tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47045571746944860092024-03-07T11:17:12.391+01:00Amsterdam MamaThe life of a retired Southern Belle raising two Dutchlings in a kingdom far, far away.Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.comBlogger145125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-47924821669929594862020-03-29T11:40:00.002+02:002020-03-29T11:40:30.702+02:00Well that was week 2...What a difference a week can make! I can not even list all the life lessons I have either tried, failed at or learned in the past week.<br />
<br />
Week two was so different from week one! The first week I wasn't sleeping from anxiety, the kids were on a tight schedule and I was preparing for the apocalypse ordering gluten free food online. Every parenting site and group repeated over and over, keep the kids on a schedule, it's so important.<br />
<br />
And that is I did the first week! We had our day planned out like a military boot camp. I woke them early, they went to "school" online then followed by chores and pre-lunch outdoor time. They got dressed in new clothes every day, brushed their hair and showered. It was like nothing had changed from normal life, except we were stuck inside for most of the day.<br />
<br />
By Friday I WAS EXHAUSTED! Not to mention, I wasn't able to get much work done at my full time job that pays the bills. I spend the entire week being the family police officer. The kids were also exhausted and couldn't wait for the weekend so the could "relax".<br />
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Over the weekend I began to stress about Monday and the cycle of our quarantined life. Monday came like a tornado through a box of matches.<br />
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We were a mess. The kids were stressed as much as I was just at the thought of facing another week like we had in week one. We were snapping at another and you could cut the negativity in the house with a knife.<br />
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I was coming apart at the seams and at that moment I had my daily call with my manager (who is also a mother) and she asked me how I was doing. I told her I was barely hanging on and she listened. She told me not to let work stress me out but to focus on my family. That was the most important thing at the moment.<br />
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Then she said something that would change everything for me: She said this whole thing with COVID-19 was a MARATHON! A marathon, so we needed to take it easy on ourselves so we can make it to the finish.<br />
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And that was what I needed to hear...<br />
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After that conversation, I gave not only myself but also my kids a break. By the end of the week, I was letting them sleep later, stay in their PJs as long as they wanted and who cares if they brushed their hair (as long as they brushed their teeth).<br />
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It was a stark contrast from week one, but it was a change that made all the difference for our family. I'm not only more positive and enjoying this time, but so are the kids. We see all the good things coming from this situation and the way people are taking care of each other.<br />
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This weekend they are relaxed and looking forward to each day again. We agreed that even though week two was great that we would have a "Loose" schedule in week three. And they will be paid "mama and papa dollars" for their chores (I've set up a little store in my bedroom where they can buy things with their earned dollars.)<br />
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So come on week three! We are ready!Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-57922563780108864112020-03-22T09:16:00.002+01:002020-03-22T17:20:13.482+01:00Riding the wavesIt comes in waves, like a storm surge or tsunami and then it' s over. It's quiet and I'm able to think again.<br />
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It's been happening all week. Anxiety.<br />
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Health, kids, food, schedule, homeschooling, work, mental health, cleaning the house, cooking, worry, worry, worry, worry...<br />
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It's been so overwhelming this week. I think things would be much easier if NL was on lock down. Then I wouldn't worry as much. Then I would know people are taking care of themselves and even more importantly taking care of those at risk. But if I look on the streets and in the shops, it scares me. It scares me also for my family. It scares me for my frail 89 year old neighbor downstairs. It scares me for my nephew half way across the world.<br />
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And my babies...I am so worried about my babies. I had quite a panic on Friday evening with my daughter. She was dry coughing and not feeling well all week, pretty much the same symptoms I had earlier. Then all of a sudden she had a headache and really didn't feel well. I felt the back of her neck and she was burning up.<br />
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But I had no working thermometer. I've searched to buy one for two weeks, but everywhere was sold out. I have an old digital one, but it doesn't work properly. When I took her temperature in the middle of the day it read 34,5 C.<br />
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There was no choice so I took her temperature again with the broken thermometer and it read 36,4 C. I couldn't be sure if this meant her temperature was 2 degrees higher than what its was earlier in the day.<br />
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The only thing I could do was sleep beside her and check the back of her neck with my hand during the night. Luckily, the fever broke the next day and now, two days later she feels a little better. I'm sure it's a cold but in these times my mind wanders down crazy paths.<br />
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Speaking of crazy paths my mind wanders down, every morning when I wake up, I lie in bed and assess how different parts of my body are feeling.<br />
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Is my chest hurting? How's my throat? Does my head ache? Am I feverish? Am I short of breath? I KNOW!! CRAZY!<br />
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I'm not in the high risk group, but after reading news coming out of the US, I'm worried more now than ever. Therefore, I've decided to stay off news sites for the time being. Don't get me wrong, I care what is going on, jI just care about my mental health more. Right now my priority is to take care of myself and my family.<br />
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Today the stormy sea in my head is a bit calmer. When I woke up this morning and the merry-go-round of thoughts came rushing in, I just let it pass through me. I decided today I would focus on gratitude. I was grateful the sun was shining. I was grateful I could get out of bed and grateful for the snoring I heard next door in my daughter's room.<br />
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So today it's gratitude and I will worry about tomorrow when I wake up tomorrow...And ride the waves the best I can...<br />
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<br />Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-38156846908713615082020-03-17T09:05:00.001+01:002020-03-17T13:22:01.450+01:00Camp Corona Day 2: I'm scaredLet me start off by saying, it's such a surreal time. But in a strange way, it's not. We've seen this type of scenario in numerous movies and we've heard the tales of SARS, MERS and Ebola.<br />
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But now it's here in our comfy little bubble and I will not lie, I am scared. I wasn't scared until last night. Just before bed I watched videos from people with the COVID-19 speaking on social media. To hear what how they described the disease and how it effects everyone in a different way.<br />
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I guess for the past month, the closer COVID-19 got to my tiny little bubble in Amsterdam the more I pushed the reality of it away, thinking to myself "well only elderly people get it" and "it will never come this far". I was in denial. Even though, thanks to my job in communications and writing about the virus, I knew the facts and latest information.<br />
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Then it all happened so fast. Thursday 12, March the prime minister comes on TV and says it's getting a little serious and people should work from home. And the hoarding began.<br />
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Even scarier than getting sick for me is the hoarding. My son and I are celiac, meaning there's not much choice of processed foods for us. We can't eat gluten and I am also allergic to soy. Leaving us with a healthy diet of fruits, veggies, gluten free meats and lots of other whole foods like beans and nuts.<br />
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But when I walked into not one but two supermarkets on Friday evening, there was NOTHING I could buy us to eat. The gluten free section was cleaned out. The rice and potatoes were gone. Fruits, veggies, meats and frozen foods as well. I began to panic. And I wondered how could people do this, don't they know better. I could have and probably should have hoarded the day before. But I didn't and now I was left with an empty basket. Luckily I had some rice at home and beans and the next day I went to a supermarket further away from the city and was able to buy food for several days. Thankfully people are hoarding less (except toilet paper).<br />
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I'm still stressed like hell about food in these times though.<br />
I'm stressed about my health, since in the last 4 weeks I have had a stomach virus, the flu, and then the same stomach virus again.<br />
I'm stressed about keeping my family sane and the kids busy.<br />
I'm stressed about the continuation of my work, getting things done while homeschooling the kids.<br />
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BUT the biggest stress of all is my husband's job as a journalist. We had to make a decision as a family to support him even though it will put us in danger of getting infected. We set some strict guidelines in the house this morning to protect ourselves from him. We have to social distance even in our own home.<br />
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It's his job and we have to support him. Especially in these uncertain times. And we have to support another however we can...I think I need to call a friend now to talk about this and hopefully the anxiety will let up.<br />
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<br />Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-70730723820704897882018-03-17T10:43:00.002+01:002018-03-17T10:43:41.472+01:00When a helicopter mom stops<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">"It's time I set you
free," I blurted out as I was driving my son to his cub scout meeting. He
was sitting next to me and I could see the sideways glance he often gives me when I suddenly break out in my best running man when I hear 80's music.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">"It's time I let you go sweetheart, I trust you." He continued to
look at me like I was some mad woman and I could tell he had no idea what I was
about to say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">"Sweetie, it's time I trust you: Remember no drugs, don't put anything
around your neck that can choke you, look both ways when you cross the street,
don't talk to strangers, don't go home with strangers, adults don't need help,
don't take candy from strangers, don't eat anything that you don't know what it
is, don't get in a car with a stranger, don't play on construction sites, and don't
play in the street, " this was all I could remember in one breathe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I was not sure why the realization
had tidal waved me at that very moment, but I knew if I didn’t get it all out at
once that my courage would disappear and I would go back to being a helicopter
mama.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I heard him release a deep sigh and he placed his hand over mine as I was shifting gears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">"Mom, I won't, I remember everything, don't worry. I know how to be
safe."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">And just like that I became "mom". One car drive and 10
years and I had graduated to the level of mom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I became his mom and he became my little boy who was growing up and
ready to take on the world. It was at that moment that I realized it wasn't him
that I trusted. It was me.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Up until this point, I had lived in
fear and dread. Fear that I wouldn’t be able to protect him from all the
horrible things in the world and dreading the day he thought he didn’t need me
anymore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It wasn’t like I wanted him to be
dependent on me forever, it was more like what do I do now. What was my role in this
