Alive and Kicking

Dennis The Cat is still alive and recuperating at a foster family.

The boys ask for an update every day.
It is unclear when she'll be up to snuff - she was so emaciated that I'm sure it will take a while.
Chances are we won't be able to adopt her, especially being a family with young children. 

I'm cleaning up a bit today, although my back stopped working yesterday and my pain medicashun is making me feel high as a kite, hic.
Count your blessings indeed.

My mum is flying to Johannesburg this afternoon, and on to Doha this evening, then Amsterdam where I'll pick her up tomorrow at noon.

After coffee-with-my-colleague yesterday, I bought carmine red blockprinting ink.
I might still use that today.
Or not.
We shall see.


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Einzelganger

The boys and I went to the in-laws for an easter dinner.

This morning, the husband left before any of us were awake for his course in Amsterdam.

I overslept horribly after a tough night and we rushed to school.

I'm meeting a colleague this afternoon for coffee.

The boys have rugby tonight but I'm thinking dinner at Ikea, no cooking or cleaning.

The weekend was hard, and I'm thankful that it is over.

My mum is flying this way tomorrow.

Count your blessings.

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Easter Shmeaster

We saw friends in Arnhem yesterday, and ended up having dinner in a pancake restaurant, which was as lovely as the company.

We came home very late.

This morning, an Easter breakfast.

Son#1 is acting freaky.

He had trouble handling the new people yesterday, and today it continues.

I worry.

I have mindfullness, linocuts, the resulting Mount Fuji and philosophy on my mind, and little interest in interaction with, quite frankly, anyone.

Give me Port, sunshine and solitude, merci bien.

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Breakfast and a movie

We are in Breda for breakfast and, in a while, a movie.

My salary has been deposited, yeehaaaaa.

A friend made.

He says he's 5 and called Ayoob.

In the meantime, the boys are reducing the Hema to rubble, all included in the price of their cheap breakfast.

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Forlorn

We had a meeting with the principal to move Son#3 to another group.

He wasn't buying it - he wants to solve the miscommunication with Son#3's teacher.

I don't want to solve problems: I want them to go away.

Afterwards, the husband and I had lunch overlooking the river.

This afternoon we drove to see a teacher-friend's new house.

We got lost when the navigation died.

I can't stand being with people when I know the connection to them is breaking down.

It's an alone-amplification I cannot bear.

The visit felt a bit like that.

The boys have a long weekend off.

We're going to the movies in the morning.

I love them so very, very much.

My mum will be here next week.

Can't wait anymore.

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Oof

Party#2, for Son#2.

A small group of kids who had fun.

Son#2 came home tired, a good sign.

Bless the husband for his patient chatter with the friends and for coming along.

Yesterday, I sat glued to the TV watching the bombings in Brussels unfold.

It's just an hour and a half from where we live.

Those poor people.

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All in a day's work

There was rugby and party prepping which cost me a bleeding fortune.

Son#3, my shadow, finally fell asleep in the car.

We sat outside the supermarket for 40 minutes while I waited for him to get some sleep in.

When Things #1 and #2 came home, it was with an injury:  Thing#1 had kicked some concrete object (he's not the village idiot, he just didn't know that the plastic object was filled with concrete...).

Off we drove to hospital, where of course, nothing was broken and it turned out to be a familiar case of Exaggeritis.

The friends arrived - 6 boys, 2 girls.

We fed them lots of sugar and French fries and are now hoping and waiting for the sugar crash.

They are supposed to be watching Star Wars.

The husband will build a bonfire for roasting their marshmallows.

I think he's secretly enjoying himself (while I'm only interested in reading my books and going to sleep, mwoohahahaaa).

Sons#2 and #3 are having their own sleep-over party with me.

I left them for 5 minutes to go downstairs and when I came back they were both fast asleep.

Bless.

Tomorrow another party in the afternoon. 

It might be a bit much.

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Decisions we live with

The husband has a big heart.

He left the Keeping-Dennis-Decision in my emotionally unstable lap, foolish man.

Dennis the Cat is at the animal shelter, being looked after and over.

I spoke to the vet last night and she expects there to be some internal problem.

We have decided that if Dennis lives, and nobody claims her as their own in the coming two weeks as prescribed by the animal shelter, we will adopt and love her.

 

 One should take in strays.

One should take in anything and every creature that asks for love and help.

Clever?

No.

A good idea?

Yes.

We have a busy weekend ahead.

There is rugby tonight and tomorrow.

Then Son#1 has a sleep-over party with 9 kids.

It is to be a movie marathon, marshmallow barbecue, plus snacks and cola that they are never allowed to drink.

I expect the husband to be tired come Sunday (the husband being the warden in this Jailhouse Rock-show), when we have a birthday party at friends' in Breda in the afternoon.

I worked in the garden yesterday.

Son#2 helped to plant dilapidated violets.

I am paying dearly for my sins today.

