Vandaag was de tweede op een rij van terrible no good horrible very bad days -- Anna is redelijk lief geweest maar Mirthe heeft peper in haar billen en een enorme brutale mond. Niks is leuk, alles is stom. Niemand wil met haar spelen en iedereen doet kattig. Ze huilt om niks en ze heeft een half uur nodig om iets te doen wat normaal een half minuut in beslag neemt. Dit is voor mij geen verrassing -- het is weer zover, een sprongetje komt eraan. Klokslag zes weken voor haar verjaardag (en halfverjaardag) begint ze zich voor te bereiden op de sprong die ze rond 9 juni zal maken. In die zes weken mogen er geen onverwachte dingen gebeuren in haar wereld, alles moet zo vertrouwd mogelijk lopen. Ik moet met haar nog MEER rekening meehouden, qua alles, of ik betaal er flink voor de volgende dag (zoals vandaag, omdat gisteren een ramp was.) We zijn weer aan het dansen, de ik-ben-bijna-jarig dans. Een misstap en we struikelen allebei.
Ik ben het ZO ZAT! Echt, een uur geleden was ik klaar om even naar de Praxis te fietsen en wat spulletjes te halen om dat kind netjes achter het begang te plakken. (Een mooi ROZE behang, misschien een beetje retro?) Maar ik heb in plaats daarvan ze letterlijk in bed gegooid (Anna deed aan het eind ook mee) -- er waren geen kusjes, geen boekjes. Geen babietjes die lief-van-je-mama van beneden werden gehaald. En geen slokje water.
En dat is mijn redding geweest. Een kwartiertje nadat ik hun slaapkamerdeur achter me dicht had gedaan, zat ik op mijn bed de was op te vouwen. In de kamer ernaast kon ik mijn twee meiden horen zingen. Mirthe was Anna haar nieuwe liedje-van-de-muziekjuf ('Verkeer': "Groen zijn de bomen, groen zijn de peren, groen is het lichtje bij ons in de straat...") aan het leren. Anna wilde alleen maar 'Olifantje in het bos' zingen, tot grote hilariteit van beide meiden. En uiteindelijk van mij, want je kon gewoon niet NIET lachen.
Ik hoorde Mirthe de kamer stilletjes uitlopen, ze wilde naar de badkamer. Eerst was ik weer kwaad, want ze weet het heel goed: je mag als je op bed ligt, niet meer je kamer uit. Dan had je moeten opschieten, zei ik, dan had je wel tijd om een slokje water te halen. Waarom ben je zo boos, vroeg ze. Ik heb gewoon dorst, van het zingen. En ik mis Oma.
Het missen van Oma is Mirthes manier om aan te geven dat ze echt echt ECHT niet lekker in haar vel zit. Mijn schoonmoeder overleed toen Mirthe 13 maanden oud was, dus concrete herrineringen van Oma heeft ze niet. Wel het gevoel van die periode: verdriet en woede, oneerlijkheid. Opeens was ons leven zo anders, waren Mama en Papa zo anders. Als dreumes ving ze zoveel op van die emoties. Wellicht heb ik in die periode ook gewoon gezegd tegen haar, als ze mij zag huilen ofzo -- ik mis Oma. En Mirthe, die nooit iets vergeet (geloof me maar -- NOOIT) heeft dat vooral goed onthouden.
Ik stuurde haar dus weer naar bed, en ging een beker water voor haar halen. Ik zei dat ik niet meer boos was, en dat ze zich morgen een stuk beter zou voelen. Stopte haar weer in, gaf Anna ook een aai over haar bol en deed de deur weer achter me dicht.
Morgen is een nieuwe dag, met nieuwe kansen.
donderdag 27 april 2006
dinsdag 25 april 2006
Mijk at http://mijkimproves.blogspot.com tagged me for a meme: 10 Simple Pleasures.
All you have to do is list 10 simple pleasures -- I think I can handle that!
1. Sleep, 7 or 8 hours of unbroken sleep.
2. The sound of children laughing.
3. Dusk.
4. The HEMA. Specifically: just wandering around the HEMA, without any kids, or husbands-with-shopping-lists, and then in the restaurant having a cappuccino and apple pie and not having to share the whipped cream with ANYBODY.