new phase of parenting? Where do I fit in his life? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">And I knew in my heart the answer
to this question.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I was letting go of the string that I held tight for so many years. The
lifeline that connected us from the moment he was created.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I let go and now, I had the joy of
watching him rise, higher and higher into the world. I knew he would never come
back to me. I knew he was never mine to begin with, but it didn’t hurt any
less.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I could have been sad, but I wasn't. I was excited and filled with so much love and I could hardly wait to see where the
winds of life would take him. He would fly high and far, but there would never be more
than a heartbeat of distance between us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">“You know, honey, I am always here
if you need me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt;">“I know mom, don’t worry, I’m only 10.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
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<br />Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-85195239575690074632018-01-24T16:02:00.000+01:002018-01-24T16:16:30.940+01:00Far away from home and the hardest goodbye<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUaNK4J9n5TcjhsHHeltcnqvTh6sZLe_UNX0_4d8m4hrxZYBIWhKnbjfPkfdanA5nx6WJ8UMHZOt4WgCHWjQZ0NNGEYSItDfqA8mUnkb4MN62FqIBGmigg0uXNHlfCjwYu_SJ5f6l6uKif/s1600/grammy.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="689" data-original-width="1005" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUaNK4J9n5TcjhsHHeltcnqvTh6sZLe_UNX0_4d8m4hrxZYBIWhKnbjfPkfdanA5nx6WJ8UMHZOt4WgCHWjQZ0NNGEYSItDfqA8mUnkb4MN62FqIBGmigg0uXNHlfCjwYu_SJ5f6l6uKif/s320/grammy.png" width="320" /></a></div>
I kept looking at the Christmas tree hoping that by some miracle I would feel that warm holiday feeling. It was the first week of January and I still had not given up hope. I wanted it to come. I wanted Christmas to feel as it did every year: cozy, fun, nostalgic.<br />
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But on Christmas Eve 2017 I lost my grandmother. The two weeks prior to her loss were filled with emotional ups and downs of her coming out of having a stroke. Along this ride was the struggle I faced going on inside of myself: whether or not to get on a plane and leave my children behind to tell her goodbye.<br />
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It was one of the most difficult decisions I have ever made in my life. I didn't know what I was suppose to do or what was best for me and my family. I struggled with the fact that I would never ever be able to see her again or to hug her tight one last time. I would deny myself a sense of closure if I didn't go, but on the other hand, I would miss my son's 10th birthday and my kids Christmas. They would forever remember that Christmas as a sad one, and my heart could not take that.<br />
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And I am sure my grandmother would not have wanted that either. I told myself, maybe even convinced myself, that she would want me to stay with my kids. So that was what I did: I slowly watched my grand mother die from thousands of miles away.<br />
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The two weeks leading up to her death were difficult and I became obsessed with being online, specifically Facebook messenger. Here my mom would give us family updates on her prognosis. And she would send photos and videos that I would analyze over and over just hoping she looked more responsive. Yet, she didn't and slowly I watched her die via social media.<br />
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Sounds strange and uncaring somehow, watching my grandmother die via Facebook messenger. But for me, it was a connection, it was the next best thing to being there, virtually. It provided me with the opportunity to be in both places at once: in Amsterdam, at home with my babies and at home in America with my family.<br />
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I will never forget the moment on Facebook messenger that my mom said my grandmother was slipping away. I was desperate to FaceTime and my mom said there was no time. She did the next best thing: she sent a video of my grandmother. It might sound horrible, morbid or cruel to some people, but for me, it was my way of being there with my grandmother, and she would have wanted it that way.<br />
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She was an avid Facebook user, especially after she was bed ridden in her final years. It was her connection to the outside world and what kept her sharp. I would always get a kick out of her posts and status updates. She would wish people happy birthday in her status or ask my mom a question via her status update. And since she never really figured out how to see posts from the family, my mom would tag her.<br />
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I always thought it was so cool that she learned how to use social media, but that was my grandmother, young at heart, always reading and learning and brave.<br />
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Matter of fact, one of the things my grandmother always told me was that even though her body was old, in her mind she was still a young girl, ready to learn and eager to experience the world. And this is how I will remember her. And I will never regret my decision.<br />
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<br />Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-9239782497185000702017-07-28T11:39:00.000+02:002017-07-28T11:39:04.469+02:00When a dentist mommy shamesA word of advice: Don't let your kids go to the dentist with a corn flake stuck between their teeth!<br />
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It happened to me this morning and guess what, I got mommy shamed. By my dentist. Who is a mother. Who has three young kids. Who also works full time. And it still happened.<br />
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For those of you who have never been mommy shamed let me tell you how it feels: frustrating, betrayed, lonely, angry. The list could go on. Bottom line: it sucks.<br />
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It all started when the dentist found a corn flake in my daughters back molar during her six-month check-up this morning. She pulled it out on the hook of her prodding tool and help it high in the air.<br />
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"Look at this, did you even brush your teeth this morning?" she asked my daughter. "Maybe you need to go to the dental hygienist to teach you how to brush your teeth."<br />
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Luckily, my daughter's teeth were otherwise perfect. I guess the corn flake threw the dentist for a loop because she never even mentioned my daughter 10cm overbite from sucking her thumb.<br />
<br />
Then it was my son's turn in the check-up chair and guess what? She pulled out a ball of what she called plaque. "I see we have a family problem, so it's a good idea to go to the hygienist." No cavities, but you would never know by the way she reacted to the plaque.<br />
<br />
And finally I was in the hot seat and that's when she cracked. She started stabbing my gums and scrapping my teeth until she collected another ball of plaque. "Yes, you all have to go to the hygienist and learn how to brush your teeth!" For her I think it was a personal slap in the face.<br />
<br />
She then began lecturing me on how I need to take time to brush my kids teeth for them until they are at least 10! Ok, I know she is right, but let's get real: what parent has brushed their kid's teeth until they were 10? Twice a day.<br />
<br />
I could feel that she was trying to make me ashamed. It wasn't really what she said, but how she said it. It was her judgmental glare and the way she cut her eyes and held up the corn flake on her dental pitch fork.<br />
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The positive part of this experience is that I didn't feel a bit of ashamed at all and I didn't feel the need to defend myself. I was frustrated that she didn't show understanding and compassion to a full time working mother who loves her children and tries her best to take care of them. No one is the perfect parent. And then I was angry and felt betrayed. We are in the same club of parenting!<br />
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After I walked out of her office, I then felt a little sorry for her. I thought maybe she had a bad morning with her kids and felt frustrated or sad herself. Maybe she was too hard on herself and was projecting. Then I thought, you know what, that is her problem and I was not going to allow her to make it mine. I would stay kind and calm and just hope her day would go better.<br />
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And now I can laugh about it. I can laugh when I think about the golden corn flake being held high in the air and what it represented: the most beautiful imperfection of being a parent. I wouldn't change a thing!<br />
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Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-32056522943311456612017-07-10T21:53:00.002+02:002017-10-25T20:43:22.008+02:00A gift for my daughterI could see her eyes watching me and soaking in my every move. I would watch her mimic my words, my mannerisms and even my way of thinking. She was my little shadow for so many years, silently learning how to face the world.<br />
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And I that is where I failed her. At the time, I didn't understand the importance of being her role model. Honestly, I didn't think twice about it, I actually didn't think of it at all. I just assumed that I was enough for her to learn how to thrive in the world, and I never expected for her to be my mirror.</div>
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To make a long story short, my eight year old daughter has been bullied on and off by various kids at school for the past two years. Mostly by little girls who see her kindness as a weak point and then they use it to either bully or manipulate her.</div>
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In the beginning, I was mad at the world. How could these little girls be so mean, I would ask myself over and over again. First it was a classmate, then it was someone in another class and then it was a little girl at after school...the list could go on, but I soon realized they all had one thing in common: my daughter.</div>
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Each time she would tell me what happened, I would watch her transform from the flower that was once her self-confidence shrivel and barely cling to life. She then learned to put on a brave face when telling me, but I recognized the sadness behind the smile. And at once I could only see a life-long struggle she had ahead of herself in desperate search for self-love and confidence.</div>
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It was up to me to break the cycle. I tried everything I could to learn how to prevent this fate. I read books on teaching girls self-confidence, I said all the right things and I even pretended I was someone else in front of her, someone she could look up to.</div>
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But it was all in vane. And it was time I gave her the only gift I could give her, a true role model. Someone she could really learn from. Someone who I wanted my daughter to be like. Someone self-confident, smart, beautiful from the inside, and most importantly kind with a twist of sass: My sister!</div>
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My sister is a 26 year old ball of sass and sweetness rolled into one. "Don't mess with the Jess". That's her motto and trust me she means business. When I think of self-confidence, I can only see my little sister. She is who I wanna be when I grow up! And someone I want my daughter to be like when she grows up.</div>
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So this weekend, when my daughter was crying from frustration from being bullied/manipulated by a "friend", I asked her, "What do you think Aunt Jessie would say to your friend". And that's how it started.</div>
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I told Charly to imagine Aunt Jessie speaking to the girl and I then watched Charly transform into a self -confident, witty little Jessie-twin I knew she could be. I watched her eyes sparkle as we talked about how Aunt Jessie would solve the problem.</div>
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I told her that the next time she gets in such a situation to remember: WWJD? What Would Jessie Do. We turned it into a game and spent the rest of the day repeating WWJD giving ourselves permission to be confident.</div>
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And that was my gift: my daughter now has a role model. </div>
Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-57073299936300033552017-02-04T21:49:00.001+01:002017-03-24T12:08:14.227+01:00How babies are madeYou can only imagine the shock I felt when I checked my internet history and found someone had searched for naked women. And it could only be one person: The nine year old who uses my computer to play Minecraft.<br />
