On Saturday, the boys competed in a bicycle race, the 5- and 6-year-old division.
Carl: Do you think I'm going to win?
Amanda: Well, do you think you're going to win?
Carl: Yes.
And he did.
Rick was flying, unfortunately, so he missed the first win in what he hopes will be Carl's long and successful cycling career, but we watched the video and celebrated heartily when he returned home that evening. Carl popped open a bottle of champagne.
Pete gave an impressive performance as well, but his was after the race. He didn't cry. He didn't complain. He didn't even seem to resent Carl. He just piped up with, "I didn't fall down!" (Carl did fall, once.) And he drank that champagne like he had earned it.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
De-Lousing
It was fairly late on a Tuesday night when I returned home from Scotland, and the next morning I was met with the following message as Carien hurried out the door to work: "Pete has lice." Rick was also leaving for work that day, so I was left alone for three days with the task of getting rid of the little buggers.
Mostly, this meant laundry. Anything the kids took off, touched, or looked at was thrown into the washing machine. You can imagine the ironing project that followed. I didn't know that many clothes existed.
It also meant meticulous checking of the children's heads. Luckily, after Pete had his head full of the no-more-lice medicine for a day, I didn't find any critters on any heads. Maybe, just maybe, we were in the clear.
And we were. Until the following Wednesday in Germany when Carien found lice on Ed's head, which prompted a search revealing lice on Pete and Carl. The project began again. We put no-more-lice medicine on the kids' heads. We vacuumed. We bagged everything, as we had no washing machine. We itched and itched and itched, but despite knowing for sure that we all had them, we couldn't find them anywhere else.
To date there have been no more lice sightings, though precautions are still being taken. Lots of toys are still hanging out in plastic bags. The lice comb is still on hand. The other day I found Rick's pilot hat in the freezer. No wonder he can't keep track of it.
Mostly, this meant laundry. Anything the kids took off, touched, or looked at was thrown into the washing machine. You can imagine the ironing project that followed. I didn't know that many clothes existed.
It also meant meticulous checking of the children's heads. Luckily, after Pete had his head full of the no-more-lice medicine for a day, I didn't find any critters on any heads. Maybe, just maybe, we were in the clear.
And we were. Until the following Wednesday in Germany when Carien found lice on Ed's head, which prompted a search revealing lice on Pete and Carl. The project began again. We put no-more-lice medicine on the kids' heads. We vacuumed. We bagged everything, as we had no washing machine. We itched and itched and itched, but despite knowing for sure that we all had them, we couldn't find them anywhere else.
To date there have been no more lice sightings, though precautions are still being taken. Lots of toys are still hanging out in plastic bags. The lice comb is still on hand. The other day I found Rick's pilot hat in the freezer. No wonder he can't keep track of it.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Alles goed.
I'll admit it. I wasn't looking forward to a week in Germany, hanging out at the house at night with the kids while the grown-ups went to hang out with the rest of the family. The first two days were misery for me -- dishes, diapers, German television -- despite the celebration of Halloween on Sunday. If I had blogged before Tuesday evening, you wouldn't have been surprised to find me in a U.S. airport by Wednesday.
But then, on Tuesday, in the middle of lipsyncing N*Sync's Bye Bye Bye with Carl and performing the dance I helped him choreograph for the family's annual lipsync competition, I started having a fantastic time. (Even though we didn't win. Even though we had a lice outbreak among the kids on Wednesday that kept us vaccuuming and bagging all fabrics.)
We were in Kirchheim, about five hours from here by car, and it's beautiful. You're going to have to take my word for that. I went on lots of runs and walks, and each time I thought, okay, next time I have to remember the camera. And then I ended up being too busy for walks at all for the last three days, so. No pictures of the area.
But it's beautiful. There are actual hills! I've mentioned before that the Netherlands is a lazy runner's paradise, but it's also boring. At least in the mountains, you have something to dread.
On Thursday night, Opa was too tired to venture out for the daily party, so I got to go in his place instead of going to bed early with the kiddies. The first two hours were pretty dry. There were so many people, and so much Dutch being spoken, that I couldn't really find a strain of conversation to follow without distraction. But eventually I got more focused, and although I didn't contribute in meaningful Dutch ways, I did get the jokes and I had a great time. I also finished a bottle of wine. Couldn't hurt.
Carien and I got to bond a bit. It's funny listening to her make fun of the German language. A Dutch speaker. Making fun of German.
Which, by the way, sounds almost lovely after nine months of the Dutch.
