Christmas Market in Valkenburg

Valkenburg Christmas Market

If you come to Netherlands during Christmas time this is a spot well worth stopping. Valkenburg is a very early settlement, in the Southern most part of Netherlands. In the middle of the city is a hill or rock on which the ruins of a castle ,destroyed in 1671, remain for tourists to see. The interesting part is not so much the castle as the caves underneath them. They date back to the early Roman period, and during world war II were used to store bombs. At Christmas time however the merchants and artisans set up their goods in the caves and form what must be the most unique Christmas market experience I've ever been too. Every free corner of the cave was stuffed with green fir trees decorated with lights. I've lived next door to the magical market in Salzburg that even has horse drawn sleighs and horse that still jingle their sleigh bells like the famous Christmas song. I've seen the Christmas market in Zurich and Frankfurt. This one is better than all of them. For one thing the caves are warm because of the many people walking through (and on that note, if you do go, go early in the day, otherwise it's to packed to enjoy). Each year the town picks a theme for the Christmas market. This year the theme was a Christmas Carol. I thought their decorations were rather humorous in that they looked more like Halloween decorations than a depicting of a classic novel.
We took the kids to the Market this Saturday. In retrospect I'm very glad this was their first experience, because they had to walk quite a far way from the parking lot and were frozen and crying by the time we got to the entrance. Thankfully they warmed up after a while inside the caves. Still, it's difficult for them to enjoy something just with their eyes. We did end up breaking a pig and had to pay for it. Too bad really, the pig was cute, but overpriced. The market and caves wind around in a serpentine pattern, from all I could tell. I was completely turned around after 20 minutes. In what seemed to be the middle part there was a cart with hot dogs, a restaurant and randomly a big screen TV with the kids favorite TV show, Little Einsteins. We would have stayed to watch and eat some lunch, but there was only one chair there which Ezra promptly occupied. He threw a bit of a fit when we decided to move, but wasn't nearly as outraged as Micah who didn't stop screaming until we reached the end of the caves and bought THE most delicious strawberry candy I have ever had.
Tired, cold, and hungry the kids cheered up after some lunch and more candy attached to a little toy that was given to them by a friendly waiter.

I could tell you about the Christmas concert I attended at our church, but honestly I don't want to remember it. It was awful. Well, maybe I do want to remember how I got to take only Micah and Granny because Ezra was so keyed up and hyper from being up since 4 am that we left him home with Aaron, who wisely (or grumpily) declined attending. Micah had the time of his life banging his plastic fork to the beat of the music on the plastic plate. I was so proud of him for being able to keep time, that I didn't stop him from being noisy-ish. Later as it dragged on and on (honestly, even professionals keep it to an hour, and they kept on singing for almost 2 hours with us having to stare at the food waiting to be eaten), he got up and danced to the music and played happily with his best friend Kailea.


Just a note on my photo albums. If it seems that we favor Micah in the fotos, because there aren't many of Ezra, it's really just because as soon as I pull out the camera Ezra makes a mad dash for it trying to grab it, and it becomes very difficult to actually get him in a picture.

Arrrggghh!!!

Micah has been whining that he's hungry since 3:30 pm. I gave him a cracker. He continues to whine until we have dinner...special, yummy fries. Fries, people!!! Then what does he do? Instead of eating he goes off into a corner to play after eating 2 fries. As soon as we're done eating, he resumes his whining for food????It's not like I was feeding him soggy grasshoppers. Meal time is the most stressful part of being a parent. I wish I could just give them a pill and be done with it, or better yet...I wish they would just eat what I make, and then say thank you, mommy. Or even just eat what they ask for. I get yelled at no matter what. Of course Ezra is really picky, presumably because of his autism. Micah copies that. Therefore....arrrrggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!

Toddler madness

So I'm sort of writing a book. No, I have no intentions of publishing it, but it's kind of fun to write in book manuscript form. It makes me feel more like a writer. Here is a little excerpt just for fun. I can laugh about it now, but it was sort of annoying at the time.

December 6, 2009

Mommy: Let’s have breakfast. What do you want? (oh and just in case you want to suggest I give them an option between two things. I've tried that, and it doesn't work either)
Ezra: Rice!
Micah, parroting Ezra: Rice!
Mommy: Are you sure Micah? You sure you don’t want toast?
Micah: Micah want rice.
I prepare the rice. Just warming it up in the microwave from yesterday’s left overs.
Ezra takes his bowl and goes to sit down at the table. I give Micah his bowl.
Micah: NO!? No rice.
Mommy: But you asked for rice.
Micah in his high pitched, panicky whining voice he’s perfected: NOooo rice. Wahaaaant toast.
Mommy: I told you, you wanted toast. You asked for rice. Mommy not happy. You’re getting on my nerves.
Micah: Nohoho rice.
Mommy makes toast with butter and jam and gives it to Micah on the pink plate he picked out.
Micah: No toast. Nohooo…all done. No toast.
Ezra: More rice? May I aks mommy, more rice?
Mommy: Sure. Micah are you sure you don’t want your rice?
Micah: NO RICE!
Mommy: OK Ezra. Here’s Micah’s rice.
Micah: NOoooo!!! Rice. Mine. Want rice. No mommy!!!!!!!!!!!! Rice.
Mommy: Here’s your toast.
Micah: No, toast! Want blue plate.
Mommy: But you picked out the pink plate.
Micah: screams. Nooooo, grannyyyyyyyyyy!!!! Runs off crying and goes to the playroom to play.

Sinterklaas and first week of December

The Christmas tree is up and decorated with bows, bears and balls, the vibrant red poinsettias line the window sills, the stockings are up, the Nutcrackers guarding the kitchen window and angels watch over us from every corner of the house. Red bows and a wreath on the table with candle complete our Christmas decor. Santa Clause movies 1 and 2 have been watched, and we are one Christmas Carol away from being in full on Christmas mode.
It has been a rough-ish week. I could tell you all about how Micah and I have been lying around doing nothing, the house falling in disarray because we were both sick, or my week long monotonous diet of rice, apple sauce and toast (you get the idea) but that would be boring. At least I lost 3 lbs this week.
How about the Sinterklaas tradition here in Netherlands? I haven't quite figured out the finer details. Essentially they have the Dutch version of Santa Clause, called Sinterklaas. He wears a red papal hat, carries a papal stick, has the same long red robes as Santa Clause, and a long white beard. His preferred mode of transportation is a steam ship and he arrives on his ship from his permanent residence in Spain, around the 1st of December. His journey and arrival are closely followed by the media, who apparently is in on the charade of juvenile mass-deception. All week long the kids can put a wood shoe out in front of the door and the next morning they can check if there are goodies in it. On December 5th they gather as a family, sing Sinterklaas songs until they are interrupted by a knock on the door. The kids rush to the door but Sinterklaas, fast, professional, and busy, is usually gone by the time they arrive, his presence evidenced only by a pile of gifts for the kids. Disappointed but happy they unwrap the gifts while the grandparents show up, late as usual with apologies and disappointment of having so narrowly missed his visit.
Sinterklaas has a helper called the Black Peter (schwarze piete, sp?). He wears colorful clothes and hands out Peppernoten everywhere, tiny spice cookies. I asked someone why the black pete is black and has curly hair. Apparently he is the chimney sweep that climbs down the chimney to put the presents out for the kids. What I found surprising is that kids and adults during this week dress up as Schwarze pete everywhere. In fact, the Schwarze Piet is as represented as Santa Clause in the malls in the USA.
I went to Ezra's school Sinterklaas. As I was watching the kids go through the Charades I couldn't help but be bored and annoyed. I wondered if I had always disliked these "Shows" as much, or if I had just grown old and cynical. I came to the conclusion that I couldn't remember ever liking them. I didn't mind theater or movies, but I remember rebelling against anything that was trying to be past off as true and that was clearly not. My dislike for Santa Clause probably also came from the fact that the Swiss Version called Samichlaus generated mostly fear. He would come the 6th December. We would gather at a friends house and one of the parents would dress up as Samichlaus. He would have a helper called Schmutzli (Schmutz means dirt), a monk in a brown robe, in charge of leading the donkey with the burlap bags of nuts and oranges. (If you had wealthy parents, they would even arrange for a real donkey at these kinds of gatherings). Then when Samichlaus showed up you had to kneel in front of him and recite a poem. Then he would ask you if you were a good boy/girl that year, and if you were you would get some nuts and oranges, but if you weren't Schmutzly took out his rod and beat you. It was implied that if you were very naughty he would put you in the burlap bag, beat you, and take you back to the black forest (Schwarzwald). Honestly, the Schwarzwald is actually very pretty, but at the time it sounded terrifying.
I was somewhat shy but observant as a kid, and although being terrified I did remark the similarities between the Samichlaus and certain of my dad's friends. I still remember the day that I found the costume in the bottom of my dad's cupboard. I went upstairs and said: A-ha. I knew it! It was very much like the painting from Norman Rockwell of the boy who discovers the suit in the drawer, titled very appropriately THE DISCOVERY (although I wasn't wearing jammis at the time, and I didn't look quite so shocked, because it was only a confirmation of my suspicions).