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Of course, I should have enabled the safety procedures before I let him use it, but I had no idea boys were interested in women at such a young age, much less without clothes.<br />
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I have to admit, I was upset at first. I was in disbelief and not ready for this step in parenting. It<br />
was a real eye opener for me, my entire parental guidance system immediately went into a higher gear. I wasn't dealing with tantrums and teething anymore. I was dealing with issues that would affect my kids for the rest of their lives.<br />
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My instinct was to pretend that I didn't see the search and go on like my son was still a baby. I could have done that very easily and just put on the internet safety controls.<br />
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However, the first thing I did was contact a friend of mine who raised two awesome, happy teen boys. I needed mama guidance and I knew that I could trust her advice and I was right. I wasn't going to sweep this under the carpet, I was going to face this issue, even though it was the hardest thing I had to do as a parent.<br />
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When my son and I were alone, I casually asked him what he searches for on my computer. And that sparked our discussion on the subject I most dreaded to talk about: sex.<br />
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Thanks to my friends advice, I created an atmosphere that was safe for my son to talk about things that might embarrass him. For me, it was a parental out-of-body experience. I had to detach myself emotionally and think logically how to carefully explain the delicate topic.<br />
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Here I was speaking openly, honestly about sex, ovaries, sperm and vaginas. I am not sure where I gained the strength from, but I found it, and the talk ended up being one of the most positive experiences I have had along my journey as a parent.<br />
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My son really opened up and asked questions and I was able to explain the answers in a way that he understood. I thought about myself as a nine and what I would want someone to say to me. I was able to keep the conversation in a context that his level of understanding could handle.<br />
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When he was done asking questions, he gave me a hug and said he loved me. I felt our bond was stronger and I could feel he really trusted me.<br />
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And even though we had a conversation about an adult topic, I still had my innocent little boy in tact. He was just curious, and I reassured him that is human nature to be curious. I told him he could always come to me or his father with any question about sex.<br />
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You would think my nine year old jumped up a level of maturity today, but it wasn't him that grew. When I look at him I still see a sweet soul who needs his parents to guide him along his path.<br />
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But when I looked in the mirror today, I saw a strong, loving mother, who grew more than she ever had before. I finally felt like a legit, genuine mama of two beautiful people.<br />
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I was all grown up now. It was a right of passage I had been waiting for and it never seemed to find me. Then by chance, I found it.<br />
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<br />Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-38378956247016972102016-12-30T08:38:00.000+01:002016-12-30T13:24:39.734+01:002016: Good riddance!If I were a lizard, then 2016 was a dark tunnel I crawled through. It was a tunnel filled with unexpected jagged edges and razor sharp experiences that slowly ripped away my outer layer of skin.<br />
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When I crawled into the tunnel this time last year, I would have never expected to encounter the things that I did. 2016 was suppose to be my year -- to celebrate me and enjoy life, but instead I survived life.<br />
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I was sick a lot of the year to top it off and I struggled with my new body that my chronic disease has given me. I had to come to terms with the fact that this was the new physical me no matter how hard I tried to fight it. It was so hard to look into the mirror and accept what I saw. I struggled for endless nights thinking of new ways to try to get the weight off. I became obsessed and lost sight of the fact I just needed to be healthy, no matter my clothing size.<br />
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I also had to begin searching for a new job, which sounds quite exciting.But after 13 years of being in he same job, it was frightening. I wasn't the person from 13 years ago when I was last applying for jobs. I had to face reality that I was no longer the 20 something bouncy, full of confidence young women, but a middle aged, insecure woman who applied for job after job and received rejection after rejection. I had to find the positive in each rejection I was lucky enough to get several interviews, but for two of them I was deathly ill.<br />
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Even more painful was realizing that my kids were transitioning from little kids to big kids. They no longer wanted to do some of the special things we would do. They no longer wanted me to kiss them goodbye at school. They began to have strong opinions and talk back. They began to challenge me and confide in me their big people fears about life. My son realized we are all mortal and asked me every night before bed if I would die in my sleep. I could no longer protect them from the truths of the world. I could only hold their hands through the experiences and guide them. Gone were my babies, and I had to mourn that period.<br />
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It seemed 2016 was against me in every facet of my life.<br />
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I'm not gonna totally bash 2016, there were definitely good times. I look at my kids and I see all the good 2016 had to offer. They are happy and healthy and that is all I ever want for them. And they grew into a new life phase with confidence.<br />
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But 2016 was a dark tunnel and somehow I emerged, and if I were a lizard, you could say I shed my old self in 2016. I look at myself now with this new shiny skin and know that I would not have this new outllook on life without the sucky year of 2016.<br />
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I came out stronger, wiser and able to face 2017, no matter what it brings. I have no expectations anymore. If there is one thing 2016 taught me, it was just to take one day at a time, that is all we have.Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-11677769750480953322016-07-07T11:03:00.002+02:002016-07-07T11:03:34.134+02:00When my son saw me as differentWhen I became a mother, I never took into consideration that my kids would be growing up in a culture different from my own and where often I am looked at as an outsider. I never in a million years would have thought my kids would think of me as an outsider, or different from them.<br />
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But it happened today, my son was embarrassed by me because I was different from the other mothers. It was open day in his class and the students had designed a quiz for the parents to participate in. Walking up to school, my son asked me if I could please not participate in the quiz.<br />
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Immediately I knew why, he didn't want me to speak Dutch in front of the class. So I asked him if this was the case and he innocently said, "Yes Mommy, you don't sound like the other mothers when you speak."<br />
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My initial reaction was hurt because my own son was embarrassed by me, but of course, I understood. I understood that it was important for him to fit in and not be teased because his mother spoke Dutch with a funny accent. I explained to him that I understood and promised not to participate.<br />
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When we arrived in his class, he told me to pretend that I didn't have my mobile telephone so I could not participate. He sat quietly at his desk, looking down drawing while the rest of the class geared up for the quiz.<br />
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I wanted to be there so badly, to participate and laugh with all the other parents, but I had to do what was best for Luca.<br />
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I bent down and whispered in his ear that I loved him and that I needed to get to work. I asked him to please participate with the rest of the kids. I took the pencil from his hand and put his drawing away in his drawer. I grabbed his hand an led him over to a group of his friends and their Dutch mothers.<br />
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I asked if he could join their team and he immediately lit up. He jumped right in and began to discuss the quiz answer with his friends. I blew him a kiss goodbye and bit my lip hard hoping to hold back my tears.<br />
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I stood there for a moment pretending that I was that mother circled by my son and his friends. I imagined what it would feel like. For those few seconds I lived vicariously through that mother and became enveloped by the laughter and teasing that was going on.<br />
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I hurried out of the classroom with a smile on my face and the tears were no longer controllable. I know my son loves me and I really do understand why he felt the way he does, but it still hurts.<br />
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I know in my heart one day I will be the coolest mom in the class because I am different. In the meantime, I will keep being different and be myself in hopes that one day they will do the same.<br />
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<br />Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-41557009365029283442016-06-11T11:54:00.002+02:002016-06-15T10:34:17.153+02:00The moment I belongedIt was like bolt of lightening striking me on the head - the moment I truly felt like part of the Dutch society.<br />
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I have patiently waited for 14 years to have this feeling and I was about to give up, and then BAM: I am sitting at a table with seven Dutch ladies at a cooking class talking about life, love and our family, in DUTCH!<br />
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The journey to get to this point in my life started about a year ago, when I became friends with my daughter's school friend's mother. Over the past year we have met for dinner a few times and we cultivated a friendship.<br />
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This is something I had hoped for for years. I wanted desperately to feel like I belong here, that I am a part of the community. And I tried a lot of different ways to obtain this feeling, but I was never really let into the tight circle of the Dutch culture. It made me very sad and I always felt like an outsider. I felt like that kid on the playground that no one picks for their team.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfdrXliCQ5qxC22LfMqbOVT-Ix3JGmW2KQ_kFCt0zFO_MZsHU-RNkplPdoNBqO7TXBB5Oq6K5si-ufvu1p3tJkH5BDimGGsdGY7vHqGwqab1AuElkzYbrWJCd3aY0WP_evEGf9V_AMiNfN/s1600/IMG_2013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfdrXliCQ5qxC22LfMqbOVT-Ix3JGmW2KQ_kFCt0zFO_MZsHU-RNkplPdoNBqO7TXBB5Oq6K5si-ufvu1p3tJkH5BDimGGsdGY7vHqGwqab1AuElkzYbrWJCd3aY0WP_evEGf9V_AMiNfN/s400/IMG_2013.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Don't get me wrong, I have made so many friends over the years. Great friends, really special people that have touched my life in many ways. But they are all expats who tend to move away and never really set down roots in Amsterdam. They leave and my heart breaks.<br />
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During the past year my friend invited me several times to her cooking club, but I never had the courage to go. However she didn't give up on me and I finally said yes.<br />
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I was so excited and also trying to keep my hopes under control. I was nervous because I was the outsider. I was scared by going to the club it would make me feel like more of an outsider. And to put icing on my anxiety cake, my friend - the only person I would know there - was sick at the last minute and couldn't attend.<br />
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I almost cried after our phone conversation, but she promised that her friends would take care of me. I was desperately thinking of ways to get out of it, I even took my time getting arriving to the class.<br />
