Morning

The birds wake her. As she glances at the alarm clock she notes it's 6:28, the projection on the ceiling of her darkened room. He hits the snooze, the birds quiet and the morning sun expires, if only temporarily. This alarm clock, she thinks, is very annoying. She's supposed to be awakened gently, to the sun and life and nature. But, all she wants to do is sleep. It's too dark to be morning. That means yet another grey day of rain.

As the birds begin their morning singing once again, he turns off their melody and pulls back the covers, as she slips into her sweats and slippers, and heads downstairs. After a quick bathroom break, she begins her day, the lights in the house shining, the darkness of the day outside still present. She turns on the coffee pot and pulls bread and meat from their respective places. She hears the shower start spraying and tiny footsteps on the stairs. The day is now alive, her eyes still adjusting, yet wishing they didn't have to. As the door to the kitchen opens, she greets her tiny boy, his hair sticking up in all directions. His good morning greeting is hurried as he stumbles to the bathroom, and she begins making lunches and breakfasts, sipping the warmth of her coffee, topped with milk but no sugar.

Her hand, the bad one as it has been known to be called, is not yet working. It is stiff and sore, and cutting bread is a hazard. She tries for an apple instead, and leaves it's four pieces waiting to be cut smaller. She takes another sip of coffee as the tiny boy moves into the living room, where she hears the sound of the tv, Jetix cartoons, blaze to life. She begins making a schedule in her head, of all she must do today, trying to remember if there are any special appointments on her calendar. She fills a glass with yogurt drink, finishes spreading chocolate pasta on a roll, and brings it to her boy. The room is still dark as the shutters have not yet been opened, the only light coming from the glow of the tv. They don't speak, but she ruffles his hair and bends to give him a kiss atop his head. No words need to be spoken. She looks at her agenda as she recognizes that it's library day at school. Don't forget the library books is placed in her already full head.

Another sip of coffe, the cup now nearly empty. It still feels warm in her hand, and she leaves it there a minute, wrapping her fingers tightly around it before finishing up lunches. The man emerges form the bathroom, fresh and clean, a soapy smell lingering on him as he moves, his hair slicked wetly back, his contacts in his hands waiting to open his eyes to the day ahead. He grabs his shoes and sits at the table to put them on, chugs his drink waiting for him. She glances at him, sends him a smile, whether he sees it or not. She's finally beginning to awaken, see the morning come to life. They discuss the plans for the day, and with a kiss goodbye, he grabs his bag, filled with his lunch, and is gone.

She makes another cup of coffee. The day is alive, the day has begun.

Homesick

This time of year is always hard for me. I know this instinctively about myself and try to prepare myself for it. I love the holidays, and put my energy into making them special. But being away from 'home' is something that just sits like a pit in my stomach. First there is Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas and Kaeden's birthday...and though I adore my family here, it feels like a little piece of me is missing...missing out.

When we make our Thanksgiving decorations it is with this stubbornness that proves me to be American. When we pick out our Christmas tree, probably my very favorite day of the entire year, it is with some little niggle in the back of my head as I smell all the pine, feel the needles pricking my fingers, and sap sticking to my palm, that this is what I did back home. And on Christmas morning mingled with the delight of sharing these moments with my children, creating traditions for them, that my own family is thousands of miles away and I am not a part.

It is a subtle ache that begins in October and slowly builds through the holiday season. I feel my smile more forced, not any less real, but with a bit more effort. My eyes still shine through all the fun, but tears prick behind that twinkle. I just feel slightly wound up from stress, and not the 'all I have to get done' kinda stress that comes with the holiday season. More a stress of accepting that when I moved to Europe to make a life for myself, I also chose to not partake in all the special family activities. And it bugs me. Bugs me that I had to make such a choice, bugs me that I did make that choice, bugs me that I wouldn't do it any other way if given the choice again.