First Thanksgiving abroad

Aaron loved it. I loved parts of it. No one gets off in the Netherlands for an American Holiday, and so inviting people for a Thanksgiving Eve cooking party or the Thursday dinner was complicated. Instead Aaron went to have CT scan for his cancer check up on Thursday. We planned to have him take the day off Friday and treat ourselves to going to Brussels, our favorite place, and feast on delicious Belgian waffles and chocolate instead of a dead fowl. The plan was so simple, so brilliant, and a bit flawed as we didn't account for the bad weather, which honestly, I'm not sure why we still maintain hope to see sunshine before next May. Even a bit of rain wouldn't have stopped us, but Ezra is sick. He's been getting worse and finally today I just kept him home. He lay around all day. It was precious in it's on way, as he asked to just snuggle with me several times, and then actually lay cuddled up next to me for several hours. We all just hung out around the house, content to play and lounge. That is a bit of a miracle in its own way. At about 2 pm, I started to get restless not having done anything all day besides making a special Dutch pancake breakfast. I started to decorate for Christmas. If only they had Christmas trees for sale already. At least our nutcrackers and angels are in place as well as the poinsettias.
What this experience has taught me is that Thanksgiving is really not about a specific item on the menu. It is the preparing and working towards creating a time, place, and reason for family and friends to come together in peace, and celebrate abundance through taking time off, creating delicious food and enjoying it together (and then going nuts shopping on black friday. Nothing says abundance like a "SALE" sign).
We might still go to Brussels tomorrow. Depends on how Ezra feels.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Alright. It's two days later and I might as well add to this post what happened Saturday and Sunday. The weather was even worse on Saturday, and so was Ezra. I spent the greater part of the day and evening just lying on the couch holding him. He is a cute kid when he's sick, just good natured, and asks: Mommy snuggle with Ezra?
I figured that if we're not going to go anywhere I might as well cook a thanksgiving dinner, so today, Sunday, I did. Some things turned out terrific like the stuffing and the pumpkin bread that I made using an organic pumpkin, no cans. It really has a completely different taste. And Aaron made fabulous mashed potatoes. I'm not sure how the cranberry pear pie turned out because now I have an upset stomach, and Micah has been sick all day with high fever. Ezra was sick all morning but was back to normal by the afternoon. He watched Monsters Inc twice, and in general has been enjoying all the TV watching.

Paragraph in which I tell you about funny quotes

The kids favorite movie right now is The Incredibles. Ezra loves naming all the machines he sees in it, and is most excited about anything that shows an elevator. My favorite part however is watching Micah crack up at Mr.Incredible's very short insurance boss, when he stomps around him saying "I'm NOT happy, Bob". I have no idea why he thinks it so funny, but he goes around saying "I'm not happy" complete with dramatic pause and exclamation, with a big impish grin on his face that stands in perfect contradiction to his words. Mom and I couldn't get enough of hearing him say it, especially at the table. This is probably one of those things I'll look back on and think I should have gone for good parenting instead of entertainment. When we're eating, I'll ask him: how is your food Micah?, and he'll answer "I'm NOT happy". Mom and I can't stop laughing which only encourages him of course. "What, you don't like your food?"
"Micah, not happy!"

Before they took to The Incredibles M and E were on a Little Einsteins kick. Each show ends with little Leo exclaiming: "See you on your next mission!". Ezra has come to think these are the customary parting words for when someone leaves your sight. ONe day we were on the fourth floor of C&A in the children's department shopping for jeans. While I was looking through the racks, he played next to the elevator. When the door opened and a lady with stroller went in, he shouted at full volume: "see you on your next mission".

Just for the heck of it

I'm writing my blog tonight so I have something to show for the evening on the computer. I make such good plans during the day of what I will do in the evening; working on my concert repertoire, practicing, working out, going horseback riding, preparing things for the next day, studying Ezra's specialized language instruction curriculum, researching treatments for autism, reading the great books that I have, working on a novel...But when it comes to seven pm, I'm toast. All my brain is good for seems to be to browse facebook or trivial news. I can't handle anything but entertainment news. For one thing it amuses me, sort of morbid curiosity why people make such a big deal over which movie stars are going out with each other, and because I simply can't handle reading the other news. It depresses me.
I spend some time during the day on the computer, most of which I read up on autism, or try to locate resources. By the end of the day, I'm tired of reading about autism. Everything I do in my life seems to be about autism. I feel like the more I read the less I know. I'm on this yahoo group for parents of autistic children. It's daunting to see how many things people have tried. Some have seen results, but none report a full recovery. There are so many treatments out there. It's exhausting to weed through, administer, and finance them. Recently I made a list of needs that each family member has, so I could see how I can fit it in our schedule. When writing them down, I finally realized what the difference between having a normal child and a child with special needs really means.

My typically developing two year old's needs are these:
Time with mommy, time with daddy, learning stimulation, play dates, exercise

Ezras needs:
the same as Micahs plus: specialized learning instruction, supervised and facilitated peer play, occupational-, speech-, physical-, therapy, floor time (kind of like a play therapy to help develop communication), lots of one-on-one active engagement so he can't withdraw, qigong massage, specialized diet

So with that much to do, find, organize, and research, I shouldn't worry about not having much of a career. And yet, I do. Too bad I can't get a PHD for all the reading of reports, medical journals, and developmental books.

High Tea for Mom's 66th Birthday

I'll add in the pictures soon. We had a great time on Wednesday for Mom's 66th birthday. I invited Nelly to come for High Tea. We had a blast, and the kids were super excited that they got to watch so much TV and taste all the cakes and sandwiches. The funnest part about that day was when I was preparing the white bread traditional tea sandwiches. I cut off the crusts of course. Micah hadn't really had any lunch, so he came to ask me for a sandwich. Typically I only have whole wheat bread with grains for the kids, and I never cut off the crust. This time, I gave Micah a white bread butter and jam sandwich without crust. He looked at it with big eyes and reverently carried it to the couch saying "Thank you mommy, Thank you mommy" for about two minutes. My mom filled me in on what I missed: he sat down on the couch, took his first bite, and blissfully closed his eyes as he reclined on the pillow.
Micah is such a clown. He's the comic relief in our family.