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I walked up to the door of the cooking school and felt a bit of symbolism. I felt so small and scared and somehow found the rocks to ring the bell. I was greeted by the sous chef and lead into the most amazing space - a huge modern kitchen and an old fashioned dining room at the far end overlooking the Herengracht canal of Amsterdam.<br />
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The ladies greeted me immediately and I felt a warm blanket of hospitality wrapping me up and carrying me into the class. They asked if I wanted to speak English.<br />
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"No," I said bravely. "No, I would like to speak Dutch and if I don't understand you, I will ask in English."<br />
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The chef/teacher lead me to a table to make a fancy French passion fruit and custard dessert. My assigned cooking partner immediately began to explain what I should do and soon we were cooking side-by-side and chatting about life.<br />
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Not even for a second did I feel uncomfortable. I felt like I was with a group of my girlfriends at home. It wasn't until we sat down at the large rustic dining table did I realise the significance of this moment. It was so surreal, this is what I had been waiting for years and it was happening. I was part of a group of Dutch women having a good time, laughing and connecting.<br />
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As we ate our four course meal, each one talked about their lives and struggles. Each person had such an interesting story, it was almost magical. I just sat back and listened and tried to contribute to the conversation in my best Dutch when possible.<br />
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For a moment I gazed out on the canals watching the boats glide by against the backdrop of the brownstone Amsterdam houses, and I thought to myself life here is good and I as a small town girl from a country very far away, I was so happy to be a part of it, even just for a few hours.Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-6225939518051077432016-04-26T18:46:00.001+02:002016-04-26T18:52:05.444+02:00Growing old painsThe most embarrassing thing happened to me last week on my first visit to a physiotherapist.<br />
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I was having problems with my upper back but I didn't want to go to the physio because I was too embarrassed to take my shirt off and lie on a table in a bra.</div>
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The pain continued so I made an appointment with the physio.</div>
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I get into his office, get up the nerve to take my shirt off and sit there in my belly rolls and bra. He first massaged my shoulders and my back and I was thinking wow I could really get use dto this. i couldn't believe that i was ever too shy to come. He then said he wanted to show me some stretches to help prevent the pain from coming back. Great I said, bring it on!<br />
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He placed his hand on my head and that was when I remembered that I just sprayed fake color on my hair to cover up the gray. I use this spray in between hair appoints. However, at the slightest touch it comes off on your skin at the slightest touch.</div>
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And this stranger was all but pressing my head into a pulp with his wet oily hand. I started panicking as soon as he placed his hand on my head. But what was I suppose to say, I thought about falling on the ground or something dramatic. It was too late. He had a tight grip on me and there was nothing I could do but hope for the best.</div>
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I began to sweat buckets and realized that not only was my hair color coming off but also my deodorant , at least its effect. I could smell myself instantly, the smell of embarrassment, fear and garden onions.</div>
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To make it worse, he was talking to me, he was being friendly and I was dying his hand a dark shade of medium brown. I was so terrified that I couldn't answer him when he asked me where I was from in the States, I just said south and couldn't get out Carolina. </div>
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To my relief, he let up his grip and then asked me to place my hand on my head to try the exercise myself. GULP! Do I have to I asked him, and reluctantly placed my hand so lightly that he immediately pressed up against my hand to apply pressure. SHIT! Now my hands were gonna look like I wiped my butt without TP.</div>
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I removed his hand from mine and I noticed he began frantically wiping his hand on a towel and the crisp, white towel began to look like used toilet paper. At this point my face was on fire and I wanted to run out of his office shirtless and all. I couldn't believe I was ever worried about him seeing me almost naked. This man had half my can of Toni and Guy beautiful brunette on his hand.</div>
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He quickly said I could get dressed and that we didn't have more time. I literally threw on my shirt not even buttoned all the way and bolted for the door. I couldn't look at his face, so I mumbled I had to hurry for a meeting and would call for an appointment.</div>
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I escaped out into the street and I looked down at my hand to see the damage, even my nails were brown.</div>
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The bravest thing I have ever had to do was face him a few days later, but this time with a huge gray streak running through the top of my head.</div>
Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-8080181726742465722016-03-05T15:48:00.001+01:002016-03-05T15:48:42.360+01:00When you can't take away the hurt<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I have said it many times before: The hardest part of being a parent is seeing your child hurt. Physically or emotionally, doesn't matter. It hurts. I hurt when they hurt.</span><br />
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And I hurt now for my daughter. In the past few months, I watched a confident, fiesty little girl whither away into an insecure, sad shell of herself.</div>
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It didn't happen overnight, it was a slow process and it wasn't until she told me she didn't ever want to go to school again, I realized there was a real problem.</div>
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She was being excluded in her class and not able to fit into a group. I guess i was blind to what was happening because she had always been such a social butterfly, the kid in the class everyone got along with. </div>
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And actually, by having these qualities, she was separated from her group of friends this year and placed in a new class. </div>
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Her kindergarten teacher said they had to split the group up in order to assure equal class numbers in the first grade. However, my daughter was the only girl in the group to be separated. </div>
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We confronted the teacher last year and begged to keep her in the class with her friends. But the teacher said she was sociable and easy to get along so because of these qualities she would easily make new friends.</div>
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And here we are, my baby girl is an insecure and unhappy little person hurting every day at school when she can not find anyone to play with. Her new teacher is aware and has tried inclusion, but my daughter continues to be left out. We have invited kids over and had playdates but she still feels no connection.</div>
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I can not tell you how helpless I feel at this moment. I want to tell her class how cool she is, how much fun she is and they would be lucky to have a friend like her. But I can't, I can only support her and wipe her tears away for now. </div>
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My husband will have a meeting with the teacher next week and demand she be placed back in the class with her friends. He is so good at being our children's voice, advocate. And I give the hugs and love, and hope soon the hurt will go away. Fingers crossed, this too shall pass.</div>
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Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-60369766863008015222016-01-25T12:09:00.001+01:002016-01-25T12:09:24.149+01:00My first milestone Walking, talking, the first day of school, the first loose tooth, these are all milestones children experience. But recently I discovered there are milestones that we experience as parents.<br />
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I realized this when my baby girl read a full sentence to me for the first time. She is in Groep 3 (1st grade) so I was aware that she was slowly learning how to read.<br />
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I had been through the process already with my son, two years ahead of her. I knew that that by Christmas she would be able to read simple books and that a new world would open up for her. I knew she had a milestone coming.</div>
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But what I didn't know was that I too would have such a milestone. This happened one night at her bedtime when she began to read a simple three word sentence to me.</div>
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She picked up a book and with no effort, read a sentence. I know, it doesn't sound earth moving, but hearing her read this sentence took my breath away.</div>
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This was my baby and with those three words she grew into this little person. She was growing up and I could imagine helping her pack her bags to go away to University or move out to be on her own. </div>
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One major string that was connecting her to me snapped at that instant. Of course it's not a bad thing to experience this as a parent. No one wants their kids to be dependent on them forever, but it took me by surprise because it was happening so fast.</div>
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I wanted to take that moment and put it in a jar to keep forever. I wanted her to stop growing and turning into a little person, just for a while, just so I could catch up with her.<br />
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Then I realized this is the part of being a parent that no one can explain to you. No one can explain that you spend your entire life waiting for this person to come into your world, you carry them inside you for nine months and then you have to slowly learn to let them go.<br />
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No one tells you that you have to trust that you are teaching them the right things and set them free one day into the world hoping they will survive. Not only survive, but thrive and shine and be the person they were meant to be.<br />
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I look at my two "babies" and I think it's just a matter of time and they will be leaving my nest. Until then, I have decided to enjoy all the little milestones in between. And slowly let go...</div>
Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-77681751807614995192016-01-06T18:14:00.001+01:002016-01-06T18:14:04.136+01:00My big fat Albert Heijn sticker obsession<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVtbxe5QnrgS95GN-rXgoR0U5RmzypqHNFHNtw2Olz1AoLITu_CH1ybuKUMJVNlyh1tUwWJ81v26aNrAyiQY2QeGHxr6rvzwIhSDDD_SZ7Fn5H-kIFQRq700drLjf3q0QfAODn_uS_TssV/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVtbxe5QnrgS95GN-rXgoR0U5RmzypqHNFHNtw2Olz1AoLITu_CH1ybuKUMJVNlyh1tUwWJ81v26aNrAyiQY2QeGHxr6rvzwIhSDDD_SZ7Fn5H-kIFQRq700drLjf3q0QfAODn_uS_TssV/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turned this card in today for a fancy Japanese knife</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Is there a support group out there for those addicted to collecting <i>bestek zegels</i> (silverware stickers) from Albert Heijn? If so, I need to join ASAP.<br />
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For you lucky ones who have no idea what I am talking about, Albert Heijn is a supermarket chain in The Netherlands that has a promotion: shoppers collect stickers from their grocery purchases in order to buy special edition knives and silverware (last year it was glasses).<br />
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So for every 10 euros you spend, you receive a sticker to stick on your collector's card. Once you reach 50 stickers you can purchase one of the knives or a one person set of silverware from the Villeroy & Boch collection.<br />
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I know, its the biggest marketing gimmick, but I can't help it. You buy 500 euros worth of groceries so you can pay 5 euros to purchase on overpriced piece of cutlery (I'm collecting the knives).<br />
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And for those of you not living here, Albert Heijn is no cheap supermarket. Normally, I would never shop there. I prefer the cheaper supermarkets so I can stay within our monthly budget.<br />