I learned some German words. They include:
saft -- juice
apfel -- apple
wasser -- water
We went on walks. We had a barbecue. We shopped in the nearby town of Hersfeld where I bought clothes that weren't on sale. I played tennis for the first time in my life (minus that time with you, Boy, but I don't think that much counts), and my partner couldn't possibly have been very disappointed in my performance -- I did the good work. Except for my serving, which was a bit of a liability. We won a match, lost a match, and I love that sport. I look good with a raquet. My life needs more tennis. That's all.
The best part? This trip kicked my bad mood, dare I say for good. I feel motivated again. I have such deep affection for this country and its people. I love Carien's giant family. Leaving Europe is going to be a painfully difficult operation.
But then, on Tuesday, in the middle of lipsyncing N*Sync's Bye Bye Bye with Carl and performing the dance I helped him choreograph for the family's annual lipsync competition, I started having a fantastic time. (Even though we didn't win. Even though we had a lice outbreak among the kids on Wednesday that kept us vaccuuming and bagging all fabrics.)
We were in Kirchheim, about five hours from here by car, and it's beautiful. You're going to have to take my word for that. I went on lots of runs and walks, and each time I thought, okay, next time I have to remember the camera. And then I ended up being too busy for walks at all for the last three days, so. No pictures of the area.
But it's beautiful. There are actual hills! I've mentioned before that the Netherlands is a lazy runner's paradise, but it's also boring. At least in the mountains, you have something to dread.
On Thursday night, Opa was too tired to venture out for the daily party, so I got to go in his place instead of going to bed early with the kiddies. The first two hours were pretty dry. There were so many people, and so much Dutch being spoken, that I couldn't really find a strain of conversation to follow without distraction. But eventually I got more focused, and although I didn't contribute in meaningful Dutch ways, I did get the jokes and I had a great time. I also finished a bottle of wine. Couldn't hurt.
Carien and I got to bond a bit. It's funny listening to her make fun of the German language. A Dutch speaker. Making fun of German.
Which, by the way, sounds almost lovely after nine months of the Dutch.
I learned some German words. They include:
saft -- juice
apfel -- apple
wasser -- water
We went on walks. We had a barbecue. We shopped in the nearby town of Hersfeld where I bought clothes that weren't on sale. I played tennis for the first time in my life (minus that time with you, Boy, but I don't think that much counts), and my partner couldn't possibly have been very disappointed in my performance -- I did the good work. Except for my serving, which was a bit of a liability. We won a match, lost a match, and I love that sport. I look good with a raquet. My life needs more tennis. That's all.
The best part? This trip kicked my bad mood, dare I say for good. I feel motivated again. I have such deep affection for this country and its people. I love Carien's giant family. Leaving Europe is going to be a painfully difficult operation.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
May the best you've ever seen be the worst you'll ever see again.
Sunday night in Edinburgh was fantastic. It just happened to be the one evening out of the month that a group of my host's friends, most of them Brazilian (though they didn't know each other till they met in Edinburgh) get together and make feijoada, a traditional Brazilian dish. Basically, it's a whole pig, black beans, some spices, and whatever other random stuff you want to throw in. On top of it you put this certain flour-type stuff, which looks like parmesan cheese but isn't, and it tastes good by itself, too. Delicious.
Jony told me he suspected we'd start around six, so I promised to be back by then. I was, but we didn't even leave the house until 9:30. Apparently, Brazilian time is similar to Spanish time. They had warned me that the dish takes at least four hours to cook (it's one of those that is better the next day), so I knew we were in for a long night.
We shopped for a few last-minute things and met up with Pedro, Curgy, Leo, Sergio, and Patrick, the lone Scot. Jony and Pedro started cooking, and the rest of us kicked back around a couple of bottles of wine.
It reminded me of when I fell in love with the theatre crowd. We were at a party, and a handful of drunk actors were discussing directing theory. At a party! Drunk! I adored them. And travelers are the same, though they talk about where they've been, where they're going, where you should stay when you go, where you shouldn't bother going, what you should eat when you get there. It's fantastic. They're such an open, welcoming, fascinating lot of people, and I am delighted to count myself amongst them.
It wasn't until the feijoada was served that I realized we'd been there awhile. Soooo good. Curgy spilled his on my leg. Twice.
It was a truly magnificent evening. More than once, I was overcome by the absolute delight of it, and actually had to fight back tears of joy on two occasions. It was just so special. There I was, in Edinburgh, sitting around with a handful of Brazilians, a Spaniard, and a Scot, listening to them switch back and forth between the three languages, feeling perfectly happy and at home, wanting to stay in Scotland not for Scotland, but for them. Magnificent.
