Can you find the 80 year old in a thong?

Can you find the 80 year old man in a thong in this picture? 

No not the long haired person lying on a camping mattress wearing a thong. She is much younger and topless I might add. She is at least in her 60's.

And you should thank me for not posting a frontal shot of her. However, when I first saw her I did feel a bit more "perky" myself.

This is what summer is all about in Amsterdam, lying in Vondel park people watching. You never know what you might see. Thats why I stay down at the South end where its more family oriented.

But every now and then you will get a little eye candy like this old guy in his weeny bikini from 1965, when he was a Chippendale.

This is why I love Amsterdam, people just aren't afraid to let it all hang out (literally)!

Will I ever be on the list?

My baby on the bus looking so sad

Throughout life there are so many lists we want to be included on. 

I can remember in kindergarten wanting to be on the “Little Helpers” list and then the Honor Roll list in grade school. 

Before I knew it, I wanted to be on the list to graduate high school and then the list to make it into journalism school. 

Once I was old enough, I wanted to be on the lists at the doors of my favourite clubs or parties.

And luckily enough I was included on all of these lists. And I guess for almost 40 years I have taken this for granted, until today. Today I wasn’t on the list.

You see, today was my son’s school trip to Sprookjeswonderland and Baby Daddy had signed me up weeks ago to go as a chaperone. Matter of fact, I recall him saying to me on the phone, “Great babes, you are at the top of the list.” At the time I didn’t realize the significance of this statement.

All week Luca and I had been talking about going on this trip together. I took a day off from my work and woke up extra early to pack our picnic lunches. We sang on the way to school and talked about all the things we would see today.

We bounced into the classroom and it was like a beehive buzzing with excitement. Luca was bragging to all of his friends, “My mama is going with us”.  Then it was the time all the kids had been waiting for, time to get in the groups with chaperones. The teacher began passing out all the group information papers to the chaperoning parents. She finally came to the bottom of the stack and every parent in the room got a paper, but me. I was left standing there without a group.

I asked the teacher why I wasn’t included and that was when she told me “I wasn’t on the list.” Well actually I was on the list she said, but I was number seven and they only needed six parents. Why hadn’t she told me earlier?

I choked back the tears. I knew right away it wasn’t the truth. I knew why I wasn’t on the list and I knew it deep inside for a very long time. I wasn’t like the other parents. And the thing that broke my heart was that I knew I would never be.

She left me standing there with a little boy looking up at me with eyes begging me not to say the words. But I had to, there was no other choice.

“Luca sweety, mama can’t go this time, but the good thing is now I have time to go buy you a dinosaur.” I didn’t know what else to say and yes I tried to buy away his disappointment.

He immediately began sobbing, like he does when he scrapes his knee or falls off his bike. He was in pain. I was in pain. We were in a room full of kids and parents and there was no where to hide. I was the outcast and my son was suffering the consequences.

I hugged him tight and tried to get myself together. By this point, several of his classmates were surrounding him asking what was wrong with Luca? All I could say was Luca was verdrietig. He was sad.

I am not even sure what I said to him after that. I just smiled and held him trying to convince him he was going to have the time of his life without mommy. By the time we walked to the bus, the tears had dried up and I was able to convince him to get on the bus.

I followed his little shadow to end of the bus and I could see his sadness through the tinted window. I just had to hold it together for a few more minutes until the bus was just a silhouette down the street.

And I did. I walked back to my bike feeling like a failure as a mother. I failed in trying to fit in, learning the language, and being a part of my children’s culture. I didn’t make the list this time and I doubted if I would.

Being a mother is not easy, but being a mother in a place where you will never be accepted adds another dimension of insecurity and self doubt. No one could imagine the beating that was going on inside of my head after I heard the news. 

When I woke up this morning, I was a confident, strong mother and now I was this weak, irresponsible mother who couldn't be trusted with a small group of 4 year-olds. Two years of sitting in a classroom trying to learn everything I could about the culture and language washed down the drain. I knew nothing.

Of course, I will get over it and my tears will be replaced with smiles when I pick my little guy up from the bus this afternoon. However, I will spend half of the day worrying about him and the other half convincing myself I am a good mother and it doesn’t matter if I fit in.

What does matter is that I have two beautiful souls that I call my children and no matter what, I will always be on the top of their lists. Even though I  won't always be on their most popular lists,  I will know my kids love and accept me for who I am...a mother who will never be perfect but one who loves them with all her heart, just me.

Warning: Neighbors and Nakedness

Take a peek in an Amsterdam binnen tuin...see any nakedness?

For those of you who don't live in Amsterdam, here is a little fact: A good percentage of Amsterdammers do not have curtains in their living room (which is usually the only room that has windows facing the street).

You can literally take a peek into their lives. You can see all their precious treasures, beautiful art, old fashioned rooms, what they are watching on TV or in my neighbor's case, a big fat naked butt streaking across the house.