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But I walked into Albert Heijn just as the promotion started and I saw those sleek knives and I was hooked. You can even fill-up a card up to buy the ultra modern bamboo knife block. I was sold!<br />
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I filled three cards of 50 stickers in two months. Don't worry, I haven't spent 1500 euros on food in the last two months. I had enablers.<br />
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Colleagues have given me their stickers and a mother from my children's school gave me an entire card FILLED for Christmas! Best Christmas gift ever!<br />
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I am so obsessed I know which cashiers at which Albert Heijn will give you extra stickers. I even figured out ways to get them to give you extra stickers, like telling them how desperate I am to get the kiddie spoons before my due date in February. Ok, I haven't stooped that low, but I whined a time or two to get extras.<br />
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Just like any addict, I came to a point where I realized I had a problem. After only filling one card, I decided to give up and decided to buy myself a new set of knives for consolation. That was when it happened: Albert Heijn stickers fell from heaven! I was walking down my street and what did I about step on? You got it, AH stickers! Three of them! Thirty euros just lying there on the street.<br />
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I decided it was sign from the sticker collecting gods and I began to fill a new card. However, in order to control my problem, I no longer shop exclusively at AH. I decided only to buy my gluten free products there and if I fill up a card by the time the promotion ends in February, then it's meant to be.<br />
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But in the last 24 hours I turned in two of my filled cards and purchased the bamboo block and the fancy Japanese knife from the collection. For my first card, I like the rest of the Dutch population collecting, I bought the set of two knives (more bang for your buck). And I calculated I can fill one more card before the expiration date and I even picked out which knife I will get last (cue the Gollem voice) "<i>My precious</i>" bread knife.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPbyJHJylV4WXqa02CL8YWVrnj8hpVmWryYlHDxB4gBog-p-EUhlG4nKMw6M_muY0Bhy-XTsm1SJreixk3pf_atTabF9H8QNDfqYt2uEwB5MmOocrGdZEVGe1aFgrnB63o5DMkxrQPNWJ/s1600/IMG_1351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPbyJHJylV4WXqa02CL8YWVrnj8hpVmWryYlHDxB4gBog-p-EUhlG4nKMw6M_muY0Bhy-XTsm1SJreixk3pf_atTabF9H8QNDfqYt2uEwB5MmOocrGdZEVGe1aFgrnB63o5DMkxrQPNWJ/s200/IMG_1351.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My precious!</td></tr>
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I know, psycho! I am trying to make excuses for my behavior, like how it reminds of me of my Garbage Pail Kids sticker collecting days. Or how I desperately need a new set of knives. However, in the back of my head, I keep thinking once it's all over I will have a knife block and four knives that cost 2000 euros but are worth maybe 100!<br />
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Crazy! It's sick and I am ashamed but seriously, if anyone has stickers they don't want, I'm up for negotiating. I traded half my lunch today for six!Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-36775350147677514052015-09-30T19:43:00.003+02:002015-10-16T13:23:18.299+02:00Why it's dangerous to shower with your daughterThe most dangerous thing you can do is to take a shower with your six year old daughter. It could potentially harm even the most confident, self-loving mothers out there.<br />
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I know because I recently took a shower with my daughter. Big mistake. There is nothing like someone pointing to every fat roll, patch of cellulite and saggy part of your body at seven in the morning.<br />
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I don't normally take showers with my daughter, but this particular morning, she came into the bathroom while I was showering and batted her sweet little eyes and said, "Mommy, I had a dream last night that I got to take a shower with you."<br />
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She looked so sweet and innocent standing there in her flannel Dora the Explorer pajamas. Besides, I thought to myself, what could it hurt, the worst thing that could happen would be she would go to school with clean hair and face.<br />
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So I agreed and before I knew it she has climbed in with me. And that was when it happened, I truly believe she was temporarily possessed by some kind of body-shaming-demon-from hell.<br />
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Her eyes glossed over and I swear in almost military fashion she began inspecting my body. I could see in her eyes she was analyzing every nook and fat-filled cranny.<br />
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First, she started with my belly, asking me if there was another baby in there, because it sure looked like it. Her glance went up my body slowly until she fixed on my breasts.<br />
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She pointed out that my breasts were really fat and asked why were they still so fat and full of milk. She was convinced it was for the baby I was carrying in my belly.<br />
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I told her there was no milk, but unconvinced, she advised me that once I had the "baby" I should lose weight.<br />
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And to put icing on the cake, she asked me if she too would be so fat when she was old like me. I tried to tell her I was still 25, but she insisted that I was old.<br />
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She talked about my fat butt, as she called it and how big it was now. She asked if it hurt when I sat down. She asked why I didn't exercise more and try to lose weight. She talked about how she learned in school that people get fat by not eating healthy and that I must eat healthy.<br />
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I seriously could not get in a word, she just went on and on and on. And I couldn't wash my hair fast enough!<br />
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It was too early for this talk. I wanted to say so much to her, about how it's not nice to call people fat, that everyone is different. Most of all I wanted to tell her I loved my jiggly body. But instead I told her I was getting out of the shower, I was done. And it was true, I was done with her honesty, so I ran away.<br />
<br />
But seeing myself through her eyes really helped me realize how it was time I stepped up and set a better example for her. Not to try to get skinny, but just to be healthy. For her, but most importantly for me.<br />
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So the next time I shower with my daughter she will say,"Wow mom you are looking good!"<br />
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And don't worry, after I had my morning tea, I gave her the smack down on body shaming. And most important I repeated myself like I always do, and told her: I may not have the perfect body but it's mine and I love it, most of the time.<br />
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Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-2484186141445975972015-09-17T19:56:00.002+02:002015-09-17T20:10:02.964+02:00Why I smile when I hear a tantrumWho knew watching a random child on the street having a tantrum could change my life?<br />
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Well maybe not change my life in a profound way like almost crashing in an airplane would, but it did make me start thinking about things differently.</div>
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It happened this morning, after I dropped the kids off at school. I was walking back to my car when I heard the loudest, most horrible blood curdling squeal you could ever hear. I turned around and behind me I saw a toddler lying on the side walk flapping around like a fish out of water. </div>
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It immediately brought me back to when my kids were the ones cleaning the sidewalk with their backs. I remembered those days and I remembered when I wanted to run away and pretend like the child wasn't mine. </div>
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I will never forget the time my son had a tantrum in the supermarket and an old lady just looked at me straight in the face and laughed as she walked by us. At the time, I thought it was rude, thinking how could she laugh at me during such a traumatic experience. But today, I realized why, and it was such a self-confidence-building-kinda- feeling.</div>
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She laughed because she knew what I was going through. She knew that in the grand scheme of life and raising a child, a tantrum was one of the easiest things you would have to deal with, but it was an important rite of passage in parenthood. She laughed because she could see my future and she knew this too shall pass. Her laugh wasn't meant in a malicious way. </div>
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And she was right about it all. It passed and I survived. And looking back on it, I can laugh now too. I can laugh about the time my son threw himself on the floor, kicking customers at the butchers because I wouldn't let him have another piece of worst. I can laugh about the time my daughter screamed bloody murder and began slamming her head against the wall at Ikea because I was trying to put her back into the buggy.</div>
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I can smile now when I see a random child hurling themselves down on the ground because it reminds me that I am a survivor. I am a good parent, maybe not the best, but my kids don't need the best, they just need me.</div>
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I will carry this with me through my parenting journey and remember it each time I am faced with a new challenge. I will remember that "this too shall pass" and to just be patient. And I will remember that all the important lessons in life my kids learned by having tantrums. It's all a process of phase after phase, and as my kids grow, I will grow with them. Just like I did each time they had a tantrum. I went from the cringing, embarrassed mother to a mother who knew exactly how to handle the situation.</div>
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From now on, I will smile every time I see a child having a tantrum and most importantly, I will pat myself on the back.</div>
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Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-57742754197788084172015-07-10T15:25:00.002+02:002015-07-10T15:25:33.656+02:00What it feels like when you think you are crashing<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia9zmHa5yEUr0afObV81uFyMusLsyFcdEn1lEhOMs0cR8yAy82ji7DbBXdurjSwhMNt9Y1yBF-3o0zJlhcrZou3S_26P8JLkEGmEbISOyPMswxi3_tfgHV8YXiKrUwzT9sWIiH6jPsD8E3/s1600/11696360_10152923768392267_3843597288899646118_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia9zmHa5yEUr0afObV81uFyMusLsyFcdEn1lEhOMs0cR8yAy82ji7DbBXdurjSwhMNt9Y1yBF-3o0zJlhcrZou3S_26P8JLkEGmEbISOyPMswxi3_tfgHV8YXiKrUwzT9sWIiH6jPsD8E3/s320/11696360_10152923768392267_3843597288899646118_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was the cursed plane after we landed in Ireland</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We all are going to die someday. Death is one of the certain things in life but the uncertain thing is the when and the where. And thank goodness we don't know these things or this information would dictate our our lives. There is a freedom in not knowing when you will die. And that was a freedom I took for granted until I thought I was going to die in a plane crash.<br />
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My two kids and myself set out last Friday morning to fly to on Delta Flight 73 to Atlanta, Georgia and then onto to Myrtle Beach, SC for sour annual trip to see my family. However when we got to the airport, our flight had been delayed by three hours due to a problem with one of the engines.<br />
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So we sat waiting at the gate and watched the mechanics work diligently on the plane and we then watched them test out the faulty engine. It was cleared by the safety standards and all 400 or so of us boarded this gigantic plane on our way to Atlanta.<br />
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I am usually quite nervous about flying, but not this time. I had flown a hundred times by this point and to be honest I was actually looking forward to the relaxation on the flight. I could read while the kids watched a film or two, or three, as they normally did.<br />
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And that was exactly what happened, we got into the air, the kids began watching a movie and I settled in with a book I had been dying to read all summer. Soon after, our lunch was brought to us and the entire plane was abuzz with passengers eating and the usual commotion.<br />