5. Going down the mountain, after you've climbed it.
6. Hearing an old much-loved song on the radio, and still knowing all the words.
7. Giving up your seat in the bus, so that an older person can sit.
8. The way your skin feels, rosy, after a day at the beach or biking through the Terschellinger dunes.
9. An unexpected card in the mail.
10. Thrifting. Giving something beautiful or useful a second chance.
Now I have to tag 10 people (I'm a notorius lurker, so this is hard for me :-)
Jolanda: http://www.zoeklog.nl/jojo
Klasina: http://klaasje.allebei.nl
Sandi: http://sandig.blogspot.com
Fleur: http://fienefleur.blogspot.com
Francine: http://stukjebijbeetje.blogspot.com
Alison: http://olderthanjesus.blogspot.com
Patricia: http://www.zoeklog.nl/naima
Sherry: http://portraitoftheartist.blogspot.com
Jaymarie: http://pondripple.blogspot.com
Samira: http://www.couscousmetappelmoes.blogspot.com
If someone would rather not be tagged, please e-mail me at susan dot starkenburg at wanadoo dot nl -- I completely understand. En natuurlijk mag je in het Nederlands schrijven!
Thanks Mijk, for the chance to stand still and think of the simple pleasures in life!
All you have to do is list 10 simple pleasures -- I think I can handle that!
1. Sleep, 7 or 8 hours of unbroken sleep.
2. The sound of children laughing.
3. Dusk.
4. The HEMA. Specifically: just wandering around the HEMA, without any kids, or husbands-with-shopping-lists, and then in the restaurant having a cappuccino and apple pie and not having to share the whipped cream with ANYBODY.
5. Going down the mountain, after you've climbed it.
6. Hearing an old much-loved song on the radio, and still knowing all the words.
7. Giving up your seat in the bus, so that an older person can sit.
8. The way your skin feels, rosy, after a day at the beach or biking through the Terschellinger dunes.
9. An unexpected card in the mail.
10. Thrifting. Giving something beautiful or useful a second chance.
Now I have to tag 10 people (I'm a notorius lurker, so this is hard for me :-)
Jolanda: http://www.zoeklog.nl/jojo
Klasina: http://klaasje.allebei.nl
Sandi: http://sandig.blogspot.com
Fleur: http://fienefleur.blogspot.com
Francine: http://stukjebijbeetje.blogspot.com
Alison: http://olderthanjesus.blogspot.com
Patricia: http://www.zoeklog.nl/naima
Sherry: http://portraitoftheartist.blogspot.com
Jaymarie: http://pondripple.blogspot.com
Samira: http://www.couscousmetappelmoes.blogspot.com
If someone would rather not be tagged, please e-mail me at susan dot starkenburg at wanadoo dot nl -- I completely understand. En natuurlijk mag je in het Nederlands schrijven!
Thanks Mijk, for the chance to stand still and think of the simple pleasures in life!
maandag 24 april 2006
Memories Monday
My dad's making pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving. It's evening, probably Wednesday evening and it's just the two of us in the kitchen of the Glen Rock house. I'm standing by the Dutch door, leaning on the counter. I watch him mix everything together, roll the crust out, crimp the edges with a fork. When he's almost done, I ask him when he's going to put the evaporated milk in. He looks at me, looks at the pie. Looks at the can of evaporated milk, still sitting there, painfully full to the brim. Looks at me again. "Oh shit." My eyes go wide and deep deep inside I burst out laughing, somehow knowing that it would be a bad thing to even make the tiniest of sounds at that moment.
He pours the pie back out, mixes in the milk and dumps it all back in the shell. He's careless now, has given up on making it beautiful. Shoves it in the oven and starts cleaning up the kitchen.
The pie turns out great. No one notices, and Thanksgiving becomes a holiday of wonderful food and hand-tracing turkeys and football and the first time I ever heard my dad say the s-word out loud.
My dad's making pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving. It's evening, probably Wednesday evening and it's just the two of us in the kitchen of the Glen Rock house. I'm standing by the Dutch door, leaning on the counter. I watch him mix everything together, roll the crust out, crimp the edges with a fork. When he's almost done, I ask him when he's going to put the evaporated milk in. He looks at me, looks at the pie. Looks at the can of evaporated milk, still sitting there, painfully full to the brim. Looks at me again. "Oh shit." My eyes go wide and deep deep inside I burst out laughing, somehow knowing that it would be a bad thing to even make the tiniest of sounds at that moment.