I couldn't be more happy with the family I have; my husband and our boys. We have a good thing here, filled with love and support and this year with all the changes we've had in our family, a bit more peace and rest. I am allowed to be a mom, my husband supports us financially and provides a very satisfying lifestyle for us. It is the kind of life dreams are made of. BUT, it doesn't allow me to share in all those most-important family days, and sometimes the homesickness builds until I can't see beyond it. I'm not allowed to have a Halloween, Thanksgiving, or Christmas such as those I grew up with. No matter how wonderful those we have made are.

I'm trying to keep those ill feelings at bay, concentrate on the wonder of our life, our home, our family...here. Trying to come to terms with the fact that this choice I made didn't take from me and my family, but added to what I already had. I'm trying, but I'm starting to feel tickles of longing fill the back of mind. I'm trying, but the rain pouring down just adds to the gloom. I'm trying, but....what I wouldn't give to head to my Wyoming mountains covered in snow and reach out and wrap my arms around my mom and dad...

I'm homesick :-(

Hair

So, the past few weeks we've been discussing Jari getting his hair cut. It was getting so long that he'd have to sweep it to the side in order to see, and his tail on his neck was looking almost monkey-like. Much too long. But, Jari had other ideas. "The girls like boys with long hair," he said. "If mine is short, they won't like me anymore." (yeah, age 8, folks...it's starting already)

And since I want him to assert independence and have choices in matters like these, I didn't push the issue too hard. Until...

we were eating dinner and I noticed a chunk of his hair missing, right in front. "Jari, did you cut your hair?" I asked him. Of course, his eyes immediately went down and he said "No" but upon further investigation he finally admitted his ill deed. It was then that we decided it was high time to take care of his little mess.

So, yesterday we told him today was hair-cutting day. When he came home at lunch, I reminded him. But he wasn't having none of that. No way, no how. So, in my ingenuiety, I gave him a choice: to the barber or the mama hairdresser. He chose mama. I don't mind, I regularly do their hair to save money, and since barbers tend to do no better than me in my uneducated haircutting techniques. So, as he left after lunch I reminded him tonight was the haircut.

After school a friend came to play. After that he had homework. After that he wanted to eat. After that...but finally I settled him in the kitchen for the cut. Unfortunately, in giving him the choice of letting mama do it, I had forgotten that I have use of only one hand. As I started cutting, I realised that the job one-handed was not going to be an easy one. Try as I might, I couldn't hold the comb in my left hand to get a straight cut. We were both getting frustrated, but I'd already begun. No way I could leave him in that chunk o' hair state for school. Wonder what the girls would think then?

I did my best, and eventually got it all evened up, not too short as I promised, but short enough so he could see. He got in the bath jiggling around from hair "pricking me all over "while I cleaned up the now covered in hair kitchen (there were a few minor fights and crying fits as I worked). But, I did it! It may not be my best cut ever, but it's not too bad for a one-handed girl. I bet the girls will be drooling tomorrow...if not from the great hairstyle, from the huge blue eyes they can actually now see!

Thanksgiving Weekend

It was a really fantastic weekend. It was so relaxed with a busy undercurrent, but not at all stressed. I think it was what we all needed. Kaeden didn't even leave home after his Judo lesson Friday night and in fact stayed in his pyjamas all day Saturday. So did Jari. We played games, got started on our Thanksgiving dinner preparations, and when bedtime rolled around and I told them to get ready for bed, they both laughed and told me their PJ's were already on. Erwin spent Saturday alone shopping, which was also a nice break for him. He had a list, but also time to just wander around and get his holiday shopping done without too many eyes seeing his surprises. I didn't even shower on Saturday.

Sunday was busier, but also very calm. It felt good to have a house full of guests arriving to celebrate the traditions of our American holiday and not be running ragged trying to get everything done. Jari had soccer and won the game, but came home telling me about a fight between the ref and his coach. He was amazed when the ref threw his whistle at his coach. I wish I could have been there...makes soccer exciting, even if it was stressful for my son and he told me he was worried and confused about how to play. It really shouldn't have happened at this level, but Erwin reiterated Jari's story with enthusiasm, even telling about our team delegate getting kicked off the field. And, according to Erwin and Jari, the ref was really being a PITA....calling for the other team (biased? In this case, it seems not).
Jari also had his Sinterklaas celebration at school, and we didn't go with him this year. I felt guilty about it when he arrived home telling about singing for Sint and showing me his bag of candy. But, I had to get dinner ready, the house ready...a mama can't do it all. Kaeden chose not to attend the Sint celebration and stayed home to help me get things ready. And helpful he was. More so than I could have imagined. He had a terrific weekend.

