Lost For Words

We lost. The Dutch were unable to defeat Spain in the World Cup final. The third time was not the charm in this case. It is painful to write it, but there you have it. And that's all I am going to say on the subject because I'd rather not talk about it.

Speaking of talking, Lola has developed a stutter. It started about six months ago. When we first noticed it, we attributed it to the language explosion going on in her head. We did a little reading on the subject and found out stuttering is not that unusual at this age. It is called normal disfluency and should go away by itself after approximately six months.

But it didn't. And instead of getting better, it got worse. To a point where it would take her up to thirty seconds to get a word out, resulting in Lola saying: "I can't say that word" and moving on to something else. We felt it was time to consult a professional. We saw her pediatrician last week who agreed there was cause to see a speech therapist, which we did this morning. He sat on the floor with Lola, playing games and counting her words. He needed at least one hundred words to make a proper assessment. Miss Chatty Kathy, who never stops talking, did not take long to get there.

As it turns out, her language skills are exceptional for her age. She has an awesome vocabulary, makes fairly complicated sentences, and can pronounce sounds she should not yet be able to. The stutter, he told us, was nothing to be concerned about. She shows no signs of a genuine stutter problem, and the repetitions will go away in three to six months. G-g-good.

So we will continue to wait patiently for the words to come out, and will not interrupt or tell her to slow down, or start over. No need for speech therapy. That will surely disappoint Lola because she had a blast at the doctor's office. They have the coolest toys!

Temporary Orange Insanity

Hup Holland Hup!

While I miss my family and friends, and a few things like working part time with full benefits, twenty two vacation days, sixteen weeks of paid maternity leave, high quality and affordable health insurance for all, etc., I am never homesick for Holland.

But today, I wish I was there to join in on the temporary orange insanity. Go Holland!

Update: The Boys in Orange won!!! We will be playing the final on Sunday for the first time in 32 years. I wonder if I can book a plane ticket still...

Expatriates And Patriots

Source: google.com

With the Fourth of July rapidly approaching, the amount of stars and stripes I see is steadily increasing. Almost every blog and magazine I read features the American flag in some way, shape, or form. For me, this is a little foreign. The Dutch are not too big on waving the flag. Sure, during national holidays and world cups, there is quite a bit of red, white, and blue in addition to the orange, but for the most part, you'll find the Dutch flag in a piece of cheese.

Americans are very different in this respect. Displaying the flag is the most visible sign of patriotism. And of that, there is quite a bit. It starts early on in schools with the daily Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America. The Dutch are not patriots, we don't display any pride in our heritage or country, a few zealots notwithstanding. We do not stand united. In fact, we are more divided than ever. It makes me very sad.

Where I come from, the saying goes "Just act normal, that's crazy enough." All this patriotism is a bit over the top for me. I have a hard time dressing Lola in an American flag dress, to be honest. Fortunately the dress we received is way too big, so this year I can get by without it. But I do like that on days like the Fourth, the whole country celebrates together, and the emphasis is on American, whether you're Native American, African American, Asian American, Italian American, Irish American, or Dutch American.

I know we are still a long way from universal peace, love, and understanding, in my new country as well as my old. But while the use of the different varieties of Americans may be considered politically correct, it also creates a sense of unity, attainable for every immigrant. The Dutch could learn a thing or two here.

Happy Fourth of July! Have a wonderful weekend, everyone.

Pool Party

When I passed on Barbie, Ken, and Skipper to Lola about a year ago, she was mainly interested in the dolls, not so much the clothes. If they were wearing clothes, she would make me take them off. And these barbies came with a ton of clothes, the vast majority handmade by my mother, my grandmother, and myself. There are some very fancy dresses in Barbie's collection, some with hand embroidered beads and sequins, all made from leftover material my mother used to make her own dresses.

Now that Lola is a little older and starting to develop strong opinions on what to wear, she wants her barbies to be nicely dressed too. Dressing a barbie is not that easy, and is often more than Lola can handle. I find myself frequently putting clothes on Barbie and taking them off again for her. I had forgotten how much of a pain that is. The pointy fingers get stuck in the sweaters, the shoes keep popping off, and fabric does not slide well over the dolls' legs.

Which is why, when Lola decided to take Barbie, Ken, and Skipper for a swim, I insisted they'd go skinny dipping. Dressing them when they're dry is hard enough, a wet barbie was something I was not prepared to deal with. Lola was fine with that. We brought out the red plastic party tub, took off their clothes, and in they went.