RDW

This week has been fraught with figurative headaches. Before we came to the NL we checked whether or not it would make sense to bring our car. On the RDW website(the dutch license plate agency) they had a list of requirements for cars in Europe. It didn't look like we would need to change anything. When I actually went to the RDW, not only did they misinform us about all the papers we were supposed to bring, I had to wait 3 hours for them to check the car, because I had no appointment, which they say you couldn't get. And then they made me wait even longer because the papers weren't ready, but they were taking their lunch break. They said:"your car is checked, but we're going to have lunch now, so pick up the paperwork afterwards". So I waited, and 20 minutes after they were back from lunch (i had spent 5 hours there by then) I told them to just email me the papers, as I had to go down to Eindhoven to pick up Ezra. Anyway, so it turns out that it cost us 1690 Euros to make the changes, and for some reason this mechanic (who is very nice though)doesn't take credit cards or give you a bill. He wants cash!!?? It's been a real pain, honestly. We were supposed to pick up the car today, but haven't been able to yet, because we weren't able to get the cash on the weekend.
In the grand scheme of things 1700 Euros seems like a laughable amount, but right now, after all we have had to pay to get over here in the first place...we're not seeing the humor in it.
As a result of being car-less I went to the acupuncturist on bike, and grocery shopping the Dutch way: on bike with the kids in the buggy, and the saddle bags on the side. I think I prefer grocery shopping with the car. I've driven a car for so long that switching to bike is weird.
Other than that the weather has been cold, and rainy all week. On the plus side our grass is doing very well.

In other news, Ezra is doing really well with the taxi. He's not doing so well otherwise. He has been screaming a lot, shouting, saying "nee, nee, nee, nee" (which means no in Dutch). He keeps on asking to go sleep on the plane and looks at pictures of his cousins in the States a lot. I think he remembers that in order to come to the NL he had to sleep on the plane, and I'm pretty sure he's trying to tell us that he wants to go back home. I'm a bit at my wits end with him. I've been working for 4 months to get him therapies here (1 month to get health insurance set up, 1 to find therapists who speak english and are familiar with autism, 1 month to get them to call me back and give me an appointment, and 1/2 month that we've been doing therapy). He hates them. He isn't getting anything from his therapies, and I end up driving him around for 3 hours a day. He is frustrated, and overwhelmed. Also he's at the developmental age of a 2 year old, so he's going through his terrible twos right now, as a 4 year old. I feel like I'm doing all I can and am still making backward steps.

Second day on the taxi-bus

This time I was smart. I let Ezra's teachers put him on the taxi-bus at 1 pm, and didn't drive behind him. I think the first time around it really upset him to see me and our car. It worked. No tears! He came home very proud of himself. I was proud of him too, and my mom was almost emotional.

First day on the Taxi for Ezra

I have been putting this off for a while. I don't like to separate from my kids very much. Their anxiety is perhaps overshadowed only by my own. Ezra's first attempt to drive to school in the special Taxi was a disaster. He screamed, kicked, cried, and started shaking uncontrollably, he was so beside himself. It took me 45 minutes to calm him down. Today, about 2 weeks after our first attempt, I had his teachers put him in the Taxi after school, and I drove behind him. We got home fine, but tears were still streaming down his cheeks. He was so mad at me he continued to yell and scream all evening. Still, I'm proud of him for making it home alright. It's not an easy thing for him, the unknown, the break in routine. I'm still not convinced this school or in fact our stay here in the Netherlands is the best thing for him. The school is certainly our best option here, but the fact that it is in Dutch is troublesome. But what else could we have done? A job is a job. Aaron was lucky to get one while also being able to get his PHD at the same time.

In other news, I'm totally mad at the dutch license plate department. We looked before we came what we would have to change on our car, so we could tell if it was worth bringing it. There wasn't much that needed changing according to the website, but now that we're here, we have to special order all these parts from the US, and the whole "change" will cost us between 1500-2500 Euros in cash (which is on top of the money it cost us for the inspection), which we of course don't have lying around, since we used all of our savings to get over here in the first place. And on top of that Philips didn't take out the health insurance from his pay check the last 4 months, so they just took out 4 months worth of premiums from our account. Things are a bit rough this month, financially. I'm only posting this, because problems like these tend to work themselves out, and I want to be able to look back and see how they did, so I won't have to freak out next time.

Abstecher in die Schweiz

I recently drove down to Switzerland to pick up my piano.
It was the most glorious weather, perfectly sunny, a tad cool, not too hot. I stayed with my brother of course. It was great to see him and Angie again. They cleared their schedule for me and I convinced them to go to the mountains. I do like the Netherlands, but I am Swiss after all. I needed my mountain fix. We drove to the closest one, the Zugerberg, drove up as far as we could and then hiked the last 20 minutes up to the Aussichtspunkt, the Vista. It was spectacular, and I regretted not sticking with my original plan of bringing a picnic along. My bro isn't into the hole sitting on the grass idea. There were several other families up there, grilling their Cervelats (swiss sausage) and having a great time. The view really was beautiful. We could see the outline of the alps in the back.

After the Zugerberg we took a wrong turn on the way home and landed up next to the Zurichsee, where I took a nap on the meadow next to the lake, like I used to when I went to High School and came to that spot for lunch time, while Dave and Angie went off to drink some coffee.


Switzerland is truly one of the most beautiful places ever. I love the frosty white peaks of the alps, the velvety green meadows on the lower mountains, the paths that wind for days and days through the mountains and forests, the fresh clean air and crystal lakes. It is a great place for a vacation, to refresh the spirit.
I'm just so glad I don't live in Switzerland. Apart from being so expensive that it's simply painful, all my memories of Switzerland are tainted by a sour undertone. I loved the scenery, the architecture, the events, but as I was talking to Heidi (an American friend from my first ward, with ironically the most iconic Swiss girls name) about her children and the problems they are facing in school, I remember my years growing up there, and how judgmental and unkind the Swiss can be. I did make great friends, and there are many great things about Switzerland, but I'm glad I don't live there anymore.

Micah's prayer

Everyone tells me that I will look back on these moments when the house is empty and my children are grown and gone. I hope I do. I hope this blog stands that long, so I can read about how darling my children were. This post is just for my own memories, although of course you're welcome to read it.

My favorite time of day is after the kids had their bath. (I know I'm not the only mother who LOVES when her kids go to bed). Typically I'm tired and exhausted, and have to scrape the last bit of energy reserve to first read Ezra and then Micah a book, pray, sing songs, and kiss them goodnight. Ezra is usually ready to go to sleep first, and Micah lingers in the emptying bath while I read Ezra a story. Then comes my very favorite moment. Micah gets his blanky and sippy cup, and climbs on to my lap to snuggle for a story. His current favorite is the Ten Friendly Fish. Getting bored with just reading, I make up tunes to sing the stories to, as most of the text already rhymes anyway. When I'm extra tired I try to hurry the story along by just reading, but I always get two big eyes looking up from under long lashes demanding immediately: mommy sing. After we read the book he folds his hands and I help him say his prayer. He just barely is grasping the concept of being grateful and saying thank you, and when he does it affords me a precious little glimpse into what goes on in his mind. This was his "Thank You" section. Thank you for:
1.Kailea
2.Baby (by which I think he means Kailea's adorable baby sisters Ella)
3.Ducks
4.Baby Einstein
5.Anny (a 2 inch plastic doll with a ginormous head from his favorite show Little Einsteins)
6.Mommy (at this point, I was glad I even made the list)
7.Jesus
8.Daddy
9.Jesus
10. Granny and Ezra

The day's troubles and toils seem to melt away when I hold my darling, innocent, trusting two year old in my arms, and snuggle with him as I sing him his favorite songs. I try to savor these moments, because I know they won't last forever. I used to love snuggling with Ezra, but as he has grown into a preschooler, his need for snuggles at night have decreased. Mine haven't I found. 3 short years.
javascript:void(0)
Being a mother is so hard. Harder than anyone will ever understand who has no children of their own. The sleep deprivation, constantly repeating yourself, trying to do nice things for them and getting a tantrum as a result...the list that makes this "job" hard is long. But I also can't imagine feeling more loved, and finding a joy comparable to precious moments like these. It makes it worth it.