Yes, Bible Belt raised Southern Belle aka ME does not have curtains in most rooms of my house, just the two bedrooms. So, when I go from the shower on one side of the house to my bedroom on the other,  neighbors out on their balcony have front row seats to the "Naked Mama Makes a run for it show".

I mean, come on it's Holland, it's too cold to go on your balcony, so I thought I was safe trotting around in my birthday suit. And of course I have a bathrobe, but normally I do not have time to even wash my "pits" before the kids are killing each other, much less throw on a robe. And they don't make towels big enough towels in this country to cover a real woman's body. 

Sometimes I even settle disputes en route to the privacy of my bedroom that is why it's not shocking for me that my neighbor has seen me naked. 

I know, now you are wondering how do I know he has seen me naked. Well, it's not like he came up to me one day and said "Love that tight ass!"

Nope, I could tell when I saw him in the supermarket yesterday. He was walking out when I was walking in, I smiled and said hello and his face turned green and he looked like he was going to vomit. HELLO,  I was a social worker for five years; I know what Post Traumatic Stress Disorder looks like!

Poor guy couldn't get out of there fast enough. He practically kicked his toddler daughter out of the door. Last time I saw him he was all friendly and even said "Hello". 

So it doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out why he reacted the way he did: He must have seen me streak across the house. He was probably out on his balcony  innocently smoking a ciggy or watering his plants and he got a shock of a lifetime.

I mean who could blame the guy. He has a skinny home-grown flight attendant Baby Mama and I am sure he has never seen such a sight before in his life. Dutch women only gain like 2 kilos when they are preggers and look like supermodels before their kids even start breastfeeding!

Therefore, you can imagine his trauma when he saw my body after birthing two babies. It's a miracle he didn't turn to stone after seeing the body with a "muffin top" even with my fat girl underwear on! 

Yep, he saw me! I guess I should be embarrassed and maybe even buy curtains, but actually I can't be bothered.  Maybe one day I will remember to buy some of those window stickers to block the view. Or maybe I just keep traumatizing my neighbors!

Eat my eggs, snobby mamas!

Yes, I rock! I am the Queen of the Paas Ontbijt or for you non-Dutchies, that means Easter Breakfast. This year yours truly, the Outcast-Expat-Yoga-Pants-Wearing Mama was asked to make stuffed eggs for my daughter's class. 

Look at these eggs! And I am the only working mother in the class! After 12 hours of working and commuting, I came home and made these stuffed eggs. I agree, they look like they are on Crack but I was cutting up the pickles at 10pm with only one eye opened.

The kids loved them and I am now the reigning teachers' pet! I arrogantly basked in the limelight while the Albert Hein Supermarket-Easter-treat buying-In-crowd Mamas scowled from the corner. I can now hold my once left-out head up high walking across the school yard, I am down with the teachers, I am Teacher's Pet, hear me ROAR!

And hello, I may not brush my hair very often and dress like I'm always on my way to the gym yet obviously never get there, but watch out all you Fashion Show Barbie Mamas on the schoolplein, I'm a creative chick!

Happy Easter!! 

Daycare and Preschool: You suck!!

Charly and Puk with his suicase full of things to be lost

Dear Daycare and Preschool,

I would first like to say thank you for taking such good care of my babies. God knows you practically raised them and most probably taught them everything they need to know about manners, hygiene and going poo poo on the potty.

And for this, I am so grateful.

But there is one thing that I think you should know. And I know you mean well and it’s all part of this advanced teaching thing you guys have going on to try to get more kids into the daycare and preschool. I know its crisis time.

Yet, I am also in a crisis. In the last month my daughter has brought home this “logeer knuffel”or a.k.a stuffed doll that comes home with the child for a few days. I totally understand the lesson behind this Doll, but it’s just one more thing for me to keep up with (along with all the contents in its suitcase).

Trust me, my three year old is not responsible yet to keep track of this Doll. It would be all fine if she would just leave the thing home, but noooo, you guys have conditioned her to take it everywhere, give it experiences.

Come on people! The only experience this doll gets when it goes out with my daughter is its face being dragged on the street. I end up finding it left on the floor of the supermarket or behind the bench at the playground. And God forbid we lose this Doll. My daughter would be shunned by the class and  I would forever be known as “That Mother who lost Puk or Ed.”

And if this was not enough to worry about, I have to dress the damn thing twice a day. So now that’s 4 bodies I have to dress the last two mornings and nights. And to be honest, this Doll is probably the most difficult out of the four to dress because some parents must have washed his pajamas and outfits in 200F. Its clothes are like 2 sizes too small (which probably means some kid shit or snotted him all up with crusty boogies so mommy had to wash…Puke).

Great, for the last two mornings I have taken 15 extra minutes to try to squeeze this Doll into its clothes making us 15 minutes late for school this morning. So you know what I did, I called Charly’s teacher and said she was gonna be late because we were dressing that F-ing Doll.