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They came home with a cat

Come lunchtime, Son#1 walked up the garden path with a small, scraggly cat trailing behind him.

I think it was sheer desperation, a loud 'Help Me' in cat-lingo, as I've never seen such a scrawny, sad little creature with a faded black coat, dandruff and protruding ribs and hips.

I got in the car, left Things #1 and #2 with the cat, and #3 and I bought cat food.

The cat, whom we christened Dennis, a girl, only looked at the water and sniffed at the food, and spent the better part of the boys' lunch hour walking up and down restlessly.

I phoned the vet, and Son#3 and I took Dennis there in a box.

She is utterly emaciated, walks with a 'stagger', is a flea nest and wasn't chipped.

She could be anybody's cat.

We left Dennis there, and Son#3 and I cried all the way home.

The vets will have a look at her, then she'll be sent to the animal shelter.

It breaks my heart, and will break Son#1 and #2's hearts too, but we can't keep her.

I wish we could, but we can't.

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Up early

I dreamt that we had another baby (nevergonnahappeninamillionyears), were friends with a couple named Ravi and Selena and then set off a bomb as we climbed back into a minivan with my mother in tow.

An odd start to our day.

I should stop watching the news.

Son#3, still feverish, will stay home again.

Bad-to-the-bone Mother strikes another blow to her kid's education.

Where will it all end, where will it all end...

Sigh.

Otherwise, it's one of those go-to-the-GP-then-buy-chicken kind of days.

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Dear oh dear

Wonderful sunshine today.

Son#3 ran a 39.3 degree temperature this morning, so oh dear, he had to stay home (shock shock, horror horror).

I went to the physiotherapist with Thing#3 in tow.

She said my sympathetic (the gas)/parasympathetic (the break) system has collapsed, the pneumonia in 2014 was the straw that broke the camel's back, it will take at least a year to recover and I need to rethink life, seek enjoyment and do yoga.

She's an older lady, a motherly type.

We came home and watched the Lego Movie 3 times.

Son#1 has a play date later.

Son#2 is desperate for a play date with a boy called Flip, but Flip ALWAYS says no if asked if he wants to play, and Son#2 asks him EVERY DAY.

It breaks my heart.

We also need to go the garage for new hub caps for my car - the evidence of my terrible and horrific parking skills which must be removed and destroyed.

Ka-chiiiiing.

Keep driving

No sleep, save the 30 minutes I slept on the couch this morning.

The husband left early for Amsterdam, got usurped by traffic and gave up, turning back home.

He says he'll drive to the beach.

It will be good for him.

I dropped the kids off and drove on to Breda, looking for exercise books for Son#3, so-he-can-pass-fucking-kindergarten.

But the economy has been rough: there are no bookshops left.

So then what is left but to drink coffee and listen to other people's conversations.

Outside, on the opposite side of the street is a block of flats, where a black-and-white cat climbed up the fire escape after the birds that lurk there, probably laughing at him.

He has no hope in hell.

And I can relate.

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Snarl

Son#3 is only four.

Next month, five.

A parent-teacher meeting gone very wrong.

His teacher wants to fail him for group 1, kindergarten.

How does one fail kindergarten?

All the while it seemed as if she was trying to get back at me for some reason, inserting sarcasm, like 'What did you expect?'.

He flitted in and out of the class during the meeting, and I'm sure picked up on the hostility.

He's been up a few times already and it's only midnight.

Although he has no compulsory education yet which will start when he turns 5, I have kept him home too often, and he missed crucial instructions that will fuck up his entire future, according to her.

Never mind that the same teacher sent him home for peeing in his pants.

She turned redder and redder in the face, and I cut off the talks, leaving with trembling hands.

The husband had a literal melt-down.

He can't relax, can't accept living here, hates his job, my illness and a legion of problems.

I keep thinking that, if we are lucky, we will live to be as old as the husband's parents, go for bike rides, read books.

All the while, we would have endeavoured to give our kids a good life, but what is that 'good'?

That thought has kept me awake for weeks.

Turning out like my in-laws, living their life, staving off death and mitigating old age?

I have fallen deeply into a gap in the earth.

Surely - SURELY - there is MORE.

Show me the bleeding money, Universe.

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Riot Gear

Sporting a half-outfit's ice hockey gear, courtesy of a cousin, nearly 14, whose voice breaks-squeaks in anticipation of adulthood.

I must wash my hair today.

This afternoon there will be tough talks at school.

Son#3, who is told 'No' when it comes to WC usage and then comes home soaked/soiled.

Son#2 with the bastard-bully gang that needs sorting.

Son#1 for his unique soul, being the youngest in his class and for the IQ test results that might as well have been a different kid's on a different planet (and which don't match the previous test's results at all - how does one drop 30 points on an IQ test?????).

And why in damnation do they publish this information so easily?????

Secretly, I'd like to stash the kids and husband in the car, then drive awaaaaaay and never come back.

Never.


