Little Mister Type A

My son is a little boss who always knows what he wants. He makes up his mind and there's no talking him out of it.

My stepdaughter and I spent about 20 minutes perusing the racks for her perfect pair of Crocs, while V - 2 and a half at the time - walked directly to the blue and white ones and said, "These. These are the ones I want."

He wouldn't look at any others that I recommended. He'd made up his mind.

So we take him seriously when he's made a decision, and he knows - REALLY knows - what he wants for his birthday next week. Three things; A ride-on toy tractor, a swing for our new yard; and a skateboard.

He doesn't have enough trouble just walking, he needs a skateboard, God help us. Pads. Lots of pads. And a helmet. And band aids.

Dishwasher-In-Law

Why do mothers-in-law (or "mother-in-laws"?) always wash dishes by hand?

I have seriously noted this in BOTH my first and my current MIL. They just can't help themselves.

My first mother in law NEVER used her dishwasher unless my ex-husband insisted on it when we visited for dinner. She thought it was a waste of energy and water to use it, but as my ex pointed out, washing the dishes 6 times a day by hand must just about equal doing ONE load a day in the machine.

My reigning MIL can't stand producing dirty dishes while the machine is running, so she'll wash them as we use them, instead of just stacking them and putting them in when the machine is emptied.

I wonder if I'll do that when I become a mother-in-law. I sure don't do it now. Maybe your son marrying coupled with menopause creates some kind of chemical deficiency that can only be balanced by washing his glassware.

I'm still waiting for the miraculous transformation of me suddenly knowing "everything" by virtue of being a mother. Aren't I supposed to know everything? How can I be my sons' hero unless I know everything?

The art of stealing art

So they have just arrested a bunch of art thieves here in the Land of Hol. They recovered some works by the Dutch masters. I'm glad they found them, but there is something really intriguing about art thieves.

You can always tell the caliber of robbers by what they steal, and the kind of preparation involved. Like when thieves hit a jewelry store and bypass all kinds of valuables so they can steal a few specific, priceless diamonds, or something. Or when art thieves orchestrate a whole Thomas Crown Affair to rip off a few canvases. The Italian Job. Ocean's 11, 12, 13. They spend tons of time and money planning.

There there are cheap and shoddy smash and grabs, where unorganized crooks reach into display windows and take whatever they can carry. We get those about once a week at the Dam Square jewelry stores.

Then there's not just stupid, but Amsterdam stupid. Junkies who break into cars to steal the loose change in the ashtray, or steal front wheels from bicycles.

Albert Heijn on Van Limburg Stirum Straat was hit this week. (I chuckle with delight at their misfortune.) The thieves took cash in small bills and...wait for it...cigarettes.

"Whatcha got back there? 20 measly bucks? Well, then, uh...gimme some cigarettes. Yeah, cigarettes. Filtered AND unfiltered. Mama didn't raise no fool."

I scoff at your "judge a man by the caliber of his enemies" and raise you one "judge your neighborhood by the caliber of its stolen goods."

Pathetic, sad, dumb, depressing, Amsterdam, cigarettes...

Swordfish, just for the halibut...

I went out Saturday night! Alone! For the first time since V was born THREE YEARS AGO.

It was like a Dutch dinner party for a friend's birthday, and for the first time, I was hanging out with a bunch of natives, not as the novelty American guest. It made me feel kind of, I don't know, official.

The best part of it was that the other women asked me - with real interest - what I thought about living here and what my impressions of the Dutch were. If they were sorry for having asked, they would have said so - they're Dutch, after all - but they paid rapt attention to my cultural anecdotes.

Their favorite was my take on...wait for it... customer service. They told me that complaining or making suggestions about service here is largely fruitless, which I already knew. No one cares. No matter how hard they work, the pay stays the same, and they can't be fired. Well, not very easily.

I told them about standing aghast for almost a full minute at Albert Hate when I asked an employee stocking the shelves if he knew where the breadcrumbs were. His reply? "No." Then he turned away and continued stocking shelves. WTF? I was too stunned to say anything, and just staggered off like a confused deer.

I told them about the time D and I went to the Cheesecake Factory in Boston. He couldn't decide between two dishes, so the waitress suggested the swordfish, which he got. After our meal when she asked how it was, he said "OK." She looked crestfallen. "Just OK? I am so sorry."

D proceeded to stress that it was perfectly acceptable, but he just had hoped it would be better. It was no problem.

She just wouldn't have it and insisted on calling the manager. I thought D would wet his pants. I think he thought he was going to get into trouble.

The manager came over and said "I understand the swordfish wasn't so great." D, on the verge of a breakdown said, "No, really, it was fine. It was. It was OK."

The manager smiled and said "Well, I certainly don't want you to pay for anything that was only 'OK,' so I am going to take it right off your check. Thank you for letting us know. Can I offer you some complimentary dessert to make up for the inconvenience?"

Well, that just about did poor old D in, but finally realizing he wasn't in trouble, he declined dessert and thanked her, while the pinkness faded from his cheeks.

He couldn't believe that experience, and talked about it the whole rest of the trip. I told him that it was pretty standard treatment, but he was blown away. He said "I wouldn't have gone there again. But NOW, I will." And that's the whole point.

You see that people? Competition for business is a good thing. It keeps everyone on his/her toes and makes the customer happy. No one here appreciates your business, or takes the bottom line into account, which leaves everyone - staff included - disgruntled. No wonder they don't tip here.

Sweet Ride

I was flattered (or as my British-raised friend would say "fairly chuffed") to see that my little ol' blog has attracted some bakfiets/bike enthusiasts, most notably from the site Bakfiets.co.uk where DrMekon is the resident "fietsfanaat."

For the liefhebbers, I thought I'd post a little bakfiets porn...

My "new" bakfiets.nl bakfiets before the paint job, (My first one was stolen. There is a special place in hell for a thief who steals an expensive bike used by a mother to carry her children. There's an even *specialer* place for him in my basement having his toenails removed with pliers. Slowly.)



Here are a couple of the paint job; Skull and crossbones, flames, and triple-x shield, which is the coat of arms of Amsterdam:





These are of my friend with her cargobike long model bike loaded up with three kids. It also makes an appearance in the background of some of the previous pics.





I wish I had the money to double-up and get one of those FF16s from Fietsfabriek, or a Nihola. I can't give this one up, though. It's too handy.

Howdy Pressing

Sorry I have been such a bad correspondent of late, but I am having a bit of an emotional dip.

It's awful to feel like you're the janitor of your own life, cleaning up after every shit storm mess your family leaves behind.

Hope to be back to my whiny, narcissistic ways in a few days.

Boo frickity hoo.

Future-Perfect

When do we get to dress all futuristic? I want to wear shiny black clothes, big boots and huge sunglasses, you know, like I did in the '90s.

I'm sick of watching all these "futuristic" movies that were made 30 years ago and are supposed to be taking place now, and not having any of the cool stuff in them.

And when the f do we get flying cars, huh?

The Jetsons were just one big lie, weren't they?