Learning English

The boys speak English quite well. Pete is already using sarcasm.

Of course, there are a few things that aren't quite right. I often hear, "That is me pen" (or me shirt or me toy or me whatever). They usually say of instead of or (of is Dutch for or as in "melk of sap?"). The one I never correct is land, which is Dutch for country -- "Your land won the game!" "How long are you staying in this land?" It's just too cute.

However, my favorite one of all is Pete's neverbody. You know. The opposite of everybody: neverbody.

The Return of the Little Yellow Ball

Things happen quickly around here. Kate did something to Pete, which I did not see. Pete retaliated, which left both of them wailing. Carl, ever valiant, came to Kate's rescue by launching himself at Pete. I was simultaneously trying to send Kate to The Mat and get Carl away from Pete before it turned into an all-out boxing match (I failed in said attempt). Everyone was screaming.

At last, Kate was on the mat contemplating her misbehavior (or playing with her toes), Pete was on the couch, and Carl was in my arms, still swinging. I got them calmed down and apologizing and released Kate from her sentence before The Mat became too much fun.

"Where's Ed?"

He was eating. But then his bottle was on the floor, empty. I looked under the table. I looked in the serra. I looked outside. I lost the baby.

"Guys, where's Ed?" Nothing. "Guys, I'm not kidding, where is your brother?" This heightened their concern and they started a search...

...which led us outside and between the cars where Ed was sitting.

"He's got something in his mouth," Carl said.

Sure enough, the baby was trying to chew on something. I tried to pry his mouth open, which is a lot harder than you might think. I couldn't see anything, but Carl did.

"It's a yellow ball!" he cried, clearly panicked. (See previous entry: "I not gonna do that again.") The kids are well aware of how dangerous small objects are for their beloved Ed. They stepped it up. Pete started beating on whatever body part he could reach, yelling, "Choke! Choke!" while Carl tried to shove his very dirty fingers into Ed's mouth to retrieve this little ball. I don't think Kate really knew what was going on, but she did her best to help, screaming and trying to hit Ed.

It was so loud, I wasn't able to get much direction in. Ed started crying, totally freaked out. With one arm, I held Ed on his feet and used the other to fend off Kate and Pete. I tried to stop Carl before he managed to push the little yellow ball down Ed's throat, but he got it out before I had the chance.

Crisis averted.

I took Ed inside and by the time I had put him on the floor, Carl had found the gun to which this little ball belongs and was loading and shooting, loading and shooting.

"Carl, were you there for anything that just happened? We don't want those little balls around. Go throw it away."

He started screaming in protest, naturally. While he was distracted by his own tantrum, Pete wrestled the ball out of his hand. Pete sprinted to the garbage can, closely followed by Carl, who was poised and ready to hit.

The ball made it into the trash. Pete got smacked. Carl spent five minutes on The Mat.

Chocolate and waffles, continued.

Belgium is non-stop delight, as far as I'm concerned. As it turned out, I didn't recognize one thing in Bruges (give me a break -- I was only there for one day in '99), but who cares? I've heard it called the most romantic city in Europe, and deservedly so -- it's lovely. I kind of wish I were still there, especially since it was a six-hour round trip. Describing cities is boring for the reader and the writer.







I went to a relatively crappy art museum, but at least you had to walk through a sculpture garden labyrinth to get to it. That made it worthwhile.

Of course, not so much French language in Bruges, but still lots of chocolate.

I wore my boots. You know it's going to be a good day when that happens. Sure, I don't know a lot of Dutch, but I know what heel mooi means.

Little things.

I was going to go to France and buy champagne for my bubbly-loving friends. Of course, now we're not allowed to have liquids in our carry-ons and it makes me more more than a little nervous to put a couple of glass bottles in my checked luggage. Sorry, folks. Blame the terrorists.

Instead, I'm going to Bruges, Belgium on Tuesday. Very exciting. I was in this city seven years ago when I came to Europe for the first time, but I remember so little of it.

Kate started school last week. She's two years old. She goes one morning and one afternoon each week. She will continue this preschool till she starts Group 1 (the first half of what we would consider kindergarten) in two years. However, she won't learn to read for about five years -- Group 3. Hmm.

In other Kate news, the other day she threw a fit after Rick left to drop the boys off (she really likes to go along) and she didn't stop screaming until he came back a full 25 minutes later. After the first three minutes, I just sat and stared at her. What am I supposed to do?

The boys are back in school, as well, after their six-week summer vacation.

Yesterday I bought paint, brushes, and paper. Today I spent about 10 hours painting. I don't want to brag, but I completed three masterpieces and started a fourth.

It's not staying light until 11:00 pm anymore. Boo.

I'm with my boyfriend Spike. He knows karate and carries a gun. I'm meeting him here in 10 minutes.

While in Lagos, I met Brooke, a 21-year-old from Ohio who spent the summer traveling around Europe by herself. We became friends and talked quite a bit about traveling solo.

Traveling by yourself -- particularly as a woman -- is tricky business. It means going home before dark so you don't have to make such a trip by yourself, or walking really, really fast after dark. It means occasionally having to turn down invitations to various events because you can't be certain of a participant's character. It means being rude and dismissing people who are probably perfectly decent folk and are just being nice. It means taking chances.

Above all, it means putting an incredible amount of faith in your intuition. You're equally likely to avoid a certain street or accept a ride somewhere without knowing why. One might think this makes you crazy or stupid, but it's all you've got.