Our family began to arrive for Thanksgiving dinner and to celebrate Erwin's birthday. It was nice to have a house full of guests to bring the spirit of love to the air. We made a menu and asked everyone to write something they were thankful for about each person. Though the task got a few groans, it was fun seeing everyone sitting at the dinner table lit by candle reading what we had all written about each other. Some read their thanks immediately, while others let it sit waiting to savor it for after the meal. It was so nice to take a few minutes of life to really consider what each person means to us.

The meal was fantastic. I was really happy with the quality of the food this year. Still, the most difficult part is getting everything served warm all at once. But, we had a delicious meal with many choices and few leftovers...just enough for one more nice meal this evening. I love doing up the whole shebang. Making it really feel like how I would celebrate at home. The Dutchies in my life think I am nuts, but even as they say it, I *think* they enjoy it as well. I have found that over the years they are much more open to trying new things, and have even loaded plates full and gone back for seconds and even thirds. They love the effort of the holiday and it makes it all worthwhile to me.

After Kaeden said grace, which he asked to do this year and did so beautifully, opa read a poem he had written for the ocassion, and what has become somewhat of a tradition and one i love. His words always hit me to the core, knowing though I may not be with my American family, I am still surrounded by love and support. His poem is beautiful in Dutch, but the words in English are just as meaningful:

Thanksgiving 2009

The years are threaded together to bring us to this day

Where we come together to give thanks

That we have food and drinks with a smile and a tear

And a safe and warm place where we can rest

Together at the table we forget our worries

Because who knows what the future may bring

Live for this day and think about tomorrow

Forget the cares that you heard or saw

As a family, happy to still enjoy each other

Young and old together at this table

Wherever we are in this world, here or in the States

Cherish your family, for you have only one.

Happy Thanksgiving.

And that my friends, sums it up beautifully.

Thanksgiving Surpries

Thanksgiving. A strange concept when you aren't living in a place it is typically celebrated. I give thanks daily for all I have in my life deserving of my thanks. But on a special day dedicated just for this purpose, it was strange to find the rest of the 'world' going on with business as usual, when all I wanted to do was help prepare turkey dinner, enjoy family, play some games, and maybe head to the mountains with my dad like we did when I was a kid.

So, because we always make certain to make a celebration of Thanksgiving honoring American traditions, but also knowing this year it falls on Sunday, I took celebration into my own hands (with a friend of course). We, the Americans in Holland. We, two expat women looking to find some tradition in a day just like every other.

I went into Holland with my husband after dropping Jari off at daycare. He dropped me off at the train station and I took it into the shopping center where I had one hour to do my own version of Black Friday before catching the train again to meet up with my girlfriend. When I arrived in Helmond, I had this excitement wash over me...it was Thanksgiving, and I was celebrating...with someone special in a non-traditional way.

When I saw her come walking toward me I forgot for a moment that it was Thanksgiving, and we started laughing and chatting, as friends are akin to do. Suddenly we both looked at each other and chanted: Happy Thanksgiving! We both laughed waiting for our bus to take us to her home. We were together, even as we were both mourning the loss of our holiday in our homeland with our family surrounding us. We were both homesick, but after a spell talking and relaxing, that feeling started to subside. I realised that though I wasn't surrounded by my family, I was surrounded by people I care about and who care about me. Here, I have created an extended family for myself, with special friends I treasure. And I was sharing this day with one of these people I remembered a wooden sign I had brought back for her once from the states saying: Friends are the Family You Choose For Yourself. Or something along those lines.

