery here is two days a week. This week I took him with me to Douwe's school where he will go in January. His future teacher tried to get him to come into the class for a bit.

He said: "No, I am three. I am too small to go to school. I will come in January. In January I will be four".

And that was that.

I would like to know what to get him for St. Nicholas and Christmas. He has asked for a motorcycle, and that's all he wants.

Well, other than whatever any other child has in his or her hand, that is.

This just in

Well, the report is in. Douwe's test result is of an average 6 year old. The report says that he blew the top off of the tests of abstract reasoning, concrete reasoning, and pattern recognition. I mean, he tested at the level of an 8 year old, which is as high as the test goes the way it was administered.

He tested as badly on spatial insight (that's what they call it) as he did well on the other parts -- he tested at a 4 year old level there. So the average of these is 6 years old, and he is therefore an average 6 year old. The gap in scores is noted but is, according to this report, "not significant". (huh?)

In the mean time, we have had his report from his school -- they don't do letter grades, they do this very long report thingie. He is there showing at about a 5 year old level, but they have most strenuously noted that his improvement has been very rapid in the couple of months he has been there. They have....are you ready? Sitting down? They have no behavioral problems with him of any kind. They note that there were some problems in the beginning but that as he has come to trust them the problems have melted away.

Melted away.

I'm so happy I could just wiggle.

The only big problem they now have is that they think he can do more difficult work than he is actually doing (and I am sure of it; he is apparently ignoring all reading/writing related work at school while feverishly demanding to do more and more of it at home. I think he wants to surprise somebody).

The funniest part of his school report is that they have these check box thingies, describing various kinds of behavior and skills. You know, like "takes initiative" and "follows directions" and "runs with scissors". Whatever. Then there are these boxes for "Always" "Sometimes" and "Never".

Every box without exception is checked "sometimes".

Just trying everything out, my kid.

Testing, Testing....

As the final lap in the apparently interminable process of applying for special ed help for Douwe, he had to have a psychological screening. I have been being the Mommy From Hell about this for some months now. The child, I pointed out, has seen more specialists than you can shake a stick at, a veritable alphabet soup of persons with letters-after-the name has been consulted. Not a single one has ever even considered a psych screening worth the trouble.

This, I was firmly given to understand, makes no difference. Must Be Ruled Out. Well, okay, I gave up, threw in the towel, folded. Red tape has, after all, been raised to a fine art in this particular aspect of life, so I conceded. He was referred to an Audiological Center for testing, as they have some experience with administering such tests to children with speech and language disorders. Okay. Yesterday, off he went with his father to be tested.

Where they explained to Paul that they were not going to give him the psych test. He was to have an intelligence test instead.

Excuse me?

Well, you see, it is a non-verbal intelligence test, so it's all okay.

Come again? This rules out psychological factors exactly how?

Paul did not ask any of these questions as he is not, in fact, the Parent From Hell. He is a most agreeable parent, he figured it would do no harm even though he thinks testing IQ in children this age provides no meaningful information.

*shrug*. So they spent three hours checking to see if Douwe can't talk because he isn't bright enough to learn to talk. Or something.

The report has not come in of course. But apparently we may rest assured that Douwe is a person of at least ordinary intelligence and this is not the reason he talks funny. I know you were all very worried about this possibility.

I am waiting on the report, but there is one rather odd note. Apparently Douwe did rather well on the tests of abstract and concrete reasoning. He also did well on the part where he was to complete puzzles. And he apparently bombed most dramatically on the two sections which test spatial awareness. Paul did not know why this puzzled the nice lady who administered the test so much, but I do. There are advantages to having done special ed for a living, one of which is that you learn a lot about testing of various kinds. (There is also a downside, which is that you can become rather cynical about testing).

She was puzzled because this is impossible. A child who did this badly on those two sections of the test simply cannot have done so well on the puzzles section. I am curious to see, when the report comes in, whether the interpretation part tries to address this impossibility.

In any event, Douwe enjoyed the testing and there were for once absolutely no behavior issues muddying the water. He was completely exhausted when he came home and for the rest of the day. All he had to say further was that he would rather go to school today instead of going back there if that was all right.

Hey, mom, he put it on

Now, of course, I can't get him to take it off.

While I was on the phone

With my mother yesterday, Douwe came in to interrupt me several times. Daan did not. So after I hung up I went to investigate his absence. I found him in the bathroom washing his hands. And the counter and the floor and everything else. With three kinds of soap and a very guilty look.

Further examination revealed a red something or other on his fingers which would not come off with soap. And on his face.

Forensic evidence suggested that Daan has acquired the fine motor skills needed to open a bottle of fingernail polish. I asked him if he had it in his mouth and he said, "No, I drank the water. It was icky,". His teeth and tongue were clean but his breath was sort of, I don't know, flowery.

So I went to clean by the bed (which was a lovely shade of Red Coat Red) and found the empty bottle of top coat. Most of which was on the floor, but I believe in forensic evidence. And by this time Daan was admitting to having kidnapped the Lindburgh Baby and denying that he had feet in his efforts to give us the answer we wanted to hear.

Did you know that there is no Poison Control number in Holland? Well, actually there is but it isn't available to the public. So I called the hospital where the man said he had to be brought in so they could look and see if he had actually swallowed the stuff since I was not sure either way. Mostly, he said, children do not actually swallow fingernail polish as it tastes icky. (Uh-huh, that's what Daan said, mister).

I asked what they were planning to look at exactly and got no answer. I mean, you cannot exactly see fingernail polish on an x ray can you? And I suppose acetone would show up on a blood test eventually but by then it might be, er, too late, it seems to me.

So off went Daan to the hospital for scientific testing where they decided they couldn't tell either. And they diagnosed him with being the cutest thing ever, he was apparently flirting with everyine in sight and being generally full of piss and vinegar. Happily, the top coat has not got acetone or any other horribles in it (which the doctor found out by calling poison control, grrr). So they said that even if he had swallowed the whole bottle he ought to be all right, gave him a balloon and sent him home.

General update

I think I am going to just stop mentioning my extended absences. You know I am a slacker, I know I am a slacker, what's the point?

In the time of my absence, I have had strep throat (thank you, Daan my darling, but I could have gone all year without that little gift) which turned into my annual (apparently) sinus infection. I knew you are supposed to be surprised by how much you turn out to be turning into you own mother, but that particular wrinkle I admit I had not expected. I expected to hear myself say "Don't make me come over there", for example. I did not expect to move a couple thousand miles away only to discover that I was horribly allergic to something in my new locale. I am, after all, not allergic to anything. Er, was not allergic...

I don't know what it is; I suspect I may be allergic to dry air since the damn thing kicks in as soon as the heat goes on.

Nel has been having back pain for some time, which she tried to bull her way through for about a week but which finally won out, so she is sort of out of the game just now. It is bad enough that she spent an entire day indoors, which is I believe a first in my experience of living with Nel.

Paul bought a new computer game, which accounts for part of my absence recently, those of you whose spouses are occasionally seized with the need to sit for hours and hours before a computer screen killing digital monsters of various kinds need no further explanation.

And we have had Douwe's birthday of course. Pictures to follow. Some kind person gave him two Yu-Gi-Oh videos, so he is now running around with his two Yu Gi Oh cards (which come in the videos) playing pretend Duel Mosters with a pretend opponent. Sometimes with Daan, who defiantly slaps down any squarish object to mount his apparently blistering counterattacks.

Jozet, tell the truth now

This really was written by your spouse, wasn't it?

Thought so.

Seriously, scroll down and read the whole thing, the Q&A is just hysterical.