For my fellow insomniacs

Here a little glimpse into my head. Many nights I have difficulties falling asleep. I lie in bed and worry about my kids, worry about how things will work out for them, for us, what the world is coming to, things I have no control over, etc...in fact it seems that the longer I stay up, the more worries I come up with. Reason seems to go to sleep while my mind is doing pointless laps on a downward spiral. Last night I was particularly tired, still the worries plagued me. It was in trying to subdue them to get to sleep that I had a little epiphany (to which most of you, if not at least Aaron, will say ..."duh"). Worrying accomplishes nothing. All the things that I think and worry about are not solved with me worrying about them. Instead of planning and asking myself how can I make things work, worries only give me escalating worst-case scenarios. All they accomplish is making me sleep-deprived, tensed, anxious, and unproductive. After I realized that I was able to fall asleep right away. How about that!

Ezra turns four October 2009

These pictures were taken by Mark Daams. Thanks Mark.


Good times! I don't know what Ezra will remember of his birthday, but I'll remember the rain and the fun we had. We started out the day with his birthday presents, a brand new, shiny, red bike with training wheels, that Aaron put together for him the night before. (I can't resist mentioning that he really hates putting stuff together, and that this is the first time in our marriage that he put something together the night before a birthday or Christmas. He did a good job though, so no excuses). We also got him the hungry hippo game, and some new books, which he loved. We've read him the Bauernhof (german for farm) every night since his birthday. We were lucky to have Aaron home from work, and so we enjoyed some quality family time playing with his new toys at home and practicing riding his bike.
Around 12 pm we headed over to a supposed Kinderfarm that is right next to his school. It wasn't as interesting as their favorite farm in Veldhoven, but they did have a cute bunny and guinea pig "thing"...a sort of open, themed cage, for a lack of better description. Ezra really likes the guinea pigs, which were very hard to catch, but Aaron did manage. They also had Kangaroos at the farm??? Why I can't imagine.
Then at 1 pm we headed over to his new school for him to meet the class and the teacher. He panicked at first, but then had a good time playing, as did Micah. After Ezra's all time favorite lunch, Spaghetti, Spaghetti, and more Spaghetti, we drove to the Tongelree pool. It is the biggest indoor aquatic center in the Netherlands, with long tube slides, and charming in-pool playgrounds for the little ones, as well as a wave pool. It's a good thing Aaron came with us, because I couldn't handle all those slides. Ezra loved it, and Micah had a blast playing with Kailea in the children's pool. We finished off the day with what Ezra calls the "Happy Birthday Cake". Ever since Micah's 2nd birthday in July he's put two and two together and now knows that birthdays come with a cake. When we told him it was his birthday, he kept on saying ok, let's go happy Birthday cake. I made the cake myself. I checked in bakeries and stores if they have themed cakes like the do in America. They do, but seeing the price of them I had to resist the urge to roll on the floor laughing. They charge the equivalent of $60 for a quarter sheet cake here. The cake I made cost about $5. Not fit for a bakers competition for sure, but it served the purpose. After yummy Dominos pizza we all enjoyed our cheap, but happy birthday cake. The kids fell into bed dead tired. What a blast. Thanks to Mark, Melissa, Kailea, and Ella, for providing us with the company that made this day a real party. The only thing missing today perhaps were our friends in the States.

Ezra's 4th Birthday_2

Liberation

"My good opinion once lost, is lost forever". That's not actually true, but it is a good quote, so very Darcy-esque. It is true that my opinions very rarely change, when I feel strongly about something. I experienced one such change last week.
On September 18th, I saw a large crowd of senior citizens dressed in old fashioned military uniforms, right next to the museum playground, where I had the kids play. I assumed it was some regiment reunion. There were WWII machines, tanks, engines everywhere, part of the museum perhaps. The day after, Saturday, there was a big party going on next to our house, bars, music, everyone seemed to be out on the street celebrating. I took the kids to that same playground and the place was packed with people. There was castle trampoline for the kids to jump in. Some of the kids had painted faces from the fair in town, and some kids wore army jackets, fighter pilot suits, or little army pins. I got a kick out of Micah and Ezra staring perplexed into some of the painted kids faces and giggling at them. As I parked my car, a woman in her early 40s, with her two kids slowed down to stare at it (quite common here as we drive perhaps the only Scion XB in Netherlands if not Europe). The older boy, looked at the license plate and said to his mom in Dutch that we were from India. I corrected him and said we were from Indiana, in the United States. The woman immediately started gushing about America. This surprised me. I thought that most Europeans hated Americans. She was wearing a sort of bomber jacket herself. I asked her what all the commotion and fuss was about and she said it was in celebration of Market Garden. I had seen the signs but didn't put two and two together (Ok, I thought it was advertising some Market for Gardening here, because they do love gardening). 65 years ago operation Market Garden liberated the Netherlands from the Nazis. It will actually be 65 years next year in Arnhem, but Eindhoven was liberated 9 months earlier than the rest of Netherlands on 18th of September and this fact is celebrated every year. I was surprised at the gratitude for this liberation apparent in this woman who clearly had not been part of the war generation. As I proceeded to the playground with my kids, I sat down and watched the many children who for the most part were supervised by their smiling grandparents. I imagined that many of them had seen, lived, and perhaps served in the war. What it must have meant for them to be liberated from Hitler's oppression. Here they were 65 years later, their own children grown, surrounded by the laughter of their grandchildren, speaking their own language, and playing happily, free from fear and want. It was watching them that suddenly made me revise the opinion I held against the war in Iraq. So far I've felt very strongly that President Bush was foolish to march into Iraq. I thought he might have learned through reading history books, that the middle east is best not messed with. It has never come to a good end. I thought it was an offensive strike, and that the evidence for attack was phony and didn't warrant such an action. I lamented the loss of so many American troops, and the loss their families had to bear. In short, I was against it, and as years have passed, and the middle-east-meddling-mess has gotten more pronounced, I felt my opinion only solidifying. But that day, when I heard that woman express her gratitude for the liberation, and saw the happy grandparents, I started to think that despite all the antagonism against the US (or the "Coalition Forces"?!) there might have been some Iraqis who felt like this woman, grateful to be free of a Hitler-like despot, a tyrant, a murderer. In addition to that, my mom recounted a comment from one of the members of our Church here in the Netherlands, that he happened to share that Sunday. He is from Iraq. He has no idea if his parents are still alive, or his other brothers. His parents had saved up money so they could arrange for at least one of their sons to flee the country, and grow up free from fear and oppression. Anyway, I'm not sure what you make of this post, I just wanted to write it down, because I wanted to remember that experience.

Regrets

Do you know what social workers are for? I assumed they helped people in difficult situations find solutions, cope, or comfort of some type. This week I had a visit from a social worker to help me apply for the appropriate government fundings for Ezra. Now I'm thinking that either this lady was really bad at her job or a social worker's job is to discourage and dishearten. She basically told me, with the accusation of thoughtlessness clear in her tone and body language, that she couldn't understand why we moved here, it was a bad decision for us financially, bad for Ezra because there is no school for him, Micah couldn't learn Dutch, they'll both be disadvantaged because they don't speak Dutch, and they'll make no friends, and we would probably end up moving back to America in 2 months because it would be too hard here. Then when I outlined the treatment plan that Dr.Greenspan gave us for Ezra (10 min sensory diet, 20 min floortime therapy, 30 minutes planned activities, for 8 hours a day during 3 years) she just looked at me and said: is this what you really want? This is too hard. She might have been going for empathetic, but rather than helping me find solutions I found myself looking at brick walls that were about to fall in on me. I didn't know what to say. I just looked at her in disbelief thinking to myself, if the foremost authority in the world on childhood developmental delays gives you a plan with which to help your child make up for a brain defect that is not his fault, so he can some day live on his own and be a valid member of the community, would you NOT do everything you can, so your child can have a chance at a life? Even if it meant giving up your dreams, your time, and worst of all risking that your second child feels less valued and loved because Mommy spends so much time with his older brother.