And the icing on the cake: my daughter brought this Doll in bed with me and stuffed him practically in my mouth this morning, saying I need to cuddle him. I swear I almost vomited! Hello, germs and fecal matter from all the little snot noses who have also snuggled with this doll. So now on top of everything, I will most probably get sick!

Thank God this germ infested doll goes back to school tomorrow morning. But of course, there is yet one more thing I must do for this Doll before it goes back. I have to write all about his wonderful adventures while staying at our house IN ANOTHER LANGUAGE!!

Since I have to write in Dutch and I am warning you teachers, it will go something like this: Puk sleep at our house. See Puk run. Go Puk, go! Puk is a pain in my A double SS!

Ok, I am now finished with the bitching, so daycare and preschool, I hope you can understand why I am not too pleased with this idea. But I am only complaining to you, because to be honest, my daughter has so enjoyed the experience and I know she won’t soon for get it. So I thank you for that…

Sincerely,

Mama

PS. Charly has lost the Doll’s teddy bear somewhere in our house and hopefully we will find it by the time she is in high school!

Little girls are evil

The mountain of Charly's golden locks!

Little girls are evil! And I can't believe no one told me! And all this time I thought my son was the trouble maker and my sweet baby girl was the one that wore the halo!

Wow, was my bubble burst last week during the school holidays. Yet, it all started a week earlier when my sweet princess asked me repeatedly if she could go to the "kapper" (Dutch for hairdresser). I said "No", because Baby Daddy had forbidden me to cut her hair until it grew long.

Billy Ray Cyrus

So last week during the holiday I was in the kitchen and I heard their cousin, who was over playing say "Luca don't cut Charly's hair."

I ran to the room and what did I find? My baby girl standing there, looking all victimized and half bald with a mullet in the back. She looked like a mini Billy Ray Cyrus in his "Achy Breaky Heart" days.

The Tiger Mama (the literal one) came out in me and all I could think was how dare he scalp my sugar dumpling? I carried him to my room where he got more than an earful.

He just sat there and let me lecture for God only knows how long. And my daughter, she just watched with tears in her eyes, devastated that her hair was gone.

But little did I know, things were a bit different than what I had perceived. You see, when Baby Daddy came home, he got the real scoop of how Luca became the Butcher and my daughter the evil three year old mullet wearing redneck!

Prior to Baby Daddy's investigation, this is how I thought it went down :

Luca: Charly, I'm gonna cut off your Barbie's head if you don't let me cut your hair.

Charly: No, Luca I will do anything to save my dollies head. I will even sacrifice my own beautiful, long golden hair.

Luca: Don't scream for Mama or I will take these scissors and cut up your Dora shirt.

Charly: Ok, Luca do what you must do...I will do anything for the love of Dora.


But this is really how it went down...

Luca: Look what Mama forgot to put up on the shelf, the forbidden scissors. Lets cut some paper.

Charly: Are you always gonna be such a snore?? Cut-up something fun, here cut up my hair. Mama won't take me to the hairdresser anyway. So why don't you cut it? I will be your best friend.

Luca: But no, Mama will get mad.

Charly: Show her who the boss really is in this house. Here (grabbing her bangs) start here.

Luca chops away...

Charly: Now Mama will have to take me to the hairdresser and I will get hot chocolate and a lollipop!

Charly manipulated her brother into cutting her hair.

The next day I made an appointment with the hairdresser to see if there was some miracle she could perform. We got inside and Charly was all smiles, almost singing because she was so happy she was finally going to sit in the special chair and get treats.

I told the hairdresser what had happened and she took one look at Charly's head and said "I am so sorry Charly, you will have to wait until your hair grows out, there is nothing I can do."

Charly was devastated, all of the manipulation and lying for nothing. We walked out and I couldn't help it, I had to rub it in. So I said, "Well Charly, if you had waited for the "kapper" to cut your hair then she would have given you treats like she gives your brother."

Big girls are evil too...especially when it comes to teaching life lessons!

My latest guest post

Read my latest guest post on the Amsterdam Mama's website about how I discovered the true definition of family when I returned to work after my maternity leave.

How IKEA keeps me from jumping off a bridge

If you don't have a car, just rent a bakfiets to get your stash home!

Of course I would never really jump but I have to confess, sometimes when I have had it, i'm going insane and I need a time-out, I take my daughter to IKEA. I drop her off at the "babysitter" Smaland, she gets a number stamped on her hand and faster than you can say Swedish meatballs, I am ass and elbows, halfway up the stairs to the cafeteria. No, not to shop, i'm just hanging out in Ikea to relax! And I get there in time for breakfast, so I can stock up on croissants and boiled eggs and tea for €1!

Once I have my stash, I find a quiet corner on one of their Ektorp couches, pig-out and read all the trashy mags I can (that they offer.) I really don't care because for the next hour, I have a FREE babysitter and breakfast for €1!! And I am ALONE!!