He pours the pie back out, mixes in the milk and dumps it all back in the shell. He's careless now, has given up on making it beautiful. Shoves it in the oven and starts cleaning up the kitchen.
The pie turns out great. No one notices, and Thanksgiving becomes a holiday of wonderful food and hand-tracing turkeys and football and the first time I ever heard my dad say the s-word out loud.
zondag 23 april 2006
Happy Birthday, Mom!
Mirthe drew herself, drawing a picture for you, at the table. She's got a purple miniskirt on, blue tights and a pink t-shirt with a blue heart on it. I like the way she drew herself sitting and that her ponytail is in front of the chair. She's been experimenting lately with perspective, I think that's pretty awesome for a four-year-old -- but then I'm her mama and a little biased :-) And I like the four barrettes in her hair. When she made the drawing we hadn't even attempted to brush her hair and it was approaching bird's nest status.
We'll keep your present here until you come in June, then you and Dad can celebrate your birthdays at the same time as Mirthe. Here's a sneak peak:
And you can read all about who made it at:
Hope your day is great and I'll probably call later this afternoon, maybe tonight.
Groetjes en veel liefs van ons allemaal hier!
maandag 17 april 2006
Memories Monday
Easter Monday, 2006. Mirthe has been asking for weeks when she can learn to ride a bike without training wheels. Eric spends about an hour outside with her, then comes inside and hands the baton off to me. I go out and run behind her for half an hour, yelling GO MIRTHE and GREAT JOB but she still won't let go of my finger, she wobbles a few feet and then falls over. And cries and cries, her spring jacket is wet with tears. It's getting on toward 4:30 and I have to start making dinner. I tell her we'll take a break, she can watch a little TV and then when the soup's on we'll go back out.
She comes in with me, helps me start the soup and then sits down to draw. After a few minutes she comes over to me and shows me what she's drawn -- Mirthe on her bike, and me in my black coat, standing right behind her. It's one of the most beautiful drawings she's ever made -- not the greatest but certainly beautiful. I tell her how proud I am of her. She beams, the light coming out of her illuminates the whole kitchen. She gives me a fierce hug and goes and gets her bike out of the back yard and heads back out into the street. For the next two hours she practices and practices, and it goes wonderfully. It goes better than when we ran next to her, letting her hold onto to us, giving her a reason not to try it on her own.
Let her go. I need to remember that.
Easter Monday, 2006. Mirthe has been asking for weeks when she can learn to ride a bike without training wheels. Eric spends about an hour outside with her, then comes inside and hands the baton off to me. I go out and run behind her for half an hour, yelling GO MIRTHE and GREAT JOB but she still won't let go of my finger, she wobbles a few feet and then falls over. And cries and cries, her spring jacket is wet with tears. It's getting on toward 4:30 and I have to start making dinner. I tell her we'll take a break, she can watch a little TV and then when the soup's on we'll go back out.
She comes in with me, helps me start the soup and then sits down to draw. After a few minutes she comes over to me and shows me what she's drawn -- Mirthe on her bike, and me in my black coat, standing right behind her. It's one of the most beautiful drawings she's ever made -- not the greatest but certainly beautiful. I tell her how proud I am of her. She beams, the light coming out of her illuminates the whole kitchen. She gives me a fierce hug and goes and gets her bike out of the back yard and heads back out into the street. For the next two hours she practices and practices, and it goes wonderfully. It goes better than when we ran next to her, letting her hold onto to us, giving her a reason not to try it on her own.
Let her go. I need to remember that.
1e Paasdag
De ochtend begon niet zo vroeg zoals bij sommige :-) maar wel met eieren zoeken, zoals bij iedereen. Sommige foto's zijn een beetje wazig (soms erg wazig) maar daar hou ik van, bij foto's van kinderen. Het hoort bij hun karakter -- nog niet zo scherp, nog niet af. Niet in focus. Altijd in beweging.
zondag 16 april 2006
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