There's a first time for everything

"I'm going to run tonight" I said to my husband after we brought the children to bed.

He looked surprised. As I normally try to avoid any running. Or any exercise for that matter. He (the husband) does occasianly run. He even has a special "outfit" that he wears while running. The kind that makes me giggle because the pants are quite tight. I grin. Being 12 is bliss.

"But you have to explain to me how I should run," I explain "because I have NEVER run.. you know for the sake of running." I look serious at my husband, because I suspect he thinks I'm joking.

So he's like a pro, and I had to find my *gear* from everywhere in the house. The shoes I couldn't find, I figured I'd run on my All Stars. A tight sportive white shirt (which I literally have had over TEN years)... and my yoga pants which I have not used for yoga in about 4 years, but has been a blessing during and after pregnancies because yoga pants tend to ssssstttttttrrrrrrreeeeeecccccccchhhhhhhh.

The iPod I could find.

So my husband gave me a brief instruction on how to stretch and so on.

I turned on the iPod, squeezed it under the top band of my panties and went running.

When I walk, my hair dances a bit. And so did it when I started. Dance, dance, dance. It makes me feel very sexy. Step, step, step, dance, dance. I could be in a Nike commercial.

A fellow runner passed me. We exchange smiles. I'm a pro. We runners are so polite.

Soon I wanted to hear another song, and found out the cord of my earphones were in a tight hug with the band of my panties. Great. Idea. Nadine. After I rescued my iPod and turned on another song (and held it in my hand for the rest of "The Run"), I felt tired.

Seriously, what did I run? 300 meters?

I saw a little park & playground and used it to stretch (and to rest, but I did not want anyone to think I NEEDED a rest). I was EXHAUSTED! It couldn't have been more than 500 meters between my house and the park. But oh well.

The stretching was good, it helped me catch my breath. Back to running (mind you, I was going so slow, I bet runners wouldn't even refer to it as running). By this time my mouth is open and I'm breathing heavy (if I ever need to addition for a porn movie, I have to remember to breath like that when I audition).

Now apparently at this time there are many mini mosquitos and flies in the park (I am such a fan of nature and wilderness and animals and green stuff and bugs, can't you tell?). I see them (probably passed out by the impact) on my white shirt and I feel they crash into my face. Before one decides to be my second dessert (dessert? probably not a good idea before running), I close my mouth.

Another stretching break.

Run a few more minutes.

OK, where does this saliva come from?

And OUCH. ALLStars are great (to look at), but not for running.

Another rest strechting break.

I decide to go home. Run.

More saliva. Seriously, what do you do? I never see runners spit or anything. Swallow.

Nauseous. "I HAVE to make it home," I think.

I think I may have turned purple.

But after a whooping total 20 minutes I knock on the window of my house. And when my husband gets up to open the door, I use my last bit of energy to lift the corners of my mouth. I smile.

I actually feel quite good.

Little lady, you're choosing the easy way out aren't you!

Yesterday I had my PRE-driving exam. A test exam, with a person from the institution that makes an insanely amount of money flunking 75% of the people the first time they take the exam) gives exams (car, motor, etc.) and grants the driving licenses.

The person giving me the exam was an ex Dutch marine. He was this BIG, bald guy who looked like he'd let me do push ups (or lift the car) if I didn't manage to park backwards.

Normally, I'm able to build rapport. You know, a little joke, a smile. But he was a brick wall. I could have thrown the car at him, and he would not have blinked. I felt like the lowest ranked, rookie seaman next to the admiral of the fleet.

But it was not his presentation but the fact that he could flunk me on the parking part that let me bite my tongue when he started to refer to me as "girl". Seriously, even though I'm happy to be YOUNG, but referring to me as girl (or little lady) makes me a *little* aggressive.

The day before the pre-test I did horrible. My teacher kicked my ass after the high way on which I was highly unsuccesful in changing lanes (first time I ever had to change from a fast lane into a lane that was stuck in traffic).

But as my husband said: "A bad final rehearsal is a great premiere" (he was in theatre when he was a teenager, hence the theatre wisdoms, yes I am married to a *cough* famous person *cough*)

And it sort of was. A great premiere. Though I did flunk on parking.

Not that I couldn't park, but I picked a spot with PLLLLLLLEEENNNTY of space where -turns out - I should have picked a spot with a little challenge. I did not know I could flunk on choosing the easy way out with parking, I thought I was being clever.

"Little lady, you're choosing the easy way out aren't you" and proudly I said "Yes", not knowing I did a BAD thing. OOPS, silly me. *grin*

Anyway if I had parked correct, I would not have had to park on my final exam.

Now get this. I already had 27 (!) hours of lessons. (average needed to pass in The Netherlands is 47!!) I've pretty much had it with doing the lessons.

PLUS this will start costing us more money: 29 lessons, one pre-exam and one exam cost: 1500 euro (1900 US dollars) after the 29 lesson, each additional lesson costs 35 euros.

Extra motivation to pass that real exam!

AT EASE sailors!