Of course, the hour goes quick and I always dart back to the daycare (with my eyes closed so I am not tempted through their commercial maze) to pick up my daughter before the IKEA police come get me.

Of course, she is the happiest girl in the world thanks to the jumping balls and I have found my sanity while smelling meatballs! We like each other again! Yay!

And if I really want to splurge, on the way out I buy the little snot nose a soft ice cream cone for 50 cents! You really can't beat that with a stick!

So see, you can buy your sanity, and like everything else cheap in the world, you can buy it from IKEA and just like everything else you buy at IKEA it doesn't last long!

Mama sees naked people!

Stripper pulls granny on stage, granny jumps on stripper

I had a rare day out and what better way to spend my day: watching hot, young things take it off! Yes, I am not ashamed to say it, I went to a male strip show! But let me say I'm not really into strippers, I like my men hetero and with a little fur!

A fellow mama asked me to join her and her girlfriends to the show: 10 euro tickets and the show started at 2:30pm! PERFECT for Mama to have a few drinks before the nakedness, enjoy the nakedness and be back home in time to feed the snot noses and put them in bed!

Wow, only 10 euros to go see a bunch of men take it off...but not all off of course. At least that's how its done in America (from what I can remember). The strippers NEVER take it all off. They tease you down to their thong and try to get as many dollars in stuffed inside.

WRONG! You don't even stuff money in their undies! Talk about cheap thrill!!

Thank goodness I had on my Depends undergarment pee-pee pads or my pants would have been soaked (from pee)! I don't think I have ever laughed so hard in my life. They do things much differently in Amsterdam!

First of all, we get into this very sheik restaurant/bar and there was no stage. We had no idea where the hotties would appear, but it wasn't long before we realized that the small step up incline was gonna be the stage.

Ok, its no secret Dutch women are generally tall so the only thing my midget self could see was the head of the first stripper in a zombie mask presumably dancing to Michale Jackson's Thriller. Whoohooo, a dancing Zombie head, I was so excited (NOT)! And that's when my friend grabbed me by the arm and lead me to the dark, secret corner, just next to the door where the hard bodies ran up on stage.

Of course I had seen my share of male strip shows and every time it was the same: Mr V. Gina the Gyny or Officer Pull over and Bend over comes out, dances around and slowly teases the audience with taking piece by piece his uniform off.

Well that is North America, they do things a lot different over in the Dam! Holy baby oil! The next thing I knew, I saw a police hat fly off and what looked like male body fluids shooting through the air over the crowd.

WHAT???  I squeezed myself in a hole to get a better look. Mr Police Officer was completely naked! His unbelievable large male appendage was flapping around the stage like a Dutch windmill during a hurricane.

First of all, I couldn't believe what I was seeing! A naked man gyrating on stage and his firehouse ready to put out the nearest fire. Yes, you heard me right! He was pumped and ready. Not fully ready, but definitely he was really excited about his job.

After I picked up my jaw from the floor and wiped away the drool (sorry Baby Daddy) I decided I was gonna have to see the next guy (fully) to see what he had to offer. I didn't even know what character he was suppose to be because as soon as he came on stage, he ripped every thing off and he wrapped a Dutch flag around himself pulling off his panties and hurling them into the audience!

He then poured baby oil all over his boy bits and a half bottle of white lotion and that was when I got the shock of a lifetime. He unwrapped his flag and started beating his "drum" while this lotion/baby oil concoction went flying all over the faces of the girls on the front row!

This was too much for Mama! Thank goodness this was the finale act! So I pulled up my Depends diaper and waddled off into the sunset...back to reality...where the men are lumpy, bumpy and furry. Ahhhh, but I will never forget my adventure and the day I saw it all!

Mama's dam break

And Strom Troopers police my street! Im lucky he wasnt around

Call the police, Mama peed on the street today! Yes, I peed  in broad daylight just after crossing the street in front of my house. Not behind a bush or tree, but in the middle of the sidewalk, leaving a tiny puddle just in front of my neighbor's door (thats what she gets for not saying Hello).

It came out of no where, the dreaded SNEEZE. And until you have squeezed two watermelon-sized kids out, you have no idea how dangerous a sneeze can  be for a woman. Knowing this handicap, I always prepare: once I get the twitch in the nose just before a sneeze, I quickly bend over, and, if I have an audience, I pretend to pick something up from the ground and then I sneeze. Saves me everytime!

But this time was different, with no warning at all, "ACHHHOOO" and the dam broke! And it didn't help that for once it was warm enough in Amsterdam to wear a short summer dress. I guess I was so distracted by screaming kids that I really didn't realize what had happened until I felt the puddle in my brand new sandals. My kids shut up with the fighting long enough to observe my shame and chant "Mama pee peed in her pants."

"No," I said.."Mama didn't pee, its just sweat, Mama's legs are fat and they get really hot."

"Wow, Mama you are fat then!"

