Why I compare my kids to other kids

The Golden Rule of Parenting: never compare yourself to other parents and never compare your kids to other kids.

But of course, most parents break these rules often comparing their kids to Johnny-next-door or to Cousin Cary's perfect offspring. Not me. I have been too busy beating myself up to take the time to look around.

You see, one huge disadvantage to raising children away from your network of family and friends is that you don’t have anyone around to support you or any examples to follow. 

My kids certainly didn't come with instruction manuals and I have only been a mother to a hamster and a bunny and both ended up running away.

Of course, I don’t want my kids to eventually run away, so I constantly worry about doing my job properly as a parent.

It wasn't until my daughter started school a few weeks ago that my self doubt hit its climax. I was not only stressing about going back to full-time work after five years, but also not only exposing my daughter to the world but my parenting skills, too. 

Breaking the rules
Then it all changed during a stressful school morning drop-off. It began when I was settling my daughter into her seat. And I noticed that her nails were filthy. They looked like she had used them for shovels. I was too tired the night before to force her to take a bath and that morning I was too tired to remember if she had washed her hands.

I sucked as a mother! My girl was a filthy pig!

And that’s when it happened. I decided it was time to break the Golden Rule and check out the other kids in her class. I had never done it before.  Never had I really looked at the other kids noses for crust or their mouths for left over oatmeal.

So one by one, I inspected each child sitting at my daughter's table: boy and girl, no discrimination. And that was when I realized that almost every kid had at least one dirty finger. Some even had a handful of nasty nails and nails so long they looked like claws. 

Compared to these kids, my daughter's nails were squeaky clean!

Every day after that, I began to discover imperfections in the parenting abilities of the other parents from the class. Charly was not the only little girl with hair that looked like a rat crawled and died in it. Charly was not the only child that wore her pajamas to class because I forgot to see what she had on under her coat. The room was filled with crusty noses and boogie smeared hair! 

Her class was full of failure, neglect and laziness! Yahoo... other parents sucked too! I love the Dutch culture!

After those first weeks I no longer doubted my parenting abilities as much. Either I sucked as a mother or I was just average. Either way, it didn't matter to me, at least I wasn't alone! 

Featured on Scary Mommy Travel Guide for Amsterdam

If you are a parent, you have to check out Scary Mommy's website. It's probably my most favorite place in the whole world to get a good laugh or honest dose of motherhood.

And I am so lucky to be able to contribute to the Scary Mommy travel guide by giving my top 10 things to do in Amsterdam with kiddos!

Check it out!!

Why does my 4 year old wanna dress like a hooker?

Why does my daughter insist in dressing like a hoochie mama?

It's not because I don't pick out perfectly respectable clothing for her every morning. Matter of fact, most mornings I even dress her myself.

Yet when I am locked away showering she changes her clothes and morphs into this hoochie mama 4 year old with shorts on so short you can see her My Little Pony running across her butt.

So is this why she wants to dress like a pole dancer to go to school? Or am I overreacting and actually shorts that go so far up where the sun don't shine are so comfortable?

I know what you are thinking, then why do I buy her such clothes? But I don't, she actually found an old bag of summer clothes that are size 18 months. Hello, she is 48 months! That's like 30 months too small.

For the last three weeks going to school has been a nightmare. I get out of the shower, flip my lid and she whines and begs to dress like "Daisy Duke gone wrong". I won't even mention the belly shirts she puts on from that bag.

Stupid me made the mistake of making a rule that Fridays are Kids-get-wear-whatever-they-want Day. For the last 3 Fridays my daughter looks like one of those little girls from Tots and Tiaras and I look like the world's worst mother. But she is happy and especially excited because also on Fridays she gets to go to after-school care with her "friend" Dan from class.

I'm not sure, but I am sure of one thing: I can not wait for colder weather  Maybe then my sweet little Hello Kitty wearing four year old will come back. Thank goodness I will be an old fart and half blind by the time she reaches puberty!