Emigration (part 2: darn it)

SO. OK.

How to say this.

Remember part 1?

You know about us forgetting about emigrating to the US?

It almost had a sequel about us going on holiday to Canada to see if we'd like to go to Canada instead.

But I like you to forget about part 1.

Because after we went to the emigration conference, read books about emigrating to and living in Canada, looked into trips to Canada, talked about it for hours and hours and hours and even had contact with Canadian provinces about possible jobs...

We changed our mind.

Canada felt as a second option. But our heart is more South.

And you know, fuck that. Fuck the fact that we're head over heals with a country that makes it like impossible for *normal* skilled people like us to emigrate.

Serious, why? Why the love for something almost out of reach?

But you know what?

We're more determined than ever to make a plan and make it work.

So sorry about confusing you.

Some how. Some way. We'll move to the country where my husband's mom lived and where my dad lived.

It's still not clear on how we can do it. But I feel we're not just dreaming in the dark, we actually have hope again. There's a little light and we're looking at ways to get there. Maybe not today (perhaps *after* the financial crisis ;)

And darn it, we'll make it!

I'll write a part 3 soon about the options we're looking into.

What was first, the chicken or the egg?

My three year old little Einstein solved it.

His reply to my question "What was first, the chicken or the egg?"

He thought for a few seconds, looked at me and said very convincing: "The chicken IN the egg"

He solved it! Harvard, here he comes.

Happy second day of Easter! I wonder if that's a weird Dutch thing or everyone celebrate two days of Easter? We get second day of Christmas too. I am not even kidding! NO idea what we actually celebrate, but hey, it's a holiday. I am NOT complaining.

There was some crafting, painting of eggs and make things for our Easter breakfast table

There where MANY eggs

And one blurry kitchen princess (OK those where actually ready to go in the oven buns & croissants, not all haute cuisine, but still I had to remember to get them out, so there was some thinking involved)

One YELLOW breakfast table and a lot of daffodils!

And one little Roo. Have I ever told you she basically is a food waste dispenser. She'll eat anything!

What did you do this weekend?

Like breaking up with that bad boyfriend

You have decided you want break up. He's treated you like shit. Basically he turned out to be an ass. And on second thought he's not that handsome. The sex is pretty bad too. Now my old boyfriend(s) who may be reading this are thinking: "Is she talking about ME?". Yep. Probably. I was also lying when I said size didn't matter.

Anyway, you finally get the nerve to do it. To break up. There's a little conversation, a plea from the boyfriend: "please let's try it again" and a "Honey, it's not you, it's ME". Anyway. You say goodbye, walk away, relieved.

A few days later, alone on the couch, you're watching Pretty woman. Richard Gere on the fire escape ladder, with flowers, on his way to Julia Roberts. And you think, "well, he was kinda romantic", "we did cool things" and "he did fix my bike". And you find yourself crying.

The old boyfriend? My old job.

Though I promise, there was no bad sex there! No good sex either. That I know of. At least, not with me. OK. Actually, I liked my old job, but after 8 years, I sort of fell out of love.

You know the "You're more like a BROTHER now", kinda break up.

I still had fun, and it was exciting, but I was also ready for a change. So I first found a new boyfriend job, and then said goodbye to the old ("I fell in love with another, but I PROMISE we did not have sex yet" break up).

And between 1.5 months ago when I gave my notice and Tuesday, I had no remorse whatsoever. Actually, I was REALLY looking forward to my new 2-day job. New people, new challenges, more time with my babies.

This Tuesday apparently was my Pretty Woman day. I felt miserable. Sick to my stomach. Love sick. And I began to idealize my old job and forgot all the reasons why I "dumped" it.

I had to admit I'm more a creature of habit than I thought. Or that I wanted.

But after eating two dozen a few chocolate Easter eggs, I feel better.

And yes, old boyfriend, if you're still reading: I was faking. Mmmmmm, yeah, baby. Sounds familiar?

Beautiful

The tightened wrinkles grace his forehead like rivers that once were. His eyes are slightly closed, and in utmost concentration he scouts the landscape. You can see the serene silence surrounding him, even in the middle of a busy street. A few feet behind him stands a small middle aged woman. In front of her feet lay more bags than she can possibly carry by herself. Her short gray hairs dance on the wind and her bright blue eyes staring into the street suggest that her thoughts are not anywhere near this scene.

When my dad is photographing you'll often find my mom with him. Like a caddy following a professional golfer. Her patience is admirable. Sometimes he makes her hold attributes, lights, round shiny things that look like UFO's or the extra flash. And she follows his directions to the best she can. Stand here, no there, more to the right, right!, more, no,left. It's her love for him which helps him makes beautiful photos.

And now he's made photos of our two beauties. I can imagine how hard this was, my children are a lot of things. But calm, quiet and patient are not their strongest qualities when it comes to posing for photos.

Your best photos of your grand children so far, dad. Thank you. And thank you mom, for assisting him. Thank you both for letting me see how beautiful my children are.

Roo

Monkey

Posted at 3:01 PM