"Yes, sweetie, lets get ice cream upstairs." And that was it from the peanut gallery.

Thank goodness, because I could see a neighbor walking up the street. I knew I had about 30 seconds to find my keys and escape inside. He would see the puddle and hopefully think one of the snot noses did it (they are often having accidents as I turn the key, Murphy's Law of Potty training).

I made it inside and none the wiser. Sandals in the trash and I am forever traumatized. Looks like it's yoga pants and Depends from now on...God I love being a mother!

More than Red Lights: Mama's Community garden

Every week I will add to a series of posts called "More than Red Lights" to share my personal experiences on why I believe Amsterdam is an amazing place to raise a family and why it is so much more than it's international red light reputation! This week's post is just the latest reason why I love this city and why I am so lucky to live here raising my babies!

We had to make one of the most difficult decisions three years ago after I found out I was preggers with #2...whether or not to move out of the city and into the 'burbs, so that the snot noses would have a garden and room enough to play.

Baby Daddy and the city guy working on the garden

We couldn't afford a bigger apartment with a garden on the ground floor in Amsterdam. So it was either a big move to the 'burbs or find something affordable in Amsterdam. We took a leap of faith that our kids would be happy no matter where we chose, and we decided to stay in "the city." We bought an apartment on the first floor with the only outside access being three small balconies. Not practical for the little ones, so the first few years was full of walks down the street to Vondelpark.

But that all changed last week! Baby Daddy hooked us up with our very own (ok we share with two other neighbors) garden in front of our house. We noticed that one block down the street the residents had turned their strip of bushes into a garden with a picnic table and vegetable garden. We thought well if they could do it then we should be able to do the same. After extensive research Baby Daddy found a contact with the "gemeente" or city government and he emailed the guy asking what we could do to have the same "garden".

Immediately the city representative answered us back and set up a meeting to discuss. All it took was for Baby Daddy to send an email around to the surrounding neighbors to have their input, and then the project was underway.

The wasted strip of bushes full of weeds and dog poop slowly turned into our community garden. This city rep pulled out all stops for us to have everything we needed...at no expense to us, we just had to help out. And the city even removed the bushes and tree, put down woodchips, supplied us an old picnic table and wood to refurbish it with and park benches. Ok, maybe it's not for free, but for once I don't mind paying so many taxes. It was amazing how much this rep helped us out. He even came by on a Saturday to help Baby Daddy put up the fence (which he also supplied) and re-work the picnic table.

And it was a success from the very first day! We met neighbors we hadn't met in the three years living here. We all sat together, drank wine and the kids had a blast playing in the "garden" and sidewalk. Matter-of-fact one of our neighbors has lived here 33 years and she said this was the best thing ever to happen to this street.

For me, finally after almost 10 years of living in "the city" I feel like I live in a community. I now know my neighbors and we have a place to meet together to BBQ, have a drink or enjoy the sunshine without sitting on the sidewalk. Most importantly, my kids have a little piece of green in the city to play safely in front of their own home! And it is all thanks to the City of Amsterdam and of course all the hard work Baby Daddy put into making it happen!

I know I have said it a 1,000 times but Amsterdam is an amazing place to raise a family and so much more than just a city full of red lights!

A massage for Mama or a MASSAGE for Papa?

One of the most confusing things about living in Amsterdam for me is which massage salon is a place for Mama to get a massage and which one is for Papa to get a "MASSAGE"? Of course, Mama could go to the same salon as a Papa, but why would a Mama pay for a MASSAGE if she could just get one from Papa for free?

This may sound like a silly thing to wonder about and maybe I'm naive, but it really does bother me. Maybe because I think my 'hood is one way and really it's not. Just in two blocks of my family packed 'hood, there are 3 massage salons. So are there more stressed Mamas in my 'hood or more stressed Papas? I decided to analyze the salons for myself:


Massage Salon # 1:
                                                                                

Windows: Completely blacked-out. And check out the middle above window. I have never seen a window so blacked-out. Maybe that's where a Papa goes when he is bad!

Door: Also blacked out, no flashing welcome sign to draw attention. You could walk by without taking notice. A Papa would have to be "invited" to such a place.

Sign: Either Lanna Thai really likes her name or Lanna Thai is code name for something that requires no peeking, thus blacked out windows and doors.We know its not Lanna Thai food or there would be spicy smells filling the street. Instead it normally smells like trash since the trash spot is just in front. And there is no "Open" sign so how would a Mama or a Papa know when Lana was home?

Misc: Well  I live close-by so I have seen from time-to-time Lanna and her "sister" sitting in front painting their toenails. "Daddy" probably doesn't like the smell of the polish so they have to go outside.

Conclusion Mama or Papa: Definitely a place for a Papa, but not just any Papa. Maybe a place for really naughty Papas who need to go to Time-out. This Mama would never go into a place totally blacked-out unless its the closet and she is trying to get away from the kids.