I admire Brooke a great deal, as I do any solo female traveler. I admire their courage, and their realization that this seeing-the-world thing is worth any risk that might be associated with it. They are amazing, adventurous people.

It is with some surprise that I realize I am one of them.

Up and coming.

I'm working my way out of the slump.

On Monday I went to Amsterdam intending to meet up with a traveler from Chicago. His train was arriving in the late afternoon, but I went in the morning to work on the Christmas shopping project (and let me tell you, I made some good progress; I even got a little carried away, maybe).

It rained all day. I went to the Stedelijk Museum, where the mutilated furniture and accompanying video will give me nightmares. Ah, the age old question, What is art? We've got to keep an open mind.

So, afternoon came, and I wandered to his hostel to find he had checked in but he wasn't around. No one's fault, really; we hadn't made very specific plans for meeting up. I waited a while and went home. Disappointing; it would have been fun. Another time.

Luxembourg next week? I need some motivation.

Waking up on the wrong side of the world.

I am in a ba-a-a-d mood.

I woke up like this. I'm not even working today, but I still didn't stand a chance. This is type-worthy because it's fairly unusual. I didn't even feel like running. I didn't even feel like buying shoes. I went to Den Bosch thinking I could distract myself with new pretty things, but I could not. Instead, I walked around for three hours, trying to figure out what the hell is wrong.

I miss having a gym. You wouldn't believe how much I miss having a gym. My knees are starting to hurt, undoubtedly thanks to six months of long runs on the pavement, runs that are getting boring, anyway.

The boys are off the wall. I can't even call myself an authority figure and keep a straight face.

I suddenly feel remarkably out of touch with the goings on in my homeland. I think this is hard to understand until you move this many thousands of miles away. I wouldn't have understood it.

I have a lot of downtime I enjoy but sometimes have trouble filling. I've read a lot of books, sure, but I also watched Dr. Phil the other day. What?

I'm restless. Is it time to change it up again? I haven't traveled in a month; maybe that's part of the problem here.

That said, I'm probably not leaving in January as originally planned. They want me here. I have no concrete reason to leave, only vague ideas of a new chapter, perhaps one that takes place in Asia. More time means more travel (I can't sit still thinking of Amanda, Jack, and Joel: From Bohemia to the Balkans, coming in December). Once this is over, it's over. I can continue to live in Europe or wherever, but my situation will never be the same. Maybe that's worth holding on to for a little bit longer.

But that doesn't mean I'm not reallllll grumpy today. Talk to me when it's over.

Maybe there's no right time.

I'm not sure when this happened. Not when, not how.

I've never been much of a shoe person. I liked bare-footedness. I refused to spend good money on shoes, preferring to buy dresses and accept footwear hand-me-downs.

Somewhere along the line, my feelings started to shift. I started really noticing shoes on other people and actually choosing to go into shoe stores. This started back in the States, maybe a year or so ago, but the situation has been growing here in arch-supported leaps.

Maybe it's because the shoes here are so much better than they are at home. All I know is that the shoe population in my room has more than doubled since I arrived. This is not a good thing to be happening in a Payless-less land.

I acquired my newest pair yesterday. I went into the store to admire another pair of shoes I've been eyeing (but holding off on buying) when these lovely brown heels caught my attention. They wanted to come home with me. So they did.

A girl's best friend.

We were watching a cartoon in which someone said something in Dutch and presented another someone with a giant diamond ring. (It didn't seem to be a proposal. But we all know how my Dutch is. Anyway. Beside the point.)

Pete: Oooo, a diamond.

Amanda: Are you going to buy diamonds for me, Pete?

Pete: (thoughtful) How much those cost?

Amanda: Oh, quite a bit, schat.

Pete: More than five euros, you think? I have one of those papers, a five euros paper.

Amanda: (overwhelmingly touched) Yeah, quite a bit more than that, I think.

Pete: Oh. I can't buy that then for you.

Listen to this.

There are four very good things about Belgium:

1. Waffles.

2. Chocolate.

3. Diamonds.

4. French.

Listening to French is like eating candy, wearing Gucci, dancing the Argentine tango, especially after hearing Dutch all the time. Candy, I tell you.

How is my Dutch coming along, you might ask? Well. There are some factors playing into my drive to learn it:

1. We ended up being unable to locate a convenient and affordable Dutch language course.

2. It's really, really difficult.

3. It's pointless. The vast majority of the people who speak Dutch (which, let's remember, is a very low number worldwide) also speak English.

4. Dutch people repeatedly tell me that it's pointless.

5. It's ugly.

There. I said it. The Dutch language is highly unpleasant to listen to. No offense to the speakers of said language. I'm sorry. I'm not saying my language is beautiful. I doubt it is.

When I got here, I realized the first two points, and caught up with the third as my time here progressed. I still wanted to learn it, though, because:

1. It's still a skill.

2. Conditions for learning it are perfect.

3. It'd be great random fun to say, "Yeah, I speak Dutch."

But then I really listened to it. And I nearly went out of my mind.

This is all not to say I'm not picking up a few things. (Emphasis on few.) I'm just sort of leaving it at those.

That is all also not to say there aren't some highlights to this language.

1. kikker -- frog

2. schat -- treasure; used as a term of endearment

3. knuffle -- hug