Some days I wish for nothing more than for people to understand how hard it is to raise a child with special needs. Talking to this social worker on the phone the first time, she seemed to be the first person with no special needs children of her own to validate how difficult it is. I felt understood and for a brief moment, better. But when that understanding of the difficulty of the situation carried on by her drawing out in minute detail exactly what can, has, and might still go wrong....I don't know. Perhaps being understood is overrated.

I have been looking for a school for Ezra. He is already very delayed in receptive and expressive language. Adding another language, one that I don't speak, would further delay him significantly. Perhaps I should explain a bit about brain defects such as Ezra's. Most kids come wired right. As long as they receive stimulation and can form an attachment to a person they will develop without much help. They will learn to walk and talk, share and play, use their imagination, and relate to other human beings. There are things you can do to enhance the intelligence of your baby. The more purposeful and loving interaction it gets from one on one attention, the more brain connections are made. The more brain connections the higher the intellect. Now most of this happens all before the age of 6. By 6 the brain is pretty much hardwired. One of the reasons kids with a brain defect are so far behind is because if it isn't diagnosed early enough, they miss this hard wiring phase, and it becomes infinitely harder to catch up. Imagine trying to catch up with a car that is driving 100 miles ahead of you at 80 mph while you're driving 81 mph.
Anyway, so here in the Netherlands there are four types of schools. There are the regular dutch schools that have 25-32 kids in the class. Impossible for Ezra. Too much noise, too many distractions. Then there are the special needs schools: the one for the blind, the physically and mentally handicapped, the communication delays, and then the ones with behavioral problems.
So where does Ezra fit in? I don't know. He needs a place where he can receive one on one attention, but also interaction with typically developing peers. It seems that here they have only either handicapped or typically developing. It is very discouraging. I won't launch into detail about finding schools.
What is so hard about this situation right now, is that he has only 2 years left for his brain to be hardwired, and the fear that I (and Dr.Greenspan) have is that adding Dutch is going to significantly delay him in his already hindered communication. If it was German I wouldn't worry so much, because at least I speak it...but Dutch. And just having him stay home with me is not making any of us happy long term. I saw him light up like a Christmas tree when there were lots of kids on the playground. He wants so much to interact with them. In this regard I regret leaving Bloomington. He had great friends there, and a great school. But then what else was there to do? Aaron got this job, and a job is a blessing. And the fact that Aaron needs cat scans every 6 months for his cancer follow up and we couldn't afford health care in the States...we had to come to Europe.

Anyway, it is getting late and the rock music from across the street has finally stopped. They are celebrating 65 years liberation of Eindhoven.

Recipe for the Crumble

As requested here is my crumble recipe.

1. butter a baking or pie dish
2. fill 2/3 to 3/4 full with fresh fruit of the season. Canned fruit works too, but nothing compares to fresh blueberries. I usually put in two types of fruit. In the one in the picture I put in blue berries and thinly sliced, peeled apples.
   
3. Sprinkle lightly with lemon zest and sugar. You don't really need the sugar if the fruit is really sweet and in season. I usually also dust the fruit with a thin layer of flour.
   

Then add the crumble mixture on top. I have two ways of making it. The one on the picture that I posted on my previous blog insert is the one with the crispy, hard outside and gooey inside. The other one remains more like a streusel.

Ingredients for crispy outside:

2 cups flour, 2 cups sugar, 2 tsps baking powder, 2 beaten eggs, lemon zest. Rub between your fingers to make streusel. Then melt butter and pour evenly over the mixture once it is covering the fruit.

Ingredients for softer streusel:

Equal measures of sugar and flour, and add some freshly grated lemon zest. Add butter to make streusel. I don't ever measure how much butter I put in, but I'm guessing if you put a cup each of flour and sugar, it's about 8 tbsp of butter. I just check for the consistency of the streusel. It should be forming nice little round clots, throughout, not too greasy, not too dry.

Bake at 350 fahrenheit or 180 celsius for about one hour. You can start checking after 45 minutes. This tastes especially good if you serve it with some vanilla pudding when it's cooled down, or vanilla/caramel/or cinnamon ice cream, depending on which fruit you put in.

Some tips:
If you're using berries, you really should dust with flour. Especially blueberries tend to expand. The ratio between streusel and fruit is up to you, but be aware that more fruit than streusel will cause the fruit juices to bubble up around the streusel -especially if you used the soft streusel recipe, which I prefer, by the way. It tastes just fine, even if it bubbles. However don't fill the dish too high with fruit or you'll have a huge mess in your oven.

Also, here is my real secret which I will share with you. Lemon zest seems to bring out the natural flavor of most fruits, but you can't really substitute with dried lemon zest that you can get in little bottles here in Europe. When you zest the lemon hold it over the ingredients. By grating the lemons right over the ingredients the very potent essential oils are sprayed finally on the ingredients, and that is what gives it such an amazing taste.

Enjoy.

Verdi Requiem in Brussels

I was chatting with Michelle DeYoung on facebook. Turned out she was singing the Verdi Requiem in Brussels on Thursday. She got us some tickets (thanks Michelle). I won't go into a lengthy review of the concert, which was excellent. Suffice it to say that the conductor was very energetic. I was equally impressed and amused by the silences he created. Hard to believe he's only 34. Having done the requiem with the Indianapolis Symphonic Choir last year, I thought that the 60 member choir was a bit thin compared to the 150 singers in ISC. Still, very nice. Michelle was easily the most enjoyable, never wavering in her vocal splendor and control. Her voice reminded me of a roaring river of smooth chocolate. Hearing the Requiem made me ache to get back into good practicing habits and to start looking for an agent here. Anyway, all during the concert I couldn't help but feel blessed. What a great date: to hear my most favorite composition ever, sung by a fantastic singer friend, in the city I love more than any other city in the world, with my husband, and then to go out after the concert to enjoy frites and a piping hot waffle while strolling on Grand Place. The Hotel de Ville was even lit up with a laser light show to a very strange but funny mixture of classical music and Abba. Aaron had to stop at one of the many chocolate stores that were still open despite the late hour. I feel so very fortunate and blessed. I didn't take any pictures because our camera couldn't have handled the darkness even if I had remembered to bring it along.

A new tradition

When we arrived in Eindhoven we soon discovered that the Dutch have very small ovens, and often have built in combi-ovens that you can use as a microwave (which they call magnetron here) and as a regular oven, or a combination of both. These are very small little contraptions and I was highly suspicious of them to say the least. In my mind I was already adapting my thanksgiving turkey recipe to cornish game hens. Nevertheless having picked far too many berries for 5 people to eat I decided to make a crumble and give these combi-ovens a shot. It turned out really great, thanks to the hot air convection setting. When we moved into our house we bought a combi-oven and my family has come to expect a crumble every Sunday. Truth be told I don't mind. It's easy to prepare, and if I had to pick my absolute favorite dessert it would be the crumble made with fresh fruit of the season.