Massage Salon # 2:

Windows: The windows are a bit friendlier than Salon 1, even though you can't see what's going on inside. There are legit massage posters in the windows, too. However, I'm not sure how safe I would feel in a place with brown paper bag covered windows.And the windows/doors above are open and inviting if they even belong to the salon.

Door: The door is also covered in this brown paper stuff, so I couldn't even get a little peeky-poo inside. There is actually a door on the other side that looks the same. So I think you have to really be a regular to know which door to-go-a-knockin on. I would hate to disturb someone in the middle of their MASSAGE.

Sign: Either the owner is Arabic or inside you get to massage someone who has just gained Thai citizenship. It really makes me wonder what happened to the old Thai massage. Then again you know some Papas really like their Thai new. And there is an OPEN sign and it was flashing red...hmmmm...but no opening hours posted outside. Which leads this me to the conclusion: when the red lights a burnin'...

Misc: Even though this salon looks a bit friendlier, I have never seen a Mama or a Papa or a New Thai, for that matter coming, going, or hanging around outside. But we know someone is inside to turn the sign on...hmmm

Conclusion Mama or Papa: Again a place for a Papa to go, and I think this salon is actually more Papa friendly. Even though the massage posters look relaxing, I'm not sure a Mama would get too much relaxation locked up in a brown paper bag.

Massage Salon # 3:

Windows: Mama likey! Nice poster in the corner of the window, yummy! I know he won't be massaging Mama  but it gives a Mama something to dream about. And look, open windows! There is life inside! And sweet little plants and flowers! There is actually air in this salon!

Door: You can't see the door from this side, but on the opposite side there is a non-blacked out door. Its all glass and it has a big "Welcome" sign on the front with actual opening hours. LEGIT! LEGIT!

Sign: The sign says it all! There is no cryptic meaning, no special secret massage code. Xini-lai has a massage salon! If you walk in,  Xini-lai will give you a massage. Or maybe you will get a Xini-lai massage. No matter, I saw two very friendly girls smoking outside and one inside sitting looking all professional (and not in a Debbie Does Dallas kind-of-way) sitting at a reception desk

Misc: This place is legit for the simple fact that Luca's pre-school teacher was standing just outside of the salon when I took this photo (you can see half of her around the pole). She must think I'm a looney tuney because I quickly illegally parked my car, jumped out and started snapping photos. I tried not to make eye contact, and if I was lucky she didn't notice me (as I almost mowed over her shopping bag in the process). A pre-school teacher would never hang-out in front salons like the previous two.

Conclusion Mama or Papa: Mama, Mama, Mama! Finally a place in the 'hood for a Mama to go for some relaxation! You can see through the windows, there are living creatures inside, Juff Mary is standing just outside, hot naked man on window...all good reasons for a Mama to get a massage! So at least 1/3 of the salons in the 'hood are for Mama...that's not fair!

The biggest mama cliche

Our KnutselMuur or craft wall in the dining/living room

I was getting my daily dose of celebrity gossip today and I read somewhere that Charlize Theron can't remember what life was like before motherhood. I guess she has recently adopted a little boy and now her life is complete, blah blah.

It really irritates me when mommies use these cliches. I am sure it could be true for some, but come on, be real, of course life doesn't begin when you have kids. Hopefully you had a life before kids. Hopefully you have lived and gained valuable experiences that you can share with your kids.

So I honestly asked myself the question (as I climbed down from my soap box): Do I remember what life was like before motherhood? Heck yeah I remember:

• Lying in bed until I felt like getting up
• Making last minute plans to meet my girlfriends
• Having girlfriends and having plans
• My waist and having to wear a belt to hold my pants up
• Wearing normal pants and not having to wear yoga pants and circus tents
• Brushing my hair
• Shaving my legs
• Painted toenails (being able to see my toenails!)
• Hangovers
•  Money
• Yelling "shit" when I stub my toe
• Not having to give a narration of my bowl movements
• Taking a shower alone (or better yet taking a shower with just Baby Daddy, but thats how we got snot noses in first place so maybe not good idea)
• Watching TV/Movies that would make Walt Disney blush
• Reading, Reading, Reading (books that would make Seuss "Hop on Pop")
• Conversations about politics, movies,and other superficial things
• Ahhhh, being superficial!
• Fertility problems and the fear of never having snot noses
• The life long dream to have a family
• The hole in my life until I pooped out the first snot nose

Happy Mama's Day to me!

My one day out of the year finally arrived and I had only one wish: not to have to wipe anyone's crap trap except my own. No diaper duty, no toilet duty. Just for one day out of the 365. So I tell Babby Daddy this is my only wish. Besides saying "shit I forgot tomorrow was Mother's Day" he said "No way" to my only Mother's Day wish.

Fine. After 4 years of being a mama, I have learned to have rock bottom low expectations when it comes to Mother's Day. I think kids should appreciate their mother everyday, but come on...who ever really appreciates their mothers the way she should be appreciated...very few I am sure! We are all too busy being mothers!