Jony told me he suspected we'd start around six, so I promised to be back by then. I was, but we didn't even leave the house until 9:30. Apparently, Brazilian time is similar to Spanish time. They had warned me that the dish takes at least four hours to cook (it's one of those that is better the next day), so I knew we were in for a long night.
We shopped for a few last-minute things and met up with Pedro, Curgy, Leo, Sergio, and Patrick, the lone Scot. Jony and Pedro started cooking, and the rest of us kicked back around a couple of bottles of wine.
It reminded me of when I fell in love with the theatre crowd. We were at a party, and a handful of drunk actors were discussing directing theory. At a party! Drunk! I adored them. And travelers are the same, though they talk about where they've been, where they're going, where you should stay when you go, where you shouldn't bother going, what you should eat when you get there. It's fantastic. They're such an open, welcoming, fascinating lot of people, and I am delighted to count myself amongst them.
It wasn't until the feijoada was served that I realized we'd been there awhile. Soooo good. Curgy spilled his on my leg. Twice.
It was a truly magnificent evening. More than once, I was overcome by the absolute delight of it, and actually had to fight back tears of joy on two occasions. It was just so special. There I was, in Edinburgh, sitting around with a handful of Brazilians, a Spaniard, and a Scot, listening to them switch back and forth between the three languages, feeling perfectly happy and at home, wanting to stay in Scotland not for Scotland, but for them. Magnificent.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Taking the High Road
I leave a lot of places wanting to go back, but Scotland is the first I've felt I desperately need to return to. I'm so excited to head back and take a trip up through the Highlands, as I ended up not getting far out of Edinburgh. For good reason, of course, but there is much there to see, and I can't wait to see it.
I stayed with a couple of Brazilians, fantastic people. So fantastic, in fact, that I decided to stay with them in Edinburgh the last night instead of journeying on to Glasgow, though my plane left from there on Tuesday.
I arrived on Friday afternoon -- an hour late. Thanks a lot, EasyJet. Leo was there, though....had been waiting that whole hour, so I felt pretty bad, but he was in good spirits. He dropped me off at his house and went to work. I went back out on the town and ended up at a performance of Merchant of Venice that evening.
On Saturday Leo went with me up to the Artist's Sit, which is a hill providing the best view of any place I've ever been, and around town.
Lots and lots of walking. I'm estimating 8-10 miles. No joke.
Jony, his roommate, joined us later. We went to a bar around midnight and met another friend of theirs.
Sunday I was on my own, first to a comedy club for an afternoon of improv (it was okay) and then to the National Portrait Gallery, also okay. I had every intention of leaving on Monday morning to go Glasgow, but these people were too much fun. I had no plans to stay anywhere in Glasgow, and no real urge to see anything it had to offer. I was intending to journey out to Loch Lomond, but Jony suggested renting a car and taking a drive, so we planned on that.
Of course, the driver needs both a license and a credit card in his own name, and I was the only one among us with that particular combination. However, I was not about to attempt driving on the left side of the road. So, bust. I was really disappointed, thinking I should have gone on to Glasgow after all, as from there I would have simply taken a train to Loch Lomond.
We went back to the house. It was late morning by this time, and I was trying to determine the best way to get to Loch Lomond, thinking of maybe getting a hostel in Glasgow on Monday night after all, when Jony suggested St. Andrews. So, we took a 2.5-hour bus ride to St. Andrews. A charming little town. The cathedral is fascinating, the coastline beautiful. Worthwhile.
There was a party that night, a bunch of the Brazilians getting together, which I was very excited to go to. However, upon returning from St. Andrews, my evening looked something like this:
7:00 -- throwing up in bus station bathroom
7:56 -- throwing up in Leith Walk garbage bin
8:15 -- throwing up at home
I planted myself on the couch and didn't move until 7:30 the next morning. I still have no idea what caused that. I never felt sick to my stomach at any point. It was just suddenly, wow, I'm going to throw up, and I did. And then I felt fine, until I wanted to throw up again, and I did. Very strange. By morning I was totally fine. And terribly disappointed. Jony wasn't home. It must have been a fun one.
Tuesday was traveling, traveling. I took a bus to Glasgow (one hour) and a bus to the airport (another hour). My plane left at 4:30, I was home by 6:30, but then I had to wait for a train and worse, for a bus. I didn't actually get back to the house till after 10:00 pm -- totally missing Ed's birthday. The boys chastised me for that this morning.
Scotland. Lovely. Itching to get back and take a drive through the Highlands. Who's with me?
I stayed with a couple of Brazilians, fantastic people. So fantastic, in fact, that I decided to stay with them in Edinburgh the last night instead of journeying on to Glasgow, though my plane left from there on Tuesday.
