Looking Overseas for the American Dream

Number of days in Amsterdam – 333-338

Number of days without a bike theft – 329-334

Days since it last rained – 0

It seems like a vacation requires as much, if not more time commitment than is spent on the actual holiday. Leading up to the holiday was working ahead, doing laundry and preparing, and after the holiday is catching up on work, doing more laundry, putting things away and rest.

It’s still completely worth it.

Our arrival back in the ‘Dam was met with rainy weather and a snotty, sneezing, sick baby. While nothing was seriously wrong, a sick baby is no fun. A sick baby is a miserable thing in that, although it just wants to feel better, it also feels this need to let you know how miserable it’s feeling. It’s defense mechanism; the same thing that causes a baby to cry out of hunger, needing to be changed or just a need a for affection causes it to cry when it’s not feeling well. But when you can’t do anything more than just wipe her nose, give her Vapor Rub or baby Tylenol, it is a sad thing.

She just moaned and cried softly, not feeling well enough to do much else, and wanting us to do something about it.

We had settled into the long haul of spending several days watching her temperature and attending to her needs as necessary when a mere 24 hours later found her chipper and cheerful again. Our best guess is that the nice weather causing everything to bloom in Germany had created something that set off her allergies as bad as they did ours. Poor kid inherited allergies from the parents – never stood a chance.

Sunday was a day that we had planned on spending in hibernation and recovery from the vacation, but it was not to be. We realized we had a photo shoot to do.

Here comes a grand revelation: we needed photos for our visa renewal, and we’re sticking around for at least six more months.

The photo shoot went well, Kitten performed admirably in the chair. She seems to love getting her photo taken, And the photographer paid us an amazing compliment as well, noting that when parents were really relaxed about the experience, the baby picks up on this as well, and it’s fun for them. It’s when the parents are high strung that the baby is uneasy, and those are hard photos to take.

As long as we were already out and about, we decided to meander, first heading to the American bookstore to pick up a book of bedtime stories that Nicole had wanted to get for the Kitten – as well as for ourselves – a collection of Grimms’ Fairy Tales.

Now for those of us raised in the States, our fairy tales have often been watered down so as not to scare small children. We knew this, but I honestly had no idea how much. The Brothers Grimm wrote brutal stories, full of gruesome and violent deaths and harsh morals. In general, the bad meet horrible painful ends, while the good reach triumphant victories, but only after enduring the harshest of trials.

This collection also has a section of “adult” tales; tales too gruesome even for the rest of the collection. That section includes stories that are considered too awful even for a collection such as this. Let’s just say that most of them have kids meeting gruesome, violent bloody ends – the sort of stories we made up around campfires, but these are instead in a collection of children’s fairy tales.

We have started a bedtime ritual where we read stories to Kitten as she falls asleep. Right now, it’s just about the tone of our voices, so the Grimm stories serve to entertain mama and daddy, but soon enough we’ll have to phase these ones out for less horrific fare. For now, though, we’re having fun learning about things like the way that the princess originally broke the charm on the Frog Prince was by picking him up and throwing him against the wall.

This week, the Kitten went for her six-month check up. All is well, she continues to grow at a normal rate, although her height and weight is below average.

This is an interesting point, because this is based on the Dutch average. Now, the Dutch are the tallest people in the planet. When I consult the growth charts in What to Expect the First Year, which is an American release, her height and weight are just above average, by about the same amount that she is below on the Dutch charts.

It causes me to wonder: we know the tallest people in the world by nation are, on average, the Dutch. The shortest on average are the Japanese. Who then, are the avaregest average height people? I’m sure that info is out there, but I don’t want to dig for it right now.

After the last visit to the Consultatie Bureau, I said much about the nurse’s opinion on starting the Kitten on solid food. She said don’t, adding, “In Holland, we wait until six months to start them on cereal, and then move on to other foods from there.” As you well know, we ignored this, proceeding on the schedule we felt Kitten was ready for.

Now on multiple occasions, I have heard this phrase uttered when it comes to Dutch bureaucracy: “If you get an answer from someone you don’t like, just ask someone else.” When the nurse at the bureau asked if we had started Kitten on solids, I answered truthfully that we had, and we were giving her fruits or vegetables once a day, but it was going slowly. Her reply was that we were doing the right thing, and as soon as it clicked to start feeding her solids twice a day.

Feedings up to this point have been messy affairs, with the Kitten spitting out more than she swallowed, smearing it about, wrestling the spoon away to feed herself and promptly feeding food to her forehead. But she seemed to take this new advice as encouragement, and that day at lunch sat patiently, opening her mouth for each bite, gobbling up half a mushed banana. That evening she followed it up with half a sweet potato.