So this Mother's Day I took matters into my own hands! I grabbed my purse and told Baby Daddy to watch the kids on Mother's Day Eve. I got on my bike and drove straight to the liquor store. Mama was gonna get a Hangover for Mother's Day!

When you are handed lemons, make lemon drops! I never, ever drink alcohol for the simple fact that I am so hungover the next day. I swear I can just take a whiff of whiskey and want to lie in bed all day (I said "want"...the snot noses would never allow it!) But I decided I was gonna celebrate my motherhood! Mama bought herself some Guinness Stout in a bottle!

As soon as I returned home, I popped one open! Yummm chocolate beer. I sat all by myself, for two seconds before I was covered in kids. I was just about to pop open another when I stood up. Mama was tipsy! From one beer. Cheap date!

So I decided I would wait to have one more after I put the kids to bed. It was one hour later before the last snot nose was down and I was too tired to continue celebrating surviving another year of motherhood. No worries, I still have 3 Guinness left...maybe next Mother's Day!

PS...It was my best Mother's Day yet!

My neighbors were abducted by aliens

Just down from our house on our stroll to the Vondelpark

Well, maybe not by aliens but somehow my next door neighbors disappeared overnight. They vanished into thin air sometime between the last time I saw them on the street (just a few days before the abduction) and the moving truck in front of their apartment.

Ok, to be honest I knew they had sold their apartment to childless yups, (yay the guilt I will now feel when my kids are screaming and beating against their walls). My abducted neighbors just had baby #2 and were short one bedroom and desperately wanted to live in the countryside, where the grass and boredom are plenty. Its not like I knew them very well, matter of fact I never even saw Baby #2 except once and he was so bundled in his buggy I could only see a nose. I did give them a beautiful card when he was born, I hope they got it!

They bought the apartment next to ours just before we bought ours and she had her first baby (in that apartment BTW) just before I had my baby girl (which I opted for the hospital where the drugs were plenty). Baby Daddy maybe went into their apartment once to look at their paint job in the stairway. But that was it. The only time I saw their apartment was on-line on the real estate site. Matter of fact, as soon as I saw the For Sale sign go up in the window, I went on-line to check it out.

So we were neighbors for almost 3 years and not so much as a goodbye. This is what lead me to the conclusion that they were abducted. Surely, they would have said goodbye. Especially since our kids grew up next to another but never once played together. And we never had afternoon tea when our babies, just a a hello wave through the bay window.

Don't get me wrong, they were sweet-as-pie and were always friendly when we saw them either on the street or in the supermarket, but thats where the neighborly love stopped. Strange. I think Baby Daddy and myself are normal likable neighbors (I guess no one told them rednecks are the best neighbors). Maybe it's the culture,  or maybe my kids were too wild. No matter, they were our neighbors for almost 3 years and they just suddenly one day disappeared, all four of them.

I bet if I travel to the green, green land of BoringDam and on the corner of Sigh and Yawn straat, I will find them! But until then, I will stick to my original theory...my neighbors were abducted by aliens...

Two remaining brain cells...reactivate!

Finally after over four years what brain cells I have left, which I think is maybe two, one for each side, have been reactivated! I joined a book club!

Yes, not only am I able to read something beyond Green Eggs and Ham but I am expected to dicuss what I have read which requires some sort of intelligence, right? For the first time in four years my story anaylsis goes beyond where the poop goes after the princess flushes or what letter comes after T.

My savior and friend/colleague approached me one day and said she was thinking about starting a club and asked if I would be interested in participating. At first, I was a bit scared. I was kinda like a prisoner coming out of solitary confinement after four years. Not only would I be required to read thousands of complex sentences with no pictures to explain them but i would be required to use my heavily damaged brain. I somehow mustered up teh courage once she told me there would be three other mamas with small kids. Count me in, I said to her bravely, hopefully they would take pity on me

Two meetings and one novel later, I can tell you its one of the most courageous decisions I have ever made. Both remaining brain cells have been awakened and even though I didn't quite finish the first novel I was involved in an intellectual adult discussion. An analysis! A conversation that didn't have the words poop or pee in it. Emancipation!

Now don't get me wrong, of course we discussed our kids and their issues but it didn't take us long to get down to business. And once we began the discussion, it lead to political discussions including how we could make the world a better place. Who would have thought, that a book club would bring me back from the intellectual dead!

There are some crazies out there...

The Friesland/Drenthe national forest in Holland

Ok, I know I am a crazy mama. I admit it, besides I haven't slept in over four years. That alone will make one crazy, but combined with stress, poor diet and constant exposure to poop fumes can make crazy take on an entirely different meaning.