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Then, all of a sudden, a young lady sitting across the aisle from me started to scream. She screamed "There is something wrong with the plane!" over and over again. Not two minutes later the captain announced that there was a fire indication in the cargo area and we would be emergency landing in 5 minutes.<br />
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It was like watching myself in a movie. First of all, how did this lady know something was wrong? There was no way, not even the stewardesses knew anything was wrong.<br />
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The plane suddenly became very quiet only for the occasional sob.<br />
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My heart lurched out of my chest and I seriously could not believe this was happening to me. I immediately looked at my kids sitting on either side. They were watching a movie, oblivious thank God, to what was going on.<br />
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I had a sudden urge to reach out and hug someone. I wanted someone to hold onto especially since I could not see what was going on outside of the window, we were in the middle aisle. I could feel us dropping a little faster than normal and my ears were popping.<br />
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I looked around at the other passengers, strangers were holding onto one another while others really kept a calm face, like it was just any other landing.<br />
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But we didn't know anything, we only knew that as a precaution we were landing in Shannon, Ireland. To be honest, I would have preferred not knowing anything at all. My stomach was in knots and I couldn't breathe. I listened to the lady in front of me soothe her seat mate. I suddenly reached out and grabbed her too through the in between of the seats. I just needed her comfort, I was alone. I never felt so alone in my life. Sure I had my two kids beside me, but I wasn't about to share my fear with them. If their short lives were to end I wanted them to be happy watching a funny movie, not in the terror I was experiencing.<br />
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In those minutes, I thought about two things: I first thought about how stupid I have been in life worrying about really superficial, small things and my second thought was how I never had a chance to really follow my dream to be a writer. I know, maybe out sounds a bit selfish that I wasn't thinking about all the wonderful things in my life, like my two sweet kids sitting next to me. And looking back I think it was too painful to think about them at that point. They had their entire life to live and in just a few minutes it could have ended for them. The thought of it even now makes me cry.<br />
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I didn't think about anyone in particular, I just wanted human contact. I didn't make any promises to myself that if I am still alive I will live better or any of that cliche stuff. To be honest, I was just thinking about if it would hurt, so I frantically dumped our food trays into a plastic bag and put up our tray tables quickly. I thought maybe by some chance it could possibly increase our chances of survival. I didn't want to die in a tray full of gluten free bread and salad. Crazy thought but true.<br />
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I wanted to jump up and run out of the plane. I didn't want to sit there strapped in a seat belt waiting for my death. I wanted to do something and I couldn't. I had no control and I felt like I had lost my freedom of not knowing my fate.<br />
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I wasn't able to pray or confess my sins or anything like that. And up until this point, I wasn't afraid of dying and my soul moving onto another place. But I think the thought of dying from dropping out of the air in a metal capsule jammed packed with other people frightened me. And knowing that when we crash, it could potentially not be a quick death. It was like they say it was like "watching a train wreck" except it was a plane and I was in it!<br />
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And then we landed. It was a rough landing, you could tell we were coming in fast and heavy and we stopped so abruptly that my daughter hit her head on the seat in front of her. The electricity went off in the plane and it immediately became warm. The fire trucks were waiting when we landed and I guess they did their thing because soon the pilot came on to say that everything was ok and no fire was found. Except, he wasn't being totally honest because I was later told there was a small fire.<br />
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We were towed to the gate, our tires were too hot and our brakes burned up. We were told to wait in the airport to see what was happening next and that was when we found out we would be spending the night in Ireland.<br />
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People were coming off the plane taking photos, FaceTiming loved ones and lots of crying.<br />
People were upset. People were analysing and processing what had happened. I found myself talking to a stranger travelling by himself about our experience. He told me about his wife and daughter back home and how much he missed them. We said goodbye with a long hug and tears, no longer strangers.<br />
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Needless to say, I didn't sleep that night and ended up staying the weekend in Ireland since I refused to get back on the same plane. The Delta desk attendant said to me "Well they won't fly1q the plane unless it is completely safe." I quickly replied, "That was what they said in Amsterdam and look what happened." So free weekend in Ireland for us.<br />
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And when I got on a new plane to finally travel to the US, a tear was shed for every bump and twist our plane took on that six hour journey. I couldn't even eat the entire flight. My belly was in complete knots and all I could think about was that moment. That moment when my heart skipped a beat and I thought we were going down. That moment will live with me forever.<br />
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It has only been a few days and the shock has worn off, and now fear has set in. Somehow I have to get myself and two small kids back to Europe in four weeks. Maybe by then I can think about the lessons I learned in those 15minutes I thought we were crashing. Or maybe I can think about how statstically this could possibly not happen again. Or maybe we take a ship, either way, I have to somehow find strength so my kids will never know the terror I experienced.<br />
<br />Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-80069941056569344792015-07-01T19:54:00.000+02:002015-07-01T19:58:26.133+02:00What I learned from breaking my son's heart<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbRJxdTQbI3ApiV-wfxuT3KxTWjyl1U5dU7Opo-krjttZ3BDL57IXYpGtBa8rOljPfvwePkfOzLpFsRkcVw_xeW7phpJxMzFTs2GndGofEo3k4R_jrTfK9-6j1YifOlnXPXeoWyFLfp7FF/s1600/bye+bye.2JPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbRJxdTQbI3ApiV-wfxuT3KxTWjyl1U5dU7Opo-krjttZ3BDL57IXYpGtBa8rOljPfvwePkfOzLpFsRkcVw_xeW7phpJxMzFTs2GndGofEo3k4R_jrTfK9-6j1YifOlnXPXeoWyFLfp7FF/s320/bye+bye.2JPG.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The last thing a parent wants to do is to break their child's heart. Our instincts tells us constantly to protect them, to love them and to keep their heart safe.<br />
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However there comes a time in life when parents have to make difficult decisions and the consequence is a broken heart.<br />
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Recently, I had to make such a decision that broke my seven year old son's heart into a million pieces.<br />
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It all started during his end of year meeting with his teacher in group 2 (kindergarten). He struggled the entire year and the teacher wasn't sure he was ready to go to group three (first grade). We all decided to let him go with the agreement that we could always hold him back later.<br />
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And that was what happened, he struggled for another two years and I watched my confident little fire cracker wither into an insecure little boy who began to hate himself. I watched him walk into his class in group four every morning with his head low trying to go unnoticed.<br />
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So we were relieved when his teachers agreed we should keep him back another year in group four to mature and be with kids his own age. He was born in late December and had he been born a week later he would have been a year behind anyway. Another big reason to keep him back.<br />
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But we knew this would devastate him. We also knew this was the right thing to do for his future and that the benefits certainly out-weighed the hopefully temporary pain.<br />
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It was the hardest thing I have done yet as a parent. My husband sat on one side of our son and I sat on the other surrounding him with our love and support. Then we told him.<br />
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It felt like we had chopped off his arm. He wasn't just crying, he was oozing with disappointment. We spent an hour trying to explain to him the "whys" and every now and then through his sobbing he would ask a question. Yet there was no way to explain to a seven year old about the future.<br />
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Our hearts ached with him, we felt his fear, disappointment and feeling of failure. My husband repeated over and over that my son had done nothing wrong for this to happen. We said he just needed time for his brain to grow. And he understood a little more each time we said it. My husband told him about his own experiences of being held back in school and soon the tears were replaced with giggles.<br />
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No matter how much he laughed, or how much he tried to dry up his own tears, my baby boy had a broken heart. It was obvious in the following days that he was at the lowest point of his life. He knew that in a few weeks the friends that he spent years with would soon move on and he would be left behind, all alone, with strangers.<br />
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As a parent, it is so hard to watch your child walk around like this. We were also in a sort of mourning with him even though we knew it would all turn out positive later. As his parent I felt like I failed him somehow. If only we had held him back two years ago, he wouldn't have even noticed. If only I had fought for my son harder, then his heart wouldn't be hurting so badly today. My head was full of ways I had failed my son and my heart was full of guilt from not protecting him from this pain.<br />
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Then my husband had this brilliant idea to let my son spend his savings to buy a Star Wars Lego ship to distract him. We told him it was a reward for trying his best the last year. And it worked, he came home every day after school to build the star ship. After a week of building the ship, he was ready to talk about the decision we made and his future. Each day he was able to express his concerns and we were able to help calm his fears. We watched his sadness turn to anger, and his anger into acceptance.<br />
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And his teachers were amazing support for him. They planned a party and gift for him on the last day of school for his classmates to say goodbye. His classmates were also super supportive. Every morning since the news broke, they went to my son at his desk and put their arms around him or talked to him about how they would still remain friends.<br />
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The other parents were amazing too. I received so much helpful advice and even hugs. Yes Dutch people hug! I also went online to the community from <a href="http://www.amsterdam-mamas.nl/" target="_blank">Amsterdam Mamas</a> Education Facebook group and received the best advice ever on how to navigate through this situation.<br />
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For the first time in my 13 years in The Netherlands, I didn't feel alone, and we as a family will not go through this journey alone. My son is loved and this love and support will get him through these dark days. I have also learned what it feels like to make a difficult decision and how to find the strength to follow through. And the world has taught me that good people still exist and especially in a place where I am an outsider.<br />
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<br />Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-21294296652994154222015-04-23T21:24:00.002+02:002015-04-29T15:34:01.820+02:00The Time My Son Said I Was SexyI love to be called sexy, except when it comes from my seven year old son.<br />
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While sitting next to me, my son hugged me and said, "Mommy, I think you are sexy."<br />