It is so very true. Family is family. Our expectations are that they will always be there in our lives, and often that doesn't turn out to be the case. And it devastates us. But friends whom we choose, those we aren't expected to give our heart, those we decide are worthy of our love, they are the ones who sincerely stand by your side.

We sat eating turkey sandwiches and then watched a movie (Twilight...I FINALLY got to see it...yeah!) and then chatted some more before I headed back to the train station in the rain. But I wasn't hiding tears streaming down my face as the rain mingled with them...I was feeling completely fulfilled with a gladness and thankfulness different thqn I expected to have on Thanksgiving. I had spent the day being reminded what I really have to give thanks for. And as I climbed back in the car when my husband collected me from the train, I knew that my family has grown since my move to Europe. My family includes some very special friends.

Happy 40th Hon!

Dear Ehr-Win,

I remember back to when you turned 29. It was just after we had met, and I wasn't even aware it was your birthday. I had sent you a few ICQ messgaes, wishing you sunny days, and when later we chatted and you told me it had been your birthday I remember thinking: Wow, he's 29. After your 29th, the wheels started spinning. It was shortly thereafter that I truly fell in love with you. It was then that I still didn't know your name. When I told my friends I was "seeing someone" I told them your name was Ur-win. I didn't learn your real name til months later, and found it unbelievable that I could be falling in love with someone whose name I couldn't even pronounce. But I was...I did.

When you turned 30, I had met you face to face, and the reality of my love for you was apparant. It was no longer just a 'thing', but the real thing. On your 30th birthday I called your home, knowing you were having a gathering with friends. The time difference was huge back then. I tried to call to wish you my love on your birthday before the arrival of your friends, but I didn't make it. I remember hearing your voice on the line and all the voices in the background and being so jealous that they had you there, while all I could do was call from afar. As I told you to go and enjoy your party, what I really wanted to say was: Can't you just stay here and talk to me all night? But I let you go and we talked the following day (everyday back then, remember the phone bills?)and you told me you had fun....but that you wished I could have been there with you too. And then you reminded me that it was just a few short months til I arrived in Holland and we'd be sure to celebrate then. And I was happy, knowing I'd have you all to myself.

When you turned 31, we had started our little family and were just beginning life in our new home in Rijpelberg. I was so happy to be there with you, so thrilled to be living the European dream. I wasn't yet homesick, wasn't yet in culture shock, was just enjoying all the cool newness of my life with you. Kaeden was just our sweet little kid without all the issues yet to encounter, and we were sincerely enjoying life as a family. Learning about each other as we celebrated not only you, but being together on such a special ocassion.

When you turned 32, I had given you the best gift any woman can give a man. A son, a tiny little replica of you. Even today, as I watch you father our son, I am in awe of the information you know and your love of the world you share with him. He was a replica of you then, and he's growing to be a replica of you now, but in interests and knowledge. If there is something I love most about you, it's the passion with which you parent our little boy, the excitement you bring into every experience. Not just with jari, with all of us, but most especially Jari. I love watching the two of you interact. 32 and a baby boy to nurture and love. A role you have pursued with grandeur and continue to excel at.

33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39,....each of these birthdays was celebrated with me by your side, whether on a ship to England or eating turkey dinner with Sinterklaas as our special guest. You give me the courage to pursue the things I love, celebration! Celebration of you, on your birthdays, celebration of my husband, the man I love, the man I treasure.

Today you turn 40. 40, somewhat of a milestone year. You don't want any surprises, you don't want it to be more than just another birthday. You want the peace of just being you, a man on your birthday, a father and a husband, a lover of history and world happenings. You want to be recognized as the man you are, sharing pies with your colleagues at work, a quiet celebration at home with family. Blowing out your candles, opening your presents, settling in with your computer to relax after providing all of us with all the goodness in our lives after a long day at work. 40. And here I am, still standing next to you, still reveling in the magic of being called your wife, still in disbelief that we have each other to fall back on, to laugh with, to discuss this life we have created. And as I watch you age, from that jongen in size 32 jeans with curly hair going op stap with friends, to the man with greys shining through the curls and you belt a few notches bigger, I can't help but bewonder you. Every year, I have fallen more in love with you. Every year, I am more attracted to you. Every year, I feel more confidence in what we have reached together. Every year, I know you are someone I can count on and turn to. Every year, I wish you a Happy Birthday.