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Lack

Friends came and went.
It was nice, but they are my husband's friends, having a shared history of university and youth and anecdotal people I will never meet or experience.
It highlights what I lack: a history here in the Netherlands.
My history no-one understands, and this translates into mouse-like, shrinking-wallflower behaviour.

I've changed over the years.
Everyone is busy being dynamic, but I have slowed down to a full stop.
My lack of ambition was glaringly obvious yesterday, ununderstood by the successful friends.

It's been a busy week.
Today a museum with the boys, then on to the in-laws.

I feel tired.
I'm tired of Europe, with its us-them discussions of borders and cultures and crises and the scary rise of populism with ISIS and bombings of Libya looming in the background.
Everyone has an opinion here, everyone expects to be heard. 
The rise of the individual is holy, the group takes a sad second place.
I long to be part of collective gasps over outrages in a society that I understand and empathize with.
This, then, is the ongoing impact of immigration.
Always on the fringes.

It is one of those days where one longs to be 8 forever, where your parents are expected to be immortal and life is an endless series of games and bicycles and summer.


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Red Thread

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Bedside Bouquet

Dad, Mum & Niece in the background.

Persian Buttercups in the fore, which I bought for myself, thankyouverymuch.

Selfishly on my bedside table.

The husband has a meeting in The Hague tonight.

We have friends coming over on Saturday.

Cleaning in my current state takes a looooong time.

As sad as it sounds, my physiotherapist has a stomach bug and cancelled our appointment this morning, which was great.

I am desperate for rest.

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The Superb Lack Of Foresight

It was a day laced with happiness but also woes.

I spent the morning with a very good friend.

Son#2 and #3 finally went to the hairdresser.

(Mistake-in-disguise #1: stick to one outing a day)

This wasn't enough productivity for one day, so we added a trip to the car wash too.

(Clearly Mistake #2)

I vacuumed the car.

(Uber-stupid Mistake#3 - see lack of use of arms)

And of course, cherry on top, groceries with Things #2 and #3

 - #2 already in hyper irritable state who then threw the MotherFluffers of All Tantrums when I wouldn't buy him chewing gum (but did buy him chips, frog candy and japanese crackers).

What a crap, crap mother.

But the biggest lack of insight and foresight was not realizing that the good husband has had enough.

Not a bit enough, but ENOUGH.

Of kids, of work, of life.

Tie yourself to the boat because the seas are rough.

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When

Son#3 and I are waiting at the rugby club for the boys to finish training.

He has a helluva cold, and therefore sporting a raw Hitler-like moustache.

It's been a long day for all of us.

Despite the slow day, I remain restless.

Sigh.

..

A bit of sunshine

Aaaaah, the blissful silence.

The boys stayed at school for lunch, and I stayed home.

I wanted to get lots of things done, but tidying the (*bad words*) playroom did me in.

Son#3 tipped out every single basket and box.

I'm tidying with a purpose: I feel like the Big Bad Wolf cleaning up after L'il Red Riding Hood:

'To better discern which crap should be chucked, my child'.

The sun pops out every now and then, and the birds are going wild with their Spring-chirping outside.

There is little to complain about.

I have pain but I can manage it for now.

As long as summer is coming, I can handle anything today.

Tomorrow?

Who knows.

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Pooped

Thank the gods we don't have 4 children.

4 boys = 2 enemy camps = 1 broken tablet (Son#1's).

There is the sound of enemy gunfire from Nerf guns and Stormtrooper weaponry.

Of course the ever-present TV blaring in the background too.

 

I'm letting the kids stay at school for lunch this week.

It will give me time to write emails, study, sleep.

Last night with sore arms, I started a Muhammad Ali lino, but gave up after a while.

It just goes to show:  

Some things succeed, others fail.

Move on.

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FunFunFun (and for once, I'm not being sarcastic)

Son#3 could not believe his luck.

Mother in good mood.

We bought chocolate Kinder eggs simply because he wanted to get the Minion-toys inside.

I bought yet more notebooks to paint/be-lino/stamp/whatnot for myself.
God bless uncovered credit card debt.

Son#3 also got a spinning top with music and flashing lights.

Then he and I went to the McDonalds.

Happy meal, happy kid, decent coffee.

I even sat outside and waited while he played on the jungle gym, in full view of the real gym across the road.

I felt a bit guilty to be honest, but we don't do this everyday.

With the help of (sup)Port that the husband brought home last week, I made another notebook.

It's still the Nelson Mandela lino from the other day, but I like his quotes.

This one is my favourite - behold the end product, dearlings (and please ignore the swollen hand):

I'm thinking of giving the notebooks to the teachers at school for end-of-year-gifts.

Not sure yet.

Son#1 has gone off to fetch a friend for a sleep-over.

I'm not in the mood really, as the husband is off tonight to see friends.

I wanted to take a sleeping tablet tonight so I can sleep for a damn change, but alas.

It's not in my stars.

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