Quirky world of the Redneck

The meaning of home is different for everyone. My definition of home is where I grew up, where I can still run around barefoot and go dirt bogging down remote country roads. It just so happens my home is tucked under the tight grip of the Bible belt in the good ole USA, where you drink your tea sweet and iced. It's actually a magical place and every year I look forward to experiencing its wonders and rediscovering my redneck roots!

Southern generosity

We southerners are known for our generosity, not only towards strangers but also towards those who live in our own neighborhoods.  Here is a perfect example. The first photo was taken from my parents front porch looking out over the front yard. You might be asking yourself, is that someone sitting across the street? 

Your eyes do not deceive you, yes, as you see in the zoom in, it is a person! This is a young man who lives down the street who has pulled up a chair across the road. And what is he doing? Well, that's where the generosity part comes in. He is using my parents WiFi!  Yep, my parents have one unprotected line and the boy-next-door has figured this out. So whenever he needs to surf the net he just brings along a chair and trust me, he can sit there for hours. It doesn't seem to bother my parents, they just wave to him.




What church you go to, Sugar?
Living in the South, you might get asked this question a million times and depending on how you answer you will either get a "oh my cousin Rodney's first cousin's brother-in-law's sister's babysitter goes to that church" or "well you should try out my church next Sunday." And if you are like me and don't go to church, well to be honest I just make up a church. Trust me, it's one time when the truth will not set you free!

The funny thing about the churches in the South are you never know where you might find one. Of course, there are the conventional churches like this old country church in my hood. This where you would just walk in, read a few bible verses, listen to how crispy you are gonna burn in Hell and to wrap it all up, sing a hymn or two about sinning and forgiveness. Then in exactly one hour later, you regain your freedom as the doors open to the real world and you are home just in time for Sunday dinner (or lunch as the rest of the world calls it).

Then you have churches that can pop up anywhere like this one to the right. I was shocked when I drove by this one because as you can probably see from the design, it used to be a dance club. I used to burn up the floors dancing in this club and if the walls could talk, i'm telling you the holy water in this newly anointed church would boil! But to Southernsers, doesn't matter where you worship as long as you show your face every Sunday.

When are you gonna get indoor plumbing?

Ok, not all Southerners have an outhouse, but I sure did get a kick out of teasing my son we were gonna get one in Amsterdam. This was in back of an old farm house up in the Great Smokey Mountains in North Carolina. I swear it's one of the most beautiful places on Earth, still quite untouched. My family has been camping up there for almost 30 years, its amazing!





 Calling all Full Blooded!

Even I was in disbelief when I saw this sign when we drove through Cherokee, North Carolina. I had to think a minute, a dance by a full blooded what? Bear? Then it hit me! NOOOOO a full blooded Cherokee Indian. Obviously there were some complaints that some of the dancers were not full blooded. Guess you have to give DNA samples with your job application...I'm not full blooded but I do have Cherokee ancestors, guess I would have to be a back-up dancer.

Gold in them there mountains!

No, not from the mines but from the rainbows. As you can see, rainbows climb sideways up mountains in NC, I guess so the pot of gold at the end doesn't roll down the side of the hill.

Time stands still

 The thing I love best about the South is that time stands still. If you wanna get away from the hustle and bustle of life anywhere else in the world, just go down South. 

Why traveling with kids is like childbirth

My parents front yard in South Carolina

Everyone knows that giving birth is supposedly the most painful experience on Earth.

At least that was what I thought until I traveled 16 hours last week with my little Dutchlings to my home in South Carolina.

First of all, we were late getting to the airport to check-in and once we made it to the desk we found out my son's American passport had expired. Thank goodness he has a Dutch one too, so we had 20 minutes to arrange a visa for him to travel to the States.

Of course, we made it but the flight had closed before our connecting tickets could be printed out which later caused us to miss our connecting flight. Yes, it was stressful and I thought it couldn't get any worse.

However, little did I know there was a natural disaster about to strike on our final flight from Detroit to North Carolina. Little did I know I would walk off the plane a changed mama.

It was pure bliss knowing this was the last leg of our journey but when we arrived at the end of the connector, I became a bit nervous. It wasn't a normal plane. It was what we call a puddle jumper. To me, it looked like a model airplane compared to the big 747 we just flew from Amsterdam in.