And once you are a mother, you understand this new meaning of crazy. You learn that it can't be controlled and you constantly struggle to live, function and raise half-decent offspring while dealing with this "craziness." You are your own toughest critic and you are constantly observing other mothers to see if they too, have been infected with the "crazy." I know because I do it every trip to the playground. I scan the playground searching for someone I can relate too.  And most of the time, the "crazy" can be seen in at least half of the mamas...ahhhh...misery loves company!

Now-a-days we don't even have to leave the house to look for the "crazy" mamas out there because we have the internet and all the Mommy groups, forums, clubs, ect. And let me tell you...there are some crazy mamas out there! I'm not being judgmental, I am just stating facts and bless these poor souls because even the most sane person can get the severe "craziness" once those hormones kick in.

At first I followed these groups like a religion, really digesting what some of these potpourri groups of mamas had to say. And of course, valuable, useful information can be found within these groups. But for me, I really enjoy the crazy of the crazy mama posts on these pages or forums. Especially on a day when I think the "craziness" has overcome me and I have really lost it...I just read one of these posts and I feel so much better about myself. I realize that I am really not that crazy! I would never panic if my kids eat too many carbs in a day or that they don't read Seuss by age 4. I guess you could say I gain perspective of my situation and along the way,  some really cheap entertainment that only a mama can appreciate!

And if you are a mama reading this and it sounds like I have described you...don't be offended, because trust me, if you look hard enough, there is a mama out there crazier than you ever thought about being! It's just a job hazard for the most rewarding job in the world!

Rag-a-muffin Mama

It's a fashion show every time I go to pick up my little one from his elementary school. All the Supermodel Mamas line up around the playground waiting for their kids to come running out of school.

I always look at them...then I look at myself in my usual yoga pants and long slimming black jacket accessorized with my hardly-ever-used running shoes. I look like I just stepped out of a gym except I am not sweating, I am fat and I have the same thing on every Monday and Tuesday afternoon.

And I always have good intentions when I dress like this every Monday morning. I think A) I can either put on something nice and ruin it when cleaning the house or B) I could wear clothes that didnt matter if I spill a little bleach on AND I dont have to change later when I go on my weekly run (that I have been planning to do for over a year now). Once I finish up my chores and Baby Daddy gets home, I can just skip out of the door and go for my 3 mile run that NEVER happens.

So by the time I pick up my son from Fashion Show Elementary, I am so high on Clorox fumes and Mop-n-glow, I don't care what I look like. Until...I get the stares from the fashion queens...the shame... the judgement. Then I usually crouch down to talk to my daughter until my son runs out and we run to escape on my bike.

But I really started thinking about these mamas. Where do they find the time to brush their hair, much less put on a ton of makeup and dress in the latest fashion. Not to mention, where do they get the money to buy such fancy clothes? I make a really decent salary and now with two crumb-crunchers I barely have enough money to buy new granny pantys.

I can't figure it out and I have to just give up and be happy that I am the Rag-a-muffin mama, who works part-time and spends the rest of my free time working full time in the house and for my family. This is the real me...a rag-a-muffin mama!

The poop doesn't fall far from the tree..

I know I am always writing about poop. Whether it's poop in the pants, a poop smelling house, poop on the floor or poop on my stoop...I could go on forever and relate just about everything in my life, since becoming a mother, to poop. I can not escape, matter of fact, yesterday I opened the dryer door and out popped a mummified piece of poop (my son hid is poop pants in the towel wash).

So when I get released from my cage into the world, the last thing I want to see is poop. But I can not escape it. Not even on a leisurely stroll through my hood because it seems the trees have started pooping.

I know its a crappy photo (literally) but if you look closely you can see all the brown logs lying under the tree. Maybe the tree poops, who knows, its Amsterdam. But more than likely its some lazy dog owner letting their dog poop in this small square of nature in my nice neighborhood. And I suspect its the same dog because the logs are all the same size. Sick, I know.

Nothing angers me more than this lack of respect for the beautiful old city and fellow neighbors. Of course there are fines here, but who is gonna enforce them. I know I have said it before, but seriously, what would people do if I start letting my kids poop under every tree in the neighborhood? Maybe I should try it one time...the neighbor just freaked when my son simply peed in the front bushes (he couldn't make it inside). Better yet I should stalk all the medium-large size dog owners for their address and leave poopy diapers on their door steps...or under the trees in front of their house...I know, I have lost it...must be all the methane fumes!

Poop on the stoop

This is Day 1 of poop on the stoop.

That's it! I have had it! Starting tomorrow I will put my kids on a leash and walk them from house to house to poop on my neighbor's doorsteps.

For two days in a row, one of my dog owner neighbors (or maybe just a neighbor because it does look rather human) let their dog poop on my doorstep and didn't clean it up.

It's not like I don't have enough poop of my own (well not only my own but my son's, my daughter's and my cat's) to clean up all day, everyday, someone is constantly producing waste in my house. They probably smelled the sewer-dirty diaper funk that surrounds my house and thought "Oh well, what's a few more logs." I just hope next time they ring the bell so I can run down and scoop it up fresh.