Prehistoric Museum in Genneper Parken

Beginning of the week I took the kids to the openlichtmuseum, which means open air museum, right here in Eindhoven. It is a prehistoric village with reenactments. I'll keep this post short and let the pictures do the talking. The kids had the best time jumping on the beds and chasing the chicken. All I can say is I'm just amazed how they lived back then. I can't even fathom what life would be like with no running water (at the very least). I highly recommend this activity to families with kids of any age.
This is the first playground we found when we arrived. It is in Genneper Park. We had to get used to these different swings here.

Genneper Park Playground and the Prehistoric Open Air Museum

Beekse Bergen Safari Park

About 1/2 hour drive from Best outside of Tilburg is the Safari Park of Beekse Bergen. This was one of our funnest outings so far. I was very impressed with the set up of the park. So far when I took the kids to the zoo they didn't last long because the tiny playground they had was always overcrowded, and just walking around in the stroller wasn't too fun. The animals were usually a bit far away too. In this park you could see the animals either on a safari bus tour (which really is a normal bus painted with either a giraffe or zebra pattern), walk the whole park in 3 kilometers, take a boat ride, or drive through with your own car. On top of that they had a really big playground at the beginning of the zoo and then a smaller playground just about every 100 meters.
The kids lasted an unheard 4 hours, simply because they got to run, climb and slide. We first took the bus tour which wasn't a very good idea, because the bus stopped a lot and the tour guide prattled about the animals in dutch.
The kids were soon bored and only distracted by the sandwiches I brought. So I opted for walking back from the Northern point of the park where the bus had dropped us off. Finally I took the kids through the park in our car. We saw Chitas up close, right next to the car.
And of course the ever popular petting zoos. Dutch really have a fondness for petting zoos. Every little town has one.
The funnest part of it was feeding the giraffe right through my car window. I got such a kick out of giving it a cracker, that I couldn't stop laughing, and the kids were laughing at me in the back. Great fun, great park. Highly recommend it.
In case you wonder what a giraffe looks like when it sticks her head through your car window!

Beekse Bergen Safari Park

Maastricht

Maastricht

There is so much to be discovered here. How I would love to stroll the halls of the Louvre and visit the many museums in this corner of Europe. I still plan on visiting the Van Gogh museum of course, have to be true to my bucket list, but for the most part I've had to abandon/postpone my plans of cultural excursions due to the fact that my kids are only 2 and 3 years old, have a great need for movement, and really just don't care about museums. I remember not caring about them either until I was about 16 years old or so, I think. As a compromise I decided (in behalf of my children, so I compromised by myself, ha) that we would go see great places and make finding fun fountains and playgrounds our mission. The kids like fountains, and they are happy when they get to play. I get to see a bit of the city. It's a good thing that so many places in Europe are like a open air historical museums anyway. That was certainly the case with Maastricht. We arrived early-ish this Saturday morning and parked right outside the market square. On our way to the market there was a toy store with a life size teddy bear outside the door. Drawn to big oversized stuffed animals as any child would be Ezra read the invitation correctly and went inside and Micah followed...or perhaps the beat wasn't an invitation at all and was meant to scare the kids off. It had some of the nicest toys I've ever seen. The kids immediately tested some toys that were sitting out and the owners missed only 4 beats before chiding them for touching the toys. We walked through the small store with admittedly only half-hearted attempts to keep our kids from playing with the toys that were set out perhaps being just a bit antagonistic because the owners were giving them the evil eye and stalking their every move. If you hate kids, don't sell toys, I would think. So after five minutes we shuffled our kids outside and vowed to never buy anything from them.
The market was completely empty, it's stands still closed except for the ones selling rotisserie chicken, fried everything, and spices. We walked around the old city and discovered at least three fountains. I've been to many cities in Europe, but Maastricht is one of the most charming I've been too. Perhaps it has to do with feeling that you are a part of history just by merely walking next to the city fortification that has stood to protect the settlement for 8 centuries.
Ezra loves very few things more than elevators. He didn't care too much about the wall, more about the glas elevator in front of it.

According to wikipedia Maastricht has an unbroken line of habitation that dates back 500 years before the Romans. That is so impressive. It has everything you would expect from a European city: cobble stoned narrow walk ways, ancient ruins, grand cathedrals, rows of houses joined one to another each outdoing their neighbor in architecture, cafes lining the grand places, and finally beautiful parks to relax and walk in. The Dutch seem to be especially fond of petting zoos, and farms for children. There has been one everywhere I've been to in the Netherlands so far. I felt very prepared when we encountered one without looking for it, having brought the crusts of the bread. I'm not sure why I get such a kick out of feeding ducks and deer, but I do.
We left tired and content, having found no playground, but having enjoyed what the city had to offer.

1st Amsterdam trip 8/22/09

I dropped off Aaron at the airport in Amsterdam this Saturday for his Vancouver business trip and decided to drive through Amsterdam a bit as I had never visited it. I wanted to cross going to the Van Gogh museum off my bucket list, so I set the tomtom and off we went. We got there in no time, but the line outside was so long, and I had Ezra, Micah and Granny with me, so I decided to come back some other time. Instead we just drove around the city. Amsterdam's streets are narrower then a sidewalk in a strip mall in America. Parked cars line the canals that criss cross the city. Next to the line of cars are 8-10 feet wide roads between the houses that are joined one to another, row for row. Some of the houses are no more than 8 feet wide, just enough for a door and a window to fit on one side, but instead they make up for space in height, being 3-4 stories tall. I've never been inside one yet, but I'm guessing they are dark and have lots of stairs.
Anyway, lots to see. We'll go back again and take a boat trip with the kids when Aaron is back from Vancouver.

Week of Woe (beware, rant ahead!)

So we moved into our house on Tuesday. It is really large, has a bathroom and a huge bedroom on the bottom floor, and cost less than all the other houses we looked at. It also has a large garden and great closet spaces. That said, everything else blows for the moment. Almost everything needs fixing. Looks can be so deceiving. Then the day we moved in I got really, really sick. In German we call it Angina, which is a very painful infection of the throat. I wonder if that's the same as strep throat. It was probably one of the worst days I've had. It was miserably hot, 32 degrees celsius, no fans, no a/c, just lying in a pile of boxes in our messy, filthy house. The owners said they would have it cleaned but they didn't (for years I think). After only one hour barefoot on our floors the kids feet looked liked we had sent them working in a coal mine. Then on top of that, because of the exchange rate from dollar to Euro being so crappy, we were several thousand dollars short on our budget. Here in Holland you have to pay cash everywhere or use the pin card you get from your bank, which we did get on Friday, but Aaron doesn't get paid until he gets his soffit number, which he hasn't yet. So here we are, almost no food, can't go shopping because I'm so sick, pinching pennies in a house that needs fixing and cleaning, Aaron having to work all day, while I'm in so much pain that I can't eat, drink, or swallow, and the kids are so bored, they're jumping on me (really actually jumping, not just figuratively speaking), and of course screaming MOOOMMMMY, MOOOMMMMMY every 4 seconds. If you think I'm exaggerating...I'm really not. I know all kids can get like that but Ezra is like that all the time, because of his handicap, and Micah copies him. Anyway, I'm counting on 2 Nephi 2:2 The Lord will consecrate thine affliction for thy gain.
Well I survived. Feeling better now. I managed to go shopping and clean the upstairs a bit, and get almost everything unpacked. We still need to buy a closet to put our clothes in and we will probably hire a professional cleaner to come clean the years of grime off our floor with some high pressured fancy cleaning device.