Cautiously, we literally climbed on the plane, it was so tiny there was only one seat on each side and you couldn't have carry-on's. Half the plane was opened with two huge doors. You could literally fall off if you didn't walk carefully down the aisle.

I was a wreck and quickly strapped my kids into their seats. That was when it happened. I bent over to hook my son's belt in the seat across the aisle and I almost vomited. He smelled like a 5 year old piece of festering poop. Apparently on his way down the tunnel, he had an "accident".

I looked frantically for a toilet, it was at the back of the plane and the flight attendant said we couldn't use it yet. She would regret these words later!

It was so hot on the plane, we were wet from sweat and I could now smell my son from across the aisle. Oh god, I thought, forget about the fear of crashing or taking off in this World War II leftover, I hoped we survived the trip without anyone dying from my son's toxic fumes.

We finally took off and were up in the air for about 5 minutes when extreme turbulence hit. We were literally bouncing in our seats and that's when the captain came on to give us the devastating news: no getting out of your seat, even to use toilet.

Great, I thought, its just an hour flight, surely that's not long enough to stink up the plane.

It wasn't 10 minutes later when I saw the lady and her teenage daughter sitting in front of us waving over the flight attendant and whispering in her ear. Darn! They had to be whispering about the smell! My heart raced, I had to do something. But going to the toilet would risk my son's safety, not an option.

I could see the man's nose (two rows ahead) begin to twitch and then he covered it with his hand. Oh shit! The funk was slowly creeping, filling the tiny plane. I knew it wouldn't be long and it would reach the pilots in the cockpit. They were only about 7 feet away.

I could just see the headlines, "Poop caused pilot to make emergency landing." I know crazy, but you never know these days, especially in the States. I would then be arrested for negligence and my kids deported back to Holland.

The plane really began to rock and roll and I was convinced the fumes were to blame. I sat there in shame, wishing the turbulence would stop so I could possibly solve this problem.

And finally, my window of opportunity came and we rushed to the toilet with spare clothes in hand. To my surprise, it was little more than a skid mark in my son's underwear. Not sure why this pissed me off, but it did. All this stress and it wasn't even worth a change of new pants. He changed his underwear but we left everything else on. Problem solved!

At least that was what I thought until we were sitting back at our seats for a good 10 minutes and the funk returned. I was fuming, I immediately accused my son of a relapse. I could see the noses up ahead begin to twitch and the uncomfortable shifting in the seats.

All I could do was sit there, we were out of underwear and I gave up. Thankfully, soon we were on the ground and at the gate. The doors were opened up  and the plane was immediately an inferno again.

Meanwhile there was a problem with the connecting walkway, so we were waiting about 5 miserable minutes which seemed to magnify the stench by 1000 times. The plane was instantly turned into the city sewer and people were now avoiding my eye contact.

The walkway was fixed and we tried to rush out, but not before I was shamed the worst I have ever been in my life. The whispering lady and her teenage daughter walked out just ahead of us and that's when the flight attendant said, "Thanks ladies for putting up with the smell."

I shrunk to the size of a smurf and dragged the kids behind hoping to quickly escape. The flight attendant just looked at me, coldly and didn't say a word! She didn't say a word!! Not even to the kids!

I wanted to cry, not sure why, maybe it was the stress of the flight or maybe it was just from the delirium caused by the shit fumes.I grabbed stinky boy by the hand and made a bee-line to the toilet.

To my surprise, he was squeaky clean but apparently the smell was absorbed into the microfibers of his jogging pants. Jezzzz!

And then tiger mama came out, I wanted to turn around and grab that snotty flight attendant by her face and tell her how dare she be rude to me and my children. I was proud of my son. He just traveled 17 hours without complaining, crying or fighting with his sister. So what if he smelled like a dirty toilet. He rocked!

But I didn't go back, I was too tired and glad it was over. Just like when I gave birth to theses two little creatures, it was long and painful but worth every moment. I was home...poop and all!
 

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.