The party tub is a remnant of our non-running water days, of Life In The Barn. We used it for dishes and occasionally as Lola's bath tub or pool, depending on the weather. I was the garage the other day, looking at it and could not imagine my big girl once fit in that tub. It is so small. But she did.

And apparently still does...

You Know, Samwich

There are some beautiful toadstools and other mushrooms sprouting up around the house. Lola and I like to take a little walk every evening and check on their progress. Yesterday we looked at one growing smack in the middle of the path.

"It looks like a samwich," Lola said to me.

"A sandwich?" I asked, emphasizing the sand part.

"No, a SAMwich!, she said. I wasn't sure what she meant. The mushroom in question did not resemble a sandwich at all. At least, not in my eyes. When I looked at her non-plussed, she put on her thinking face. You could tell she was pondering ways to explain to me what she meant.

"You know, a samwich, that goes under the bologna."

Aha! She did mean a sandwich. We were just disagreeing about the correct pronunciation.

"Oh, a samwich," I said. Lola nodded happily, pleased I finally got it.

I still don't see it though...

Force Of Nature

It was sunny when I left Wabeno yesterday afternoon, but it started drizzling a few miles from home. Not too long after that, the gentle rain turned to hard rain. And then the wind picked up. At about 5:30 PM the power went out. I was standing by the kitchen windows, looking at the developing storm over the lake. It was really blowing out there. The trees bent in ninety degree angles and I thought to myself: "This is the type of weather where they tell you to step away from the windows..."

The next thing I heard was my father-in-law telling us to move into the basement. Now. We picked up a bunch of flashlights and a battery powered radio and went downstairs, briefly stopping to coax a freaked out cat back into the house. When we got there, hail started coming down. At first just little pellets, but they quickly turned into golf balls. It lasted for maybe ten minutes and then just like that, the hail stopped and the wind died. It was still raining, but the storm had passed.

My first tornado warning ended as abruptly as it began and the storm did not do too much damage. Some broken branches, a few hours without power, and an evacuated casino, but that was it.

It is awe inspiring though, how quickly weather can turn from something we love to complain about to something that is to be taken very seriously. The human race likes to consider itself Masters of the Universe with sometimes horrifying results, such as the present oil disaster (spill doesn't quite cover it in my book) in the Gulf. It is a good thing Mother Nature sets us straight every now and again. We need it.

Dancing With Her Star

Happy Father's Day!

The World According To Lola

"Once upon a time there was Hanneke and Ryan. And Grandma Judy. And......, Grandpa Jim. They were all living together with my grandparents. And they ate dinner.

And they lived happily ever after."

Beads Revisited

My bags are almost packed and I am getting ready to go. On Thursday morning I am driving down to Milwaukee to join my former boss at the Bead & Button Show. For three wonderful days I get to play with beads again. I cannot wait, to tell you the truth. The beading business is the part of my old life I truly miss. I am working on my shopping list to get my basic supplies organized. And I promised to bring back something shiny for one of my staff and silver crimp ends for my niece.

Unfortunately my little beading retreat is threatening to turn into a stressful event. Aside from Bead & Button, I have agreed to a family reunion, the Locust Street Beer Run, and driving to Wausau and back late Friday night to pick my husband up at the airport. He is returning from a week long training in Denver. It's my own fault. I always do this. Not wanting to disappoint anyone, I try to find a way to make everyone happy. And I usually do. Everyone but me.

A woman in her forties should know better, don't you think?

Just Checking...

Lola fell off her tricycle yesterday evening and scraped her elbow, barely missing the puddle. It was just a little scratch, no major injury. She didn't even cry. There was no blood, and thus no bam bam (band aid) was needed. All it took was a kiss from her mother.

While we were in the bathroom, she decided she needed more sympathy and announced to me she was going to show Grandma Judy her elbow. As she walked out, she turned around, pointed to her elbow and asked: "Mom, is this my elbow?"

New Life

A face only a mother can love

This nest is right outside our front door, safely tucked away in the branches of a pine tree. I never would have known it was there, had I not seen the mother flying around with something large and heavy in her beak. She dropped it on the driveway, picked it up and dropped it again on the grass. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a dead baby bird.

I noticed momma bird was staying very close to one particular tree. When I followed her to that tree I saw there was a nest in it, and as I inched closer to it, another baby bird peaked over the brim and opened its little beak. I backed away not wanting to frighten momma bird and picked up Lola, pointing out the nest to her.