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After I finished choking on my tea, I realized I needed to treat this statement like walking through a mine field. If I could carefully navigate myself around the trigger words, I could possibly come out unscathed.<br />
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"Um, Sweety do you know what the word 'sexy' means?" I asked.<br />
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"It means 'I love you' mommy. You're sexy."<br />
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Whew, what a relief my hunch was right, he had no clue.<br />
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"No, honey, that's not what it means, " and I prepared for the obvious next question.<br />
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But to my surprise something very different came out of his mouth. The conversation went from 0 to 100 in just one minute.<br />
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"Well I know what the 'F word' means," he said proudly.<br />
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Holy hockey sticks. I wasn't ready for this conversation. He was only seven. I was shitting golden bricks at this point and just wanted to run away.<br />
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I had no idea what to say. I really hadn't thought about ever having to have this conversation with him. What was the correct thing to say? I didn't want to scar him for life.<br />
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I remembered how my mother told me about sex: she simply handed me a book called "How Baby's Are Made" that started out with cartoon chickens having sex and ended with a cartoon mommy in bed and a cartoon daddy on top riding her like a Harley Davidson Night Rod Special.<br />
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After seeing this book, I vowed to stay a virgin at least until 50. I never, ever wanted a cartoon daddy on top of me.<br />
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So I asked him, "Where did you hear that word?" Here in The Netherlands, the word is used sparingly, but it would shock me if he knew what it actually meant.<br />
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"MOVIES," he said in a threatening way.<br />
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"Ok, Luca, what do you think it means?"<br />
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"You know mommy."<br />
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"Yes I do, but I wonder if YOU know."<br />
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And we went on like his for a few rounds until he told me.<br />
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"It means 'neuken'."<br />
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Ok, "neuken" is the Dutch word for the F-word, so indeed he could very well know what it meant.<br />
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My head began to whirl and I was speechless. I opened my mouth to say something and nothing came out.<br />
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Then he started laughing and said "I saw things on TV, Mommy."<br />
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WTF, I thought to myself, what could he have seen on TV? Surely the Lego Ninjas weren't getting it on.<br />
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But I had to face it now or later. I had to face the fact that my kids were no longer babies and this was just part of their growing up. I had to get some Mommy Balls and just tackle the issue head on. I was prepared to be honest and talk about it.<br />
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I said, "Ok, Luca what did you see on TV?"<br />
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"Well you know, this..." and he began to kiss and lick all over his hand.<br />
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"Ok Luca, that is part of it, but there is more to it."<br />
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"No Mommy I know, I saw it. And you and Papa have sex too too. I see you in the hallway sometimes."<br />
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He had me for a second, but then I came back to reality and began to laugh uncontrollably. First of all, the hallway? The hallway has seen about as much action as a convent on prayer night. So he had to be talking about when daddy gives mommy a kiss goodbye, which I didn't realize were so steamy.<br />
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I finally stopped giggling to notice that Luca was beaming. He was so proud of himself for knowing something so adult. I grabbed him up and hugged him. Thank goodness his curiosity was satisfied for the moment and it seemed neither one of us was ready for him to grow up too much just quite yet.<br />
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He scooped up his Toothless stuffed toy and returned to his imaginary world full of dragons and ninjas.<br />
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And I went straight to the internet. So when Luca was ready to grow a bit more, I would be ready to guide him and shatter his dream that mommy and daddy don't have sex in the hallway before work.<br />
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<br />Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-52547943715530239852015-02-11T15:31:00.000+01:002015-02-11T15:31:10.385+01:00If I had one wish...If I had a fairy godmother and she gave me one wish you know what I would wish for?<br />
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I will give you a hint, it wouldn't be to be rich or successful. And believe it or not, it wouldn't be to look like a supermodel or to wear my skinny jeans again. My wish would be to have total confidence in myself when it comes to being a mother in a different culture.<br />
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If my fairy godmother asked me what I would wish for, I would say, to be one of those mothers like I see in the school yard, strong and confident who is not afraid of making mistakes and confident enough to know lessons are learned from mistakes.<br />
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I wish to have the confidence to raise my kids in a foreign culture and fit in with the other mothers. Maybe even make a friend or two along the way. I wish that my son's teacher wouldn't attack me in a language that is not my mother tongue and I wish for the confidence not to leave the school crying and upset.<br />
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My wish would give me the ability to laugh at such people and not them them hurt me. Maybe people would be more kind if I were more confident and could speak Dutch better.<br />
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The power of my wish could possibly change the world of my two children. They would have a mother like the other mother's in class. A Mother who knows exactly what to do and when to do it. A Mother who could help them with their homework and could be the class parent or volunteer to read on Fridays. Not a helpless mother, one who can't read much faster than a seven year old just learning the skill.<br />
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My wish would change my world too. I would have coffee dates, dinners to attend and friends. There would be laughs and stories exchanged about the craziness of raising our kids. There would be shoulders to cry on and tissues to be shared. My support group would form and I would finally be a part of something here. I would no longer feel out of place walking my kids into school. I would have the confidence to fit in, whether they liked it or not.<br />
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It's hard being an outsider here, I often feel like I have one foot on one side of the Dutch river and the other foot on the expat side of the river. I am constantly straddling, not fitting into either side. Maybe my wish would allow me to be on one side of the river.<br />
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Who knows if it would help and anyway, tomorrow will bring another wish. This is just my wish for today.<br />
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Too bad fairy godmothers don't exist but that doesn't mean my wishes can't come true. I still have the stars...<br />
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<br />Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-54764762077702294732014-12-24T22:24:00.000+01:002014-12-24T22:24:56.432+01:00What my son taught me<b>"<i>Mama, don't say I smell. The boys at school say I smell and it hurts my feelings. When you say I smell it hurts my feelings too</i>."</b><br />
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Nothing in life prepares you for the heartbreaks you experience as a mother. I want to protect my kids and shield them from all the nasty things out there in the world. I did for so many years, but then I released them into the world, hoping the cruel world spare them.<br />
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However recently it happened, I was unable to protect my son from the big bad world. My son poured his heart out to me about how he is picked on by the kids in his class.<br />
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First of all, my son is the highly sensitive one of my two kids, he has such a tender heart and truly cares about other people. I noticed recently that he was not his self when I dropped him off at school. He would quickly sit in his desk and pull out a book or something to draw on, not really having contact with any of the kids in the class.<br />
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Normally, he would run around the class trying to speak to the other boys, not really caring if I left. But this changed. He sat quietly in his desk and now I know why.<br />
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He didn't want to be seen by anyone. He wanted to crawl in a hole and be invisible. He wanted his protector to stay with him. His feelings were crushed and he felt worthless (his own words).<br />
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He opened up to me during our Friday night snuggle ritual. I smelled him again and I knew immediately he pooped in his pants. For years he had this problem, and finally after I was diagnosed with celiac, we figured out he was too. One of the symptoms in children is continuous pooping in pants due to chronic diarrhea.<br />
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It's a frustrating journey that is far from over. Even after a gluten-free diet he continued to poop in his pants. He is seven and it was a real issue. He was losing friends.<br />
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That night, once we settled in for our snuggle session, I simply asked, "Luca you smell, did you poop in your pants?"<br />
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Then with tears in his eyes he told me how I hurt his feelings when I said he smells. He explained how the older boys in his class tease him. The call him "stinky" and no matter how many times he explained he has a food allergy they still called him "stinky".<br />
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He began crying after telling me how he felt and all I could do was hold him. I had no words at that point. I just wanted his pain to go away. I wanted his problem to go away. My heart ached and I could feel his pain as if it were my own. I closed my eyes and wished it away.<br />
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But after a few minutes I opened my eyes an it was all still there: the pain, the tears and a little boy I was no longer able to protect.<br />
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I failed. I failed my son. He was hurt and it was my fault. I gave him this disease and he was suffering because of this curse he would have for the rest of his life.<br />
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Not to mention for months I asked him repeatedly if it was him that I smelled. I had no idea he was hurting. How did I miss it?<br />
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I reckon I missed it because I was too busy focusing on covering up the problem and not solving it. I was too busy worrying about protecting my baby. I should have talked to him in the first place, I should have involved him. It was not just my problem or just his problem. It was our problem.<br />
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I held him tighter and we cried a little together. I told him about how I used to also poop in my pants and one particular time in the 4th grade I went the entire day sitting in my own poop in school. I told him how ashamed I was of myself and I was too scared to tell anyone. I told him how it just happened sometimes and I had no control.<br />
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And I told him even now, sometimes I have an accident, when I mess up and eat gluten. I told him that for 40 years I thought something was wrong with me, like some horrible cancer. Or sometimes I would just blame it on having babies.<br />
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However, now we know why we are often sick, I said to him. He hugged me tighter and we just rocked back and forth until he said he was ready for bed.<br />