Scheveningen Beach and The Windmills at Kinderdijk

I really need to get the pictures up. I prefer seeing pictures. Too bad this lame camera we brought from the US doesn't have the cord so I can download the pictures we took today.
Today was a perfect day. It started out with a solo trip to the market for mommy, to buy lots of delicious fruit and vegetables. After returning home and trying to use every square inch of our tiny fridge to keep our veggies cold we packed everyone plus pic-nic into the Volvo and made for the beach.
With help of Jane (we call our TomTom Jane), we made it to the Scheveningen beach in an 1 and 30 minutes. The weather was perfect, a mere 26 degrees, abundant sunshine, and lots of wind to keep us cool. The beach was packed, and so were the parking spots. After 45 minutes we finally found a spot on a street that was over a small dune. I felt bad for having my mom walk so far, but was happy that once we arrived at the beach, we found table and chairs in a childrens play area that was on the boardwalk. Ezra and Micah loved jumping on the trampoline and of course Micah was all about the ball pit. 3 Euros for 20 minutes. Worth it, I thought. We had our pic-nic and took the kids down to the ocean for a swim. Micah did his cute little excited happy dance and enjoyed just sitting in the little pool created by an elevated sandbank. We looked for seashells together. Ezra and daddy walked along the beach. Neither of the kids were very excited about the waves, or going into them. In fact both of them were rather scared. I hope that changes. Aching for a real swim I did get to sneak back after they were jumping on the trampolines again.

Scheveningen Beach by Den Haag

Two and half hours later the kids had enough. It took us 45 minutes to drive 2km, the traffic at the beach was so bad, and Jane completely lost it trying to talk us into driving into one way streets and pedestrian walk zones. Good thing I'm still smart enough to find my way out of the city. Jane and I were on good terms again when she lead us safely to the Kinderdijk, where we visited the perhaps most famous icon of Holland: the windmills. There were several windmills even working ones that were built in 1740. We got to go inside one of them which was actually rather unremarkable aside the steepness of the stairs. Nonetheless we loved the outing because we strapped Ezra and Micah on rental bikes and got to see the whole Dijk. Both of them complained and Micah at first was so scared he covered his eyes with his hands and cried, until he saw that Mommy wasn't completely incompetent. On the way back he even sang a bit. Anyway, typically what would have happened, had we walked is that after 20 yards, Micah would have started complaining and wanted to be picked up. Then Ezra would have wanted to be picked up as well, and before we had gone 30 yards they would both be crying and hanging around my neck. I would be annoyed, and rather than drag 60 lbs worth of children for any length of time, I would have just gone back to the car. This way, we got some complaining, but got to see everything. Very fun. Can't wait until we get my bike.

Kinderdjik in Netherlands August 2009

In the mission field

One of the blessings of living in Europe is that the General Authority of our Church realizes that the Saints in Europe need extra support and strength, as they are practically an island of believers in an ocean of apathy and atheism. I had the privilege of attending a fireside with Sister Sheri L. Dew and Sister Nelson in Utrecht. We got lost on the way there (why do highways have several different names, and E30's are really not exit signs, rather streets). We arrived at 7:25 pm. The fireside had started at 7 PM. The small building was packed, but some nice brother found my mom a chair to sit, and I weaseled my way into the congregation and found a standing spot next to the dividing doors. I was almost grateful to stand because it was so incredibly hot. No air conditioning and 300 people packed in row by row. I felt sorry for Sister Dew who was standing up there. She looked as if nothing would faze her, but she didn't fool me. I knew that she was dying under that long sleeved jacket, long skirt and nylons she was wearing. She confirmed later to me that she had been. We had just turned up when she was giving her message. She said that if she were Satan and had to make sure we didn't accomplish our mission in life she would do three things: 1. she would make us get confused about our gender, and about our worth, making us think we had to prove ourselves to men, weren't good enough, could only be valuable if we had a career.
2. she would make sure we didn't understand the atonement of Christ and it's healing power.
3. she would prevent us from learning how to get personal revelations

She then said that she feels it is her mission in life to help us accomplish our mission in life, and if she had the chance to do that these are what the things she would have us do:
1. she would help us understand our worth
2. she would help us understand the atonement
3. and she would teach us how to gain personal revelation

I came away from the meeting so edified, and wondering what the world would be like if all women understood and lived the gospel like Sister Dew and Sister Nelson.

I never finished this post the night I came home because it was so late. Too bad. Should have stayed up.

Darker than white

What is it with Duch and their aversion to all color? We stipulated in the house we are renting that it needs to be repainted and that we want to chose the colors, and it should be pastel, neutral (we are sensitive of course to preferences), but that it couldn't be white. They had already bought the paint before we got there. Suspicious I drove up to see the house today. I walked into the front room, and sure enough the guy is painting it white. I complain to him in German which is all he understands that I didn't want white. He says: oh no, that's not white. That is cream. It's much darker than white". And I wanted to yell at him and say: ARE YOU BLIND??? Half a shade darker than the white ceiling is still blinding white! Anyway, I can see I'll have to take painting and color addition into my own hands.

Found the House

So much to report. First off, we finally decided on a house. It is ugly from the outside. A cubicle. In fact, I think our car a Scion XB next to our house might look quite comical. People might get the wrong impression that we like boxy. We wanted to pick the house in Eersel so badly with it's sun room addition, beautiful garden, quiet surroundings and 220 m2. Eersel is a quaint village 12 minutes drive South of Eindhoven. It is surrounded by trees. The cobble stoned streets are lined with little brick buildings, with proudly manicured gardens. Tables and chairs invite visitors to sit and enjoy a coffee in the main street. But I just couldn't really go with it. The agent reassured us there were lots of expatriates living in Eersel, and young families but the three times I drove through the town all I saw was senior citizens with their walkers. A poll of random people on the Genneper Parken Playground resulted in 100% confirmation of my suspicion that people who are born in Eersel don't move away and tend to be close minded and it is hard to get integrated. The deciding factor was taking my kids to the playground close to the house. I don't know who designed it, but they must have worked for the army boot camp. No toddler should be allowed on a slippery iron log contraption with no railings. Micah hurt himself. So we chose the cubicle in Best. It gets my creative juices flowing. The garden will be splendid once it's emptied of all the junk. It's right next to the train station, and it will cost us 400 Euros less than we planned which means that we'll have 14400 Euros over the next three 3 years to pay towards our student loans instead. Hurray!

Anyway, this was meant to be a much longer insert, but I got chatting with my friend instead.