When I returned fifteen minutes later to take a picture of the mother in her nest, she kindly showed me her other new child and the one on the way. The eggs must have hatched today. Happy Birthday, baby birds!

Nighttime Visitor

Ursus Americanus

Every since I saw the butt of a black bear, several weeks ago, I have been on the lookout for more. On my way home from work I pay special attention to clearings and side roads, occasionally taking the back roads, hoping to spot a bear. No such luck. Deer, eagles, foxes, porcupines, turkeys, and turtles aplenty, but no bear.

My husband and daughter have seen a bear. Last week, on their way back from a short visit to the boat landing to go swimming, they ran into one. He was standing halfway up a driveway when they passed him on their bicycle. As soon as the bear spotted Ryan and Lola, he took off running into the woods. They were understandably very excited about the sighting. I was too, and a little jealous.

The next night Judy and I were watching television when I heard something brush against the window (my parents-in-law have floor to ceiling windows overlooking the back deck and the lake). I don't think Judy heard the bump. I hoped it was a bear, but immediately dismissed the thought as wishful thinking. Deciding it was probably my imagination, I continued to watch the finale of Dancing with the Stars.

Minutes later we heard a crash outside. We jumped up from our seats, turned on the deck lights, and there it was, the American black bear. Right there on the deck, four feet away from us, lapping up the sugar water that was spilling out of the hummingbird feeder he had pulled from the wall. Judy opened the door and in her sternest teacher voice told the bear to leave, which he did, slowly. He walked down the steps and sat down next to a tree, watching us for about ten minutes before he wandered off into the darkness.

He came back the next night, judging by the mess on the deck, but we had taken in all the bird feeders, including the hummingbird feeders, and there was nothing for him to eat. No-one saw or heard him this time. Except maybe Sandman who was still out and about when I went to bed. He was so spooked the following morning, he would not set a paw outside for hours.

Luscious Lupines

Lupines are one of my favorite flowers, along with peonies and daffodils. I love their vibrant colors and tall flowers. I used to grow them in a pot, on my balcony in Amsterdam. When the bottom flowers would start to form seeds, I would snip them off to prolong the blooming period and enjoy their beauty just a little bit longer.

Where I come from, lupines are only available as annuals or semi-annuals. But not here, in the Northwoods. They come back year after year, growing bigger and stronger every spring. And they are everywhere. In the woods, by the side of the road, in the fields. An abundance of color so visually appealing, I drive an extra mile or two, three, just to snap a picture.

Childhood Pictures

There is a picture in my childhood photo album that always brings a smile to my face. I am two, maybe three years old, and visiting the park with my parents and grandparents. Holding hands with my father and grandfather, they swing me along. I don't have a care in the world.

Will Lola feel the same way when she looks at her childhood pictures years from now? Will she remember the strong hands that held her, the absolute certainty she would not fall, the thrill of the big jump, the simple pleasure of going wheeeeeee?

Spilling The Beans

One of the perks of working for a casino, is that a visit to Las Vegas is considered a business trip. I had the pleasure of "doing business" in Vegas, not too long ago. We treated a handful of our VIPs to a trip to Sin City, in collaboration with a local Vegas resort. Hard work, people, hard work.

The saying goes "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." Now I don't mean to shock you, but what happens in Vegas is mostly gambling and drinking, and a little bit of shopping. And something that has to do with all those guys lined up on the sidewalk, yelling "Girls, girls, girls" and waving little flyers in your face but I have no further details to share with you. Being from Amsterdam, I suspect I know what that's all about, though.

What stays in Vegas is your money. All of it, and whatever you manage to win back because of course you cycle that right back into the machines. How else are you going win a jackpot? Despite my best efforts, no jackpots for me. All of my money, my gambling money that is - I gambled on a budget, stayed in Vegas. All I have to show for my trip is a cute pair of sandals.

I had seen them earlier in one of the shops at Caesar's Palace but found the pricetag a bit steep. When I realized a few hours later, I had just spent more money on a slot machine than on a pair of shoes, I got up, cashed out, walked across the street, and purchased the sandals on the spot. At least I was bringing something back!

Aside from the gambling, drinking, and shopping, there is a lot of fun to be had. We took our guests out to dinner, to a Jerry Seinfeld show, and around town. They had a marvelous time, and so did we. Hard work indeed.