I arrived on Friday afternoon -- an hour late. Thanks a lot, EasyJet. Leo was there, though....had been waiting that whole hour, so I felt pretty bad, but he was in good spirits. He dropped me off at his house and went to work. I went back out on the town and ended up at a performance of Merchant of Venice that evening.
On Saturday Leo went with me up to the Artist's Sit, which is a hill providing the best view of any place I've ever been, and around town.
Lots and lots of walking. I'm estimating 8-10 miles. No joke.
Jony, his roommate, joined us later. We went to a bar around midnight and met another friend of theirs.
Sunday I was on my own, first to a comedy club for an afternoon of improv (it was okay) and then to the National Portrait Gallery, also okay. I had every intention of leaving on Monday morning to go Glasgow, but these people were too much fun. I had no plans to stay anywhere in Glasgow, and no real urge to see anything it had to offer. I was intending to journey out to Loch Lomond, but Jony suggested renting a car and taking a drive, so we planned on that.
Of course, the driver needs both a license and a credit card in his own name, and I was the only one among us with that particular combination. However, I was not about to attempt driving on the left side of the road. So, bust. I was really disappointed, thinking I should have gone on to Glasgow after all, as from there I would have simply taken a train to Loch Lomond.
We went back to the house. It was late morning by this time, and I was trying to determine the best way to get to Loch Lomond, thinking of maybe getting a hostel in Glasgow on Monday night after all, when Jony suggested St. Andrews. So, we took a 2.5-hour bus ride to St. Andrews. A charming little town. The cathedral is fascinating, the coastline beautiful. Worthwhile.
There was a party that night, a bunch of the Brazilians getting together, which I was very excited to go to. However, upon returning from St. Andrews, my evening looked something like this:
7:00 -- throwing up in bus station bathroom
7:56 -- throwing up in Leith Walk garbage bin
8:15 -- throwing up at home
I planted myself on the couch and didn't move until 7:30 the next morning. I still have no idea what caused that. I never felt sick to my stomach at any point. It was just suddenly, wow, I'm going to throw up, and I did. And then I felt fine, until I wanted to throw up again, and I did. Very strange. By morning I was totally fine. And terribly disappointed. Jony wasn't home. It must have been a fun one.
Tuesday was traveling, traveling. I took a bus to Glasgow (one hour) and a bus to the airport (another hour). My plane left at 4:30, I was home by 6:30, but then I had to wait for a train and worse, for a bus. I didn't actually get back to the house till after 10:00 pm -- totally missing Ed's birthday. The boys chastised me for that this morning.
Scotland. Lovely. Itching to get back and take a drive through the Highlands. Who's with me?
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Simon says what?
Today I taught the boys Simon Says. It really provided an opportunity for our personalities to shine.
Amanda
Simon Says pull your hair.
Simon Says do a yoga table pose.
Simon Says smile.
Carl
Simon Says pull your hair.
NO, PETE! NOT LIKE THAT! NO, PETE!
Pete
Simon Says poop.
Amanda
Simon Says pull your hair.
Simon Says do a yoga table pose.
Simon Says smile.
Carl
Simon Says pull your hair.
NO, PETE! NOT LIKE THAT! NO, PETE!
Pete
Simon Says poop.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Last minute this.
Today I:
1. woke up.
2. found out I have five days off this weekend instead of the originally scheduled three.
3. bought a plane ticket to Scotland.
I'm leaving Friday. I spent all day trying to find places to stay -- no luck thus far. But it's only been a few hours. I'm holding on.
I have to miss Ed's birthday. I won't get back till evening on Tuesday. I debated a long time about this, but the extra day means a lot. It means Glasgow as well as Edinburgh.
Besides, I think my being here would be more symbolic than enjoyable, even. I mean, it'll be a house full of people speaking Dutch and a baby who doesn't realize what's going on, anyway. I'll miss cake. Scotland or cake? That's what it comes down to.
1. woke up.
2. found out I have five days off this weekend instead of the originally scheduled three.
3. bought a plane ticket to Scotland.
I'm leaving Friday. I spent all day trying to find places to stay -- no luck thus far. But it's only been a few hours. I'm holding on.
I have to miss Ed's birthday. I won't get back till evening on Tuesday. I debated a long time about this, but the extra day means a lot. It means Glasgow as well as Edinburgh.
Besides, I think my being here would be more symbolic than enjoyable, even. I mean, it'll be a house full of people speaking Dutch and a baby who doesn't realize what's going on, anyway. I'll miss cake. Scotland or cake? That's what it comes down to.
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