Brussels, Waffles, Fries and Mitraillette

When leaving the States I was so worried about what I was leaving behind, the conveniences, playgrounds, friends and familiar stores that I forgot completely what I could look forward to. Today I was reminded what makes Europe great to me. We packed up the kids and granny and drove down to Grand Place in Brussels, a mere hour and a half in the car, after making a little detour to the airport to pick up our missing suitcase. I'm very proud of the fact that I found my way straight into the city. So much was still familiar. We were all hungry and cranky so we parked next to novotel and made a B-line for the first place advertising Belge Frites. I was eager to have my kids taste the mother of all fries, the original, the way they were intended to taste, but they hardly ate any. I think they were confused by the size of the fries, or just plain grumpy. Ezra preferred to eat the ketchup with the mini plastic fork they provided for the fries. Aaron, Granny, and I ordered Mitraillettes, a Belgian treat. Not sure who exactly invented it. A mitraillette is half a baguette (wider than a normal baguette), with a thin crunchy crust and a very soft inside in which they put a sauce of your choice, then some salad (usually lettuce, corn, and carrots), and then some cooked meat of your choice, and fill it up with fries. They are extremely yummy, but somewhat hard to get your mouth around.
After at least the adults were satisfied we headed over to Novotel to change Micah's diaper, and then made our way past the market with the precious arts, down the cobble stoned narrow alley ways to the Gallery Royale de Saint-Hubert. The Gallery is just what the name implies. It is an archway that in and of itself is beautiful to look at and walk through, with frescos and columns four stories high, curving in a glass roof that covers the length of the archway. Stores line both sides of the gallery, their window fronts works of art in and of themselves. We could only restrain the children with difficulty from running into the numerous chocolatiers that had their candy displayed in the most tantalizing towers. Aaron got them a treat a little further down at his favorite belge chocolate store, Leonidas. Just one alley over we coaxed our still fussy and grumpy kids on to grand place. I'm not sure what I expected, maybe an "ooooo" or "ahhh", but the kids couldn't have cared less. Aaron and I however took a deep breath almost as if to inhale the magnificent beauty of this 700 year old plaza and had to reassure each other over and over that we were really here, living only an hour drive away from the city we both love so much(for those of you who don't know, we both served as missionaries in this city). We proceeded through the Grand Place and saw that for the first time the gates of the hotel de ville were open. We immediately headed over there to take a look. As we took turns looking at the courtyard, the kids finally found something interesting enough to get their attention; the metal board with the historic information that was in the entry way. They took turns hiding behind it, laughing and giggling as they played peekaboo with each other.
Antsy for a belge waffle I had the kids follow me down the corner and past Grand Place, where I bought them their first real belge waffle. The kids have been obsessed with waffles as of late, and I would like to think that their smile was slightly bigger than usual when eating these ones. As I ordered my hot french Gaufre de Liege in French from my favorite place Belgaufra, a little stand in the wall, I realized that all my worries had been for nothing. I may have left the familiar conveniences, stores and friends that I loved behind in the US, but no matter how American I have become, I was raised in Europe, and the shoe still fits. I love the history and the awe that expands my mind and seems to fill my whole body like water on parched land, when I stand in magnificent places where people have lived and worked for almost a millenia, and to see it in tact and magnificent still. I love the food, the smell, the sound of different languages spoken all around me, and being able to converse with people in a language that isn't my own. I will always be a citizen of two continents my heart divided between them both, but for now I'm grateful to be back after 8 years absence.

First Shopping Trip in Eindhoven

A small insert: Aaron had already scouted out the neighborhood and found a local grocery store, that thankfully enough is open until 9 PM. Most stores close here at 6 PM. We emptied Ezra's rolling backpack so we could load some groceries in it and took the kids for a a stroll to the grocery store. The kids whined and protested that we would be walking, and demanded the car on the way to the store (it's really only 5 minutes). Once we were at the store Ezra was excited to be pushing around the cart made especially for children and then abandoned it promptly to go climb in the little play area in the store. How very thoughtful of them! Aaron and I took turns looking through the store, delighted to see some items we had missed in the US like Quark (a dairy product that is hard to describe to those who haven't tasted it: perhaps a mixture between sour cream, yogurt, and cream cheese), wary of all the delicious pastries that added 15 lbs to our waistline last time we were in Europe, and amused because of the sizes the ketchup bottles come in. European fridges are tiny, so accordingly the bottles are tiny. I suppose that's why Europeans don't have obesity problems like in America because they have to walk to the store daily just to keep their tiny fridge stocked. I stood in the aisle holding up the bottle of ketchup that was the size of a tester at samsclub and like a true American hollered over to Aaron on the other side of the store "awww, look at the size of these!". After getting our essentials we walked home and the kids even proudly took turns pulling the backpack. Today, we returned to the store and Ezra already was excited about getting to walk to the store. I LIKE the walking.

Landed July 29, 2009

Eventually I'll add the picture of the guy in Indianapolis airport with our 11 bags stacked high and precariously on his trolley.

Here we are! Eindhoven! Homesick, questioning our reason, slap-happy, sleep deprived, tired, cranky, fuzzy brained, and amused. Rewind 26 hours ago:

I'm completely stressed out, having stayed up until midnight packing, trying to avoid the last minute throw-everything-in-your-suitcase-that-you-haven't-dealt-with-frenzy. Might as well have gone to sleep early. I was up at 6:40 am doing last minute laundry, packing up blankets and curtains, and then for two hours tried to find a way to throw everything in our suitcase that we hadn't dealt with. No matter how we packed we just had too much stuff. I'm still amazed how a completely empty house can produce 2 suitcases worth of extra stuff, one basket loaded to double its size with cleaning products and blankets, 3 grocery bags of food, and 3 big trash bags. I was pumping adrenaline and dangerously hungry (for those of you who have not had the bad luck of being around me when I'm hungry, thank your lucky stars). Before bad turned ugly, Curtis rolled up with a homemade breakfast that would rival the Hilton (assuming of course the Hilton would care enough to bring us breakfast); fluffy, scrumptious blueberry pancakes, with Ashley's mouth watering homemade, self-picked, blackberry jam, crispy bacon, fresh raspberries and blackberries, a mango puree, and the most delicious cheese and basil scrambled eggs I've had. I'll remember to add milk to my scrambled eggs next time. The breakfast was bittersweet, sweet and delicious in taste, and bitter in reminding us of the wonderful friends we would be leaving behind.
An hour later after a last sweep of the house and an almost tearful minute of silence saying good-bye to my walk-in closet, we were loaded into two vans, Ezra, Micah, Granny and I driving with Becky, and Aaron with Kevin. No trouble in the check-in although we were the type of family with the insane amount of luggage (11 bags, 6 carry-ons, and 3 car seats)that you really never want to be stuck behind in line.

After some confusion with the agent thinking that Aaron needed a visa to fly into Belgium (which of course he doesn't), and alleviated of $150 for an extra bag, we successfully although not quietly shuffled Ezra, Granny, Micah, our 2 car seats, and 7 carry-ons (how did they multiply, seriously?) past the elevators Ezra was dying to ride, through security, on to and off the first plane and through the entire Chicago O'hare airport.
Aaron walked his feet sore keeping Ezra entertained, while granny plundered the airport stores for toys to keep Micah happy. She lucked out with a very fun little wind up plane that mimicked take off (OK,just reread the post and need to amend after two days the toy is very annoying). Thankfully the Chicago airport has a really great childrens playground, a little out of the way, but very fun, complete with freight plane, slide, tower, lots of buttons and blocks to stack and crash on. The real blessing of the trip happened on the plane. Supposedly the flight was fully booked (as long as fully booked means tons of seats in the business class). This particular aircraft was divided in 2-5-2 rows of seats in economy. We were in the row with 5, all packed tight together. The row in front of us was completely empty. I tried not to get my hopes up, but I couldn't help hoping and uncharitably wishing that who ever had booked those seats, would not show up. My wish came true, and perhaps the wishes of those who had seen Ezra melt down when we got on the plane, and who hoped for something to happen to quiet him down. With two rows of seats to bounce around in, even Ezra survived the trip. The on-board entertainment system was messed up, which was helpful in as much as it compelled us to sleep. Ezra lay on the floor, Aaron stretched across 4 seats with the useless two car seats stacked on top of each other in the last seat, and Micah and I shared four seats. I actually got two solid hours of sleep on the plane. Unheard of.

The second blessing of the trip is that we talked the shy 18 year old assistant to my mom into helping all of us through passport security with our luggage. He loaded everyone but Aaron up on his cart and cut past the 30 minute line of people waiting for the passport control. I made a mental note to ask for special assistance next time we fly with Ezra. Had he had to wait in line, we all might have lost it completely. Nonetheless the kids were great if altogether bored waiting for the luggage, and then for the driver to find us, and then for the driver to pull his car around, and load all of our stuff into two Mercedes.


An hour and a half later we arrived at our apartment in Eindhoven. It only took us three or four trips in the elevator to get everything upstairs. The place we're renting for a week is better than a hotel room, but very closely resembles a psychiatric ward with it's white walls, white furniture, and white sheets on everything (not that I've actually been to one). I'm tired, cranky, exhausted, and homesick for my house, for color on the walls, roomy walk in closets, fresh air, friendly people, big fridges, and A/C.