This year, I wish you a Happy 4oth Birthday. May it be just what you're hoping, and the beginning of more wonderful adventures. I love you, man of my dreams (even more than way back when...)!

Sinterklaas Magic

So, Sinterklaas (Saint Nicholas) has arrived and with him, excited smiles and a feeling of goodness. Sinterklaas is a time that, for me, feels like the wonder of Christmas I knew as a child. I have had to learn this feeling as it isn't something I grew up knowing and feeling (For me, we had Santa, which in our home is still a wonder and treat, but Sinterklaas? Never heard of him til I met my Dutch husband). It isn't one of the traditions that has been passed down to me. But it is, nonetheless, a time I have come to treasure with children of my own, and a family who has always known this time to be the best of the year.

Sinterklaas arrives by boat from Spain sometime in the middle of November, with all his Zwarte Pieten (Black Pete) helpers in tow. They come bearing gifts of little ginger cookies called pepernoten (pay-per-no-ten) and candies, checking on good girls and boys the entire month while we all await Sint's birthday on December 5th. After his arrival, children are encouraged to make him pictures and sing him songs, which they do with a hearty lust. They leave their pictures in shoes set by (in our house) the front door, and sometimes include carrots or sugar cubes for Sint's horse, and sometimes water as well. As they head up to bed, they belt out songs dedicated to Sinterklaas, hoping he hears them and will in return for their music, leave something special for them to find in their shoe upon awakening.

Sinterklaas, the good, holy man. He brings out the best in all of us. With his cross decorating his hat and his red cloak with a spiral staff, his long white beard and a ruby red ring, he looks the part. And on his birthday, he surprises us with gifts. The gifts are left by the door in jute sacks all wrapped in colorful paper. His helpers knock on windows and doors, creating noise to let us know of his arrival, and as we sing songs to ask him to come, we eventually hear them overpower us, running to find what he has left for us. The excitement is grand, as we have a month to look forward to this moment.

Since living in Holland, and now Belgium, I have come to treasure this time of year as much as I do Christmas. I can't imagine our evenings not being spent coloring and crafting, singing, and the thrill as each little gift is pulled from a shoe in the morning. I can't imagine cool evenings without pepernoten and speculaas to munch on while watching tv. I can't imagine not having the excitement of 10 sleeps, 4 sleeps, and then just one sleep til his arrival. I can't imagine not watching his arrival on the boat followed by a parade through the town. I can't imagine shopping without having a Piet come fill my hands with goodies as they also wander the city streets. I can't imagine life without Sinterklaas.

Last night while we were making our pictures, Jari piped up: Know what? Someone said Sinterklaas isn't real.

My heart stopped beating for just a nano-second. I don't want this magic to end. I'm not ready to give up the excitement. Jari believes, and that adds to the wonder of this holiday time for me. And yet, I know the complete magic and wonder will end with the passing of this year of Sinterklaas excitement. Too many children will discover the truth, and comment that Sint isn't real. Too many parents will be ready to surrender. But Jari will always hear these words from my mouth: The spirit of Sinterklaas will always be alive if you believe in the magic.

And it isn't a lie. The magic doesn't have to end if we continue to desire the good feeling that comes from something such as Sinterklaas. We can carry on, knowing the truth, but choosing to give into the feeling rather than the reality.

And then, as we were finishing up our little crafts, Jari asked me if I knew what Sint's cloak is called. "Yes, it's called a tabbaard," I told him. "Uh uh," he answered. "It's called a tabbaard-aan!"

Erwin and I looked at eachother and laughed as we started singing the song...doe je beste tabbaard aan... (Put your best cloak on...but Jari thought it was called a cloakon :-))

This is what magic is made of.