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Everything changed after that night. I stopped trying so hard to protect him. Instead I began to help him solve his own problem, starting with the pooping in his pants. And he began to help himself.<br />
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Now its been about a month since that night, and I am happy to report that he is no longer pooping regularly in his pants and the kids in his class who teased him are now his friends. One of the kids even came to his birthday party last week.<br />
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Life has changed for Luca. He no longer needs me at school and dodges my goodbye kisses like all the other boys do to their mothers. He is smiling and laughing and being a smart ass seven year old, like he should be.<br />
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My life has changed too. I no longer keep my babies in the nest, I am letting them soar through life. And I am flying right behind them.<br />
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Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-57070708256971192222014-11-13T17:37:00.000+01:002014-11-27T21:43:44.572+01:00Dutched Up! Rocking the clogs expat style<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFQ941lPT12XsuphWrwPC71MEz_4khfXZd59ABTjl2wpMswRw6K6MI1OA_eMBK4-F514X1JX_pcJXovovF-7T-mhFuuH0qu8jRUzghs9MtzlSGMy3CD9R-jIlxNM5UcmIkFo-pCVNCBz0q/s1600/Capture333.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFQ941lPT12XsuphWrwPC71MEz_4khfXZd59ABTjl2wpMswRw6K6MI1OA_eMBK4-F514X1JX_pcJXovovF-7T-mhFuuH0qu8jRUzghs9MtzlSGMy3CD9R-jIlxNM5UcmIkFo-pCVNCBz0q/s400/Capture333.JPG" title="" width="325" /></a></div>
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It's here just in time for Sinterklaas and Christmas gifts! <b><a href="http://amzn.to/1oR5EnE" target="_blank">Dutched up! <i>Rocking the clogs expat style</i></a></b><br />
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You have to check out this anthology on expat life in The Netherlands. It all started when two bloggers <a href="http://nomadmomdiary.com/" target="_blank">Lynn</a> and <a href="http://www.europeanmama.com/" target="_blank">Olga</a> had an idea to gather stories from the fabulous expat women blogger community in The Netherlands. Their idea was to show the world what life was really like in Tulip-land through the eyes of expats.<br />
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And after almost two years of hard work, they did it!<br />
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<b><a href="http://amzn.to/1oR5EnE" target="_blank">Dutched up!</a></b> was published this week and yours truly (Catina Tanner for those of you who don't know me) has a few stories in the book. I promise you will laugh, you will cry and you will be entertained. The stories are from 27 expat bloggers from all over the world with one thing in common - learning to live Dutch.<br />
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So get your copy today, you can even get it on <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/dutched-up!/id940072670?ls=1&mt=11" target="_blank">iTunes</a>! Or <a href="http://amzn.to/1oR5EnE" target="_blank">Amazon US</a> or Amazon UK.Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-40241495675620226052014-10-25T22:56:00.000+02:002014-10-27T12:43:07.108+01:00The day I ran the Amsterdam Marathon<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimp4kcZRZLgoyp4jSs6x1fJcAsJG9Z67uMZ2d3c1rZqDgA4OtN1eH3StF-cHPmaD57_eqX9O6e66UeCUmfE4taWlcFY1kgylAiXTSLEcLEjGxe2Sp6ZhrR1zQkqLwoWOgrLgWB2LN24tRQ/s1600/photo-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimp4kcZRZLgoyp4jSs6x1fJcAsJG9Z67uMZ2d3c1rZqDgA4OtN1eH3StF-cHPmaD57_eqX9O6e66UeCUmfE4taWlcFY1kgylAiXTSLEcLEjGxe2Sp6ZhrR1zQkqLwoWOgrLgWB2LN24tRQ/s1600/photo-2.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at all the kids that stayed with their parents</td></tr>
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Well, I actually didn't run the entire Marathon. To be honest, I only ran the last kilometer.<br />
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You see, my kids participated in the kids run last week during the marathon. They were so excited in days leading up to the race. Luca participated last year but this was Charly's first time. The plan was for them to run with their grandpa, an avid runner and I was to wait at the finish line, with a tea in one hand and waving a flag in the other. </div>
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So we arrived at the Olympic Stadium and signed up for the race. My son suddenly decided that he would rather eat nails than run the race and my daughter begged me to run with her.</div>
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Jez, why did we even come? What happened to them running with their grandpa? First of all, I was still traumatised from the last time I ran in the Amsterdam Marathon. Just after Charly was born, I ran the 8K and ended up in 1,999th place out of like 2,005 runners.</div>
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No joke, I was dead last, and I am still haunted by the memories of that day. I can still see the 85 year old man speeding past me half way through the race. I remember seeing myself up on the big TV as I entered the stadium. Me, who just had a baby a year before, large and in charge, on a gigantic TV. In skin tight leggings! I looked like Humpty Dumpty in running pants.</div>
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So you can imagine my fright when my daughter demanded that I run with her.</div>
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But she wanted to run so badly and get a medal like her big brother. She had tears in her eyes begging me. I had no choice. </div>
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Due to signing up late, we ended up at the back of the starting gate. Because of this, once the starting gun sounded off and we were only able to walk. I was thinking, this ain't so bad. I can handle this. </div>
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Piece of cake.</div>
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Yep, until the crowd thinned, my daughter got balls and took off running ahead like she had fire in her pants. I couldn't even yell for her to stop. After a second, she disappeared in to the sea of hundreds of children (who by the way stayed with their parents). </div>
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My son saw her take off, so off he went too. Leaving Mama in the dust. Which you wouldn't think would be a big deal, but I knew I had to catch them at the finish line before they wandered off lost in the crowd.</div>
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SHHHIIITTT! I had no choice. I had to run. No, I had to haul ass. I hadn't run in years and I was in no shape to be sprinting almost 1 kilometre. But I knew if I didn't that I would probably spend the next hour searching for my kids among thousands of people.</div>
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I sucked in my belly, tucked in my butt and took off. Of course, I wasn't prepared so I didn't wear a sports bra. So you can image the sight. Double D's flapping in the wind and I am huffing and puffing trying to desperately keep up with my kids.</div>
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My loyal kids who freaking abandon me! </div>
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So I am finally nearing the finish, inside the stadium and I hear the announcer's voice echo throughout the stadium <b> "Mother of Charly please meet her at the finish"</b>. </div>
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Nooooo, really? Was this really happening to me again? Shame at the finish line? Was this being broadcast on AT5? I was freaking out, I had to run past hundreds of people lining the track, watching me, a 40 year old mother jiggling her way to the finish of the Kiddie 1K.</div>
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You sometimes hear about people gaining super human powers when under immense pressure. Yep, that was me. I am not sure where the power came from, but I went from 0 to 100 in a second flat zooming across the finish.</div>
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Here I was "Charly's mother," gulping for air, on the verge of a heart attack and looking frantically for my kids. Of course, Charly was still with the announcer (little traitor) and Luca was wandering aimlessly at the edge of the crowd.</div>
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I gathered them and off we went to collect medals. We found the person distributing them and without thinking I held out my hand for one too. The lady gave me a funny look and then did it dawn on me, <b>I just ran in a kiddie race.</b></div>
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There is a new rule in our house, either you run by yourself or you don't run at all. </div>
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Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4704557174694486009.post-90999360774375721492014-10-06T12:05:00.002+02:002014-10-06T12:05:50.473+02:00Mama is just fatSometimes it just takes a simple conversation to change your life. At least for me it did. After years of struggling with my weight and trying to muster up the energy and self-esteem to become healthy, a simple conversation between my kids and their cousin changed my life.<br />
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It all started during pajama time. I asked my kids and their 5 year old cousin to get ready for bed. We were spending the weekend at our camper which has as much privacy as a stage at the Ziggo dome. I tried to do the old slip my shirt off under my nightgown trick while the kids had their backs turned. </div>
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I guess not only parents have eyes in the back of their heads. Soon the conversation between the three turned from who was getting dressed faster to a convo about my body. And this is how it went:</div>
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<b>Cousin: </b>Charly, when is your mama's baby coming out?</div>
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<b>Charly: </b>No cousin, mama doesn't have a baby, she is just fat. She eats ALOT.</div>
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<b>Luca:</b> But mama is sporting now, she is doing yoga.</div>
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Ouch. Ouch for several reasons: my daughter sees me as fat and my son is taking up for me. I wanted to cry. I wanted roll up into my giant fat rolls and roll away. I was ashamed I didn't take better care of myself and I was ashamed my kids had these feelings. </div>
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I think what upset me the most was that my son felt like he had to take up for me. He shouldn't have to take up for me, that was my job. At that moment, I think he felt the burden of my weight. He is only six years old, he should be worrying about his Lego Ninja warriors, not his mama.<br />
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This broke my heart. And I realized I needed to lift this burden from his shoulders. I want my kids to be proud of me.<br />
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After crying inside, I realized I wasn't proud of myself. I wasn't taking care of myself properly. I was just surviving. I was just trying to make it through a day without falling over on my face. It's not easy being a mother.<br />
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But that is no excuse, there are millions of healthy mothers. I want to set a good example for them and I realized I wasn't doing enough. My kids are my mirror and that conversation made me look into the mirror and see a unhealthy, tired mother. Not the mother I wanted to be. I don't want to be some skinny supermodel, or even skinny at all. Its much deeper.<br />
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Matter of fact, I have made it a point to never talk about dieting or promoting the supermodel body idea. Actually, I worked very hard to try to show my kids how much I loved my body, fat and all.<br />
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But you see, it didn't work. I couldn't fool them. I was only fooling myself. And it was time I stopped the lying and faced the truth.<br />
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I have to get healthy. I have to get to a point where my body is strong and healthy. Not skinny and necessarily lose a lot of weight. Just the dangerous belly fat, which oddly enough, is what the kids are fixated on. Maybe in some freaky subconscious way, they know how dangerous it can be.<br />
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So here I am, trying my hardest to become strong and healthy. It is not easy by any means but with one baby step at a time, I am getting there. I still feel the pitiful look my son gives me when my daughter criticizes my belly. And yes, my daughter likes to grab my belly and say "ewwww fat."<br />
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But I hold them both close, look into their eyes and tell them, "Mommy is on her way. Mommy is going to be healthy." And that one day my belly won't be flat and totally fat free but it will be healthy. And I will be proud!<br />
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Amsterdam Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03806079946381812118noreply@blogger.com4