Introduction To Toothpicks

First corn on the cob. Ever.

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.

All Dressed Up, No Place To Go

As of two weeks ago, Ryan and I are once again both gainfully employed. [Insert big sigh of relief.] While I continue to run the Promotions department and the Player's Club of the casino, Ryan has taken on the responsibility of ensuring the cable, internet, and phone needs of every business in the Northwoods are met. I cannot begin to tell you how wonderful it is to have proper jobs and financial stability again.

Of course, with two full time jobs, we now have other issues to deal with. Meal planning, household organizing, limited time off together, and the big one, childcare. Since we are still living with my parents-in-law, we have it easy for the time being. However, their retirement plans did not include taking full time care of two adults and one toddler, so we are trying to get some sort of routine established.

Lola goes to daycare three days a week and absolutely loves it. She's been going to school, as she calls it, since January. She perfects her social skills, learns about letters and numbers, and plays to her heart's content with other little girls and boys. There is an awesome jungle gym in the backyard and on beautiful days like today, she plays on the swing all day long. Her daycare is just up the road from the casino, making it easy for me to drop her off and pick her up.

My only problem is getting out the door on time on daycare days. This morning however, everything went very well. We were all up nice and early, in part thanks to Lola who woke me up at 5:30. Not to snuggle like we usually do, but to remove a tick from her head. Nice. And for once, Lola did not object to the outfit I picked out for her and put on her shorts and t-shirt without a peep. Nicer. Ryan left just after 6 AM for an overnight trip to Wausau, Judy left at 7 AM for her golf date, Jim followed shortly after for his golf date, and Lola and I locked the door behind us at 7:45. Perfect!

My morning bliss was short lived, unfortunately. Lola started freaking out as soon as we closed the door because we did not bring the sunscreen with us. And no matter how many times I reassured her Connie has sunscreen too, she would not calm down. Very concerned about her skin, she is. She cried all the way up the driveway. When we got to the truck, there was no car seat in it. [Bleep!] My husband had taken off with one carseat and the other seat was in Jim & Judy's car, also gone. Lola and I were stuck at home. All dressed up and no place to go.

After venting my frustration to my husband over the phone, with a screaming toddler in the background who had switched from crying over sunscreen to "I want to go to Connie's house" without missing a beat, I called Connie to tell her we were going to be late, and emailed work with a similar message. And then I dressed down again, made myself a cup of coffee and enjoyed an unexpected morning off. Lola and I took our binoculars down to the lake where we sat on the swing watching eagles and butterflies.

My morning turned out perfect after all.

Knock, Knock

"Knock, knock."

"Who's there?"

"Banana."

"Banana, who?"

"Banana orange! Ha ha ha ha ha..."

It is Lola's first joke and she cannot get enough of telling it. She thinks it's hilarious. So do I. It is not so much the joke itself though, it is the delivery that does it for me. It is a good thing we are related and share a silly sense of humor, because I have a feeling this is the first of many, many Knock, knock jokes...

A Vision In The Woods

The Wood Fairy riding her horse, pre tick season

Extreme Make Over, Cat Edition

Meet Sandman. Our handsome, ten year old fuzzy friend. He loves the outdoors, hunting, bird watching, and sleeping. He eats lap dogs for breakfast, despises big dogs, other cats, raccoons, and small children. Despite his best efforts, he has never caught a gray or a red squirrel. He has however dragged plenty of other critters into the house; chipmunks, mice, garter snakes, birds, and once even a flying squirrel.

When I first flew out to Washington for a visit, Sandman and I hit it off immediately. However, after I moved in permanently, we fought a little tug of war over Ryan. Every time Ryan and I would sit down together, Sandman would squeeze himself in between the two of us and laid his paw on Ryan's leg, telling me Ryan was his. It didn't last very long. As soon as he realized he now had someone to keep him company during the day, he warmed up to me. We have been buddies ever since.

His gorgeous long locks protect him from the elements in the colder months of the year, but can be a bit of a burden during the summer. Not only does he get very hot on the warmer days, his hair tangles to dreads, especially on his belly. And if you value your life and limbs, you keep the brush away from that belly. His fur is also a haven for fleas and lately, for ticks. The little buggers frequently hitch a ride in his pelt, sneaking their way into the house. The obvious answer to this problem is a haircut.

Ryan had Sandman's hair cut once before, about five years ago, a buzz cut of his body. His head, tail, and paws were left untouched. Evidently Sandman put up a bit of a fight, because the groomer never wanted to see him again. Last week things went very smooth. In addition to the haircut, he received a mani/pedi and a bath. His groomer loved him, and took the haircut a step further than simply shaving his back and belly. It's a bit of a change, but he has never looked more dashing, albeit very skinny! To avoid any self consciousness on his part, we have given him lots of love and attention. He revels in it.

Are you anxious to see what he looks like? Of course you are. Without further ado, I give you The Lion King...

I just love his tail! What do you think?

Creepy Crawlies

Source

Ryan and I went out for breakfast the other day, just the two of us, taking advantage of my parents-in-law's return. When our delicious looking eggs were set in front of us, I tucked my hair behind my ears in preparation. (Old habit; I just cut my hair short and in no way does it interfere with my eating.) As my fingers slid over my head, I felt it. A tick. Embedded just behind my right ear. I froze.

"Ryan," I whispered, "there's a tick behind my ear. Please remove it. NOW!"

He sat down beside me and in one smooth motion, pulled out the tick and tossed it on the table. He's very good at it. Not surprisingly, since he has had quite a bit of practice lately. He has removed three ticks from Lola's head already and several from Sandman, the cat. They were all dog ticks, not to worry. It's the deer ticks that carry Lyme disease.

I know this because I did extensive research after the first one we found on Lola's head. I know more about ticks than I ever wanted to know. I was at work that first time. Ryan called me after he had removed it and I immediately took off into cyberspace and looked up Lyme disease symptoms, the occurrence of ticks in Wisconsin, types and sizes of ticks, and so on and so forth. Nothing to worry about, really.

Later that day I was talking to a co-worker in the break room about ticks and other fun topics, when I felt something itching on my leg. I softly scratched my leg and it stopped. Just to be sure, I checked under my skirt when I got back to my office. And sure enough, there was a tick hanging on for dear life in the seam. I flicked it away, making sure to spot where it landed.

Then I closed the blinds, locked my door, and stripped naked right there in my office. I checked every inch of my body and every garment inside and out. Nothing. Phew. It would have been really awkward to have to call on a co-worker to assist me with tick removal in my nearly bare-naked state. And no, there are no surveillance cameras in my office. I checked.

Of course after getting dressed again and unlocking my door, I was no longer able to find the tick on my boldly patterned brown and green carpet. Housekeeping was kind enough to come and vacuum my office on the spot. I did not see the tick again, but the rest of the day I was itching all over. And now you are probably too. Sorry.

Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay...

Sunset on Lake Lucerne

Bogeys, Birdies, And Eagles

Our little family went golfing on Sunday. An interesting choice for a family activity since I can't golf and Lola is too short. But we had fun anyway.

The upside to not being good at golf is that there is room for improvement. Lots of room. I turned out to be a surprisingly good putter. The rest, not so much. Lola divided her time between holding the flag and exploring the golf cart.

The decuple bogeys were all mine, Ryan scored a few birdies. And eagles? Out of reach for all of us.