Limping along. Sometimes skipping.

So I'm still here. In Boston, at my childhood home with my two children and my mother(God help me). I am not as horrifically unhappy as I was when I first arrived.

I'm working at a temporary job, getting my kids up and running in daycare, and trying to find something more permanent to do. I am like a weird little oddity at work. All the customers want to know who I am, why I am working instead of the usual girl, and once I start answering questions, things just get weirder and weirder.

No, I'm not a member of the family (like everyone else there). Yes. I'm a friend of the family. No, I'm not here permanently. Well, I'm an editor. Yes, still looking for something in my field. Where was I working before? Um. Holland. Well, it's kind of complicated. Yes, I am living with my family just down the road. No, I left the bastard in Holland. Yes, I speak Dutch. I agree, it IS a fucked-up language. Yes, I speak Italian too (like everyone else there). And Spanish. Yes, I probably should get a job using my language skills. If you have one to offer me, get to it, otherwise get the fuck away from my desk.

I should pretend I'm a deaf-mute.

Random people keep moving into my mother's house.

I used to miss American television, now I can't fucking stand being forced to watch things like "Real Housewives" and cooking competitions. It is a whole shitload of inane bullshit.

I'm still a bit lonely, and imposing myself on friends and family way too often. I hope I'm not that annoying-but-nice friend you feel bad for but still wish would go away.

Yesterday I bought 5 pair of underwear at Victoria's Secret for $25 and got a free pair of flipflops. God Bless America.

Marathon/Birthday

Well, I'm going to avoid the current unpleasantness of my social life right now, and just talk about my sons.

Marathon day was awesome. The runners come right down our street, so we're forced to have a party every year, whether we like it or not. The kids had a blast. Not my kids. The relatives' kids and random people's kids.

My little one was sleeping. It was the day before his second birthday, and we were going to have a cake to celebrate, but he slept right through it.

My big one managed to loosen up and have some fun, despite other people wanting to use his toys. There were many tears, followed by locking up his prized go-cart in the garage, so no one could enjoy it.

Being Dutch, he felt compelled to pick up the runners' cups when they dropped them. Not ALL of them, just the ones HE had personally handed out. Very responsible. God, I love the little kid. He misses his dad, though. I can't blame him. I miss Holland too.

On my son's second birthday, I cried all day. I was so sad about the loss of our lives in Holland, and the traditions we had started to make there, that I felt like I couldn't catch my breath. I was crushingly sad all day - a day only made bearable by the efforts of my friend, who took us all to the beach, and did her best to make us all feel a little less dejected.

When we walked to the water's edge to wade and collect some shells, I got that freaky, weird, out-of-body feeling thinking about the water reaching all the way back to our beaches in Holland where we spent so much time together pretending to be a happy family.

Why the fuck do the right decisions always hurt so much?

A rare flash of optimism

Things are looking up. Really.

I have a new part time job, starting on the 26th. I found daycare for the kids. My friends are all happy to see me. Guys unabashedly check me out in this country, which I love (Dutch guys - I swear - don't bother to look at girls).

People love my kids. I mean it. Friends keep saying things like "Hey, let's take the kids camping/fishing/hiking/to the museum/aquarium/fire station/playground." It's like everyone I know has been looking for an excuse to do kid stuff and just needs a kid or two as a beard at the Children's Museum or park. I don't recall people calling me up to drag me around when I was single with no kids. It's weird. But nice.

OK - I'm going to bed early. Long day of friend-induced kid activities tomorrow, so I need to rest up.

They're not kidding

I've been looking around at daycare places near my home in lovely suburban Boston, and I am f-ing shocked.

Compared to Holland, these places look like rundown third-world orphanages. Even the better ones seem grubby and picked-over, poorly maintained and depressing. And then there is the pricetag...

I suppose that it isn't really much more expensive than in Holland, though the facilities are horrifically lacking in comparison. The major difference is that the governmental childcare reimbursement pays a huge portion of whatever a family's daycare costs are. Even with two incomes, we were reimbursed for about 75% of our costs - and that is immediately, not at the end of the year. The government actually pays the childcare center every month, and you just pay your own portion alongside that.

To send both boys to a preschool/daycare here for three days a week - HALF days, mind you - will cost more than my monthly salary in Holland. More than I made IN A MONTH.

I suppose the fact that salaries here are higher would compensate for it, but I don't have a job yet. Oops.

On the upside, grocery shopping is now taking me less than two hours a trip. So, I've got that going for me.

Coca-Cola, Wonderbra

So, we're living in America.

I can't stop shopping like I'm in Holland. My brother-in-law asked me today "Why don't you get more stuff at the supermarket, like five gallons of milk instead of one?"

The answer is that I can't pull the trigger. I buy one box of kleenex, one pack of toilet paper, one half-gallon of orange juice, a pound of coldcuts, etc., etc.

The result is that everyone is running around going "Where's the rest of the kleenex?" How can we be out of turkey?" "Who drank all the orange juice?"

I just can't get used to the idea that I am going to load it all into the SUV (well, I'M not going to load it...it gets sent underground via a conveyor belt to a drive-thru where they load your car while you sit behind the wheel) instead of carrying a bag in each hand, or loading the bakfiets with as much food as will fit beside two children.

Every time I go to the supermarket it takes me like 2 hours. I can't get used to it again. EVERYTHING I need, and tons of stuff I don't in one convenient location. Informative staff. Courteous cashiers. I walk around like a deer in the headlights with glazed-over eyes mindlessly filling a shopping cart big enough for my whole family to sit in.

I guess I just question the wisdom of buying jumbo-size crap. That's how we all get the jumbo-size asses.

Speaking of that - I have a friend (yes, you) fixing a couple of old-school English 3-speeds for me. I am so psyched. I can't wait. Now if ONLY I could get the bakfiets here...Well, I'm working on that.

Asociaal goed

Thanks, everyone, for all your support with my recent difficulties.

I am glad to report that the kids are getting more attention and affection than ever before. I've even found a little Dutch school for them. Hearing all the teachers and parents speaking Dutch made me like, reverse-homesick. It was weird.

I have been eating breakfast cereal like a pig. Somebody stop me.

New England Yankee just doesn't have the same ring...

So. I'm back. No, not there. Here. In Boston. WTF has gone wrong you ask? Everything.

But let's get to the important stuff.

Can I still be an Amsterdam Yankee? Will anyone care? How long until I start to suffer from Americ-ass? Can I afford to have my bakfiets shipped here?

Will I tire of grocery shopping? Will I ever start my new intercontinental Amsterdam-Boston project? (Very hush-hush. Will update as I progress. If I progress...) Can my children go to Dutch school? (Yes, they can. It's a rhetorical question.) Will I be happy in my mother's basement? (I think we can all answer that now.)

Will I still have any friends here? (Hi, Pat.) Will the 14-year-old truck's brakes finally give out once and for all and leave me in a twisted, fiery mess avec crotch fruit? (God, I hate French.) Can I find a job, social life, peace of mind in the cradle of my home town? Will I have a freakout and go back? Is there a better cookie than a stroopwafel? Must I make it my duty to find out?

How many breakfast cereals can I eat until I get tired of them? (So far I've killed Frosted Mini-Wheats, Honey Nut Cheerios, Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops.)

Let's just try to avoid the obvious.. How much longer until I have a nervous breakdown? (10...9...8...)