Nicole has made the decision to make all her baby food. It’s what her mom did, and it allows us to know exactly what’s in the food we’re feeding her. It’s really easy, too. Not much goes into mashing a banana, or boiling carrots, sweet potatoes or apples until they’re soft enough to mash. The bounty of fresh vegetables available at the markets here also help, and we’re fast on our way to making a foodie out of our little Kitten.

Another item brought up was of schooling. The nurse asked how long we’d planned on staying in the Netherlands, and I told her for at least six more months. She said that should we decide to stay longer, it was time to start thinking about schooling. The Dutch start schooling much earlier than in the states, something like two for preschooling, with schooling starting at four. And if we plan on staying here during that time, we’d best start checking out schools, and applying to waiting lists, which can be a few years deep.

So that’s another thing we need to discuss. If we stay longer, will we send the Kitten to public (Dutch) school? Or an international (English) school? That would require even further foresight. How long will this adventure last? If it’s an indefinite, she’d do well to go to Dutch school, where she’ll become fluent in the language of the country where she was born. If a trip back to the states is on the horizon, it’s probably best that her education be in English as well.

And Nicole’s dad sent me an article that may have been intended to bolster our confidence at having a baby here, or even to encourage us to continue to do so. Save the Children just released their stats for the best places to raise a child, taking into account things like education, parental leaves, medical care and infant mortality. The Netherlands came in at 9. The US? 26.

That’s a bit of a gap.

So maybe we’ll start thinking about schools.

In the theme of the life of an expat, we’re gearing up to send two more dear friends off, as they head back to Canada. In that direction, we had our friend Mike over for an impromptu cooking class. As our resident expert in the production of baklava, we had him and a handful of friends over fro a master class. Did we learn? Only tine will tell, because in the manner of all talented chefs, his directions were very non-precise, him being the type who has made the dessert so many times that he no longer measures ingredients or relies on baking times. Still, copious notes were taken, and perhaps one of us can retain the skill.

Mama, Kitten and I had a rare and wonderful evening this week as well. Like almost every day ever in this city, it rained every day here this week, but also like almost every day in this city, the rain was concentrated to a morning shower as the clouds burned over the city. Wednesday was an almost warm and definitely dry evening, and I scooped up the Kitten and walked her up to meet her mama at the office, where we then meandered our way home through the city. stopping at Cafe De Spuyt for a beer while Kitten had a bottle, then on through the night to a kabob stand for a seriously unhealthy but thoroughly satisfying meal of doner kebabs.

Turkish bread stuffed with meat, veggies, and sauce?

That right there is a reason to stay here forever.

We’ll bring things up to speed tomorrow, but today I just wanted to share something the Kitten and I made.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama!

Number of days in Amsterdam – 325-332

Number of days without a bike theft – 321-328

Days since it last rained – 0

Aaaaand we’re back!

It wasn’t out of wholehearted desire to avoid the lunacy of Queen’s Day in Amsterdam with an infant that lead us to Germany (although that was part of it), it was a good old-fashioned family vacation. And while yes, that family is in part me, Nicole and the Kitten, we were meeting up with Nicole’s Dad (henceforth known as Grandpa), sister (Aunt Jen) and her boyfriend (Uncle Kolman) for a reunion of sorts.

Now when I say reunion, of course the family was getting together, but it was also Nicole’s Dad’s reunion with Bavaria, a place he hadn’t seen in many years.

After Vietnam, he was stationed in Germany for a bit, where Nicole’s sister was born. He returned with her to the states when she was a toddler, and he hadn’t been back in several years (I’ll not say how many out of deference to Aunt Jen, but let’s just say it was like 20).

We landed in Munich airport to hot sunny weather. It was a seriously beautiful day, the warmest that the Kitten had ever seen. Sunhats were in order, as was the wonderful ritual of the shedding of warm clothes. This was the Kittens first time outside barelegged, and she embraced it openly.

We sat outside for a bit at the airport, relishing the warmth, and after a fun reunion with the fam we collected our rental bus.

You see, when you’re traveling with five adults and an infant, your standard German sports car just won’t do. This being a vehicle that seated eight, it may have been overkill, but it was more than sufficient, and Uncle Kolman handled it remarkably well.

Our base of operations was an apartment with three bedrooms. It was no Radisson, but with a spartan kitchen, beds for all and a communal dining room, it was better arrangements than hotel rooms and much more cost effective. It would be our home for the week. A place for naps and play breaks and just having time together.

We arrived at the apartment, where we had to lug our luggage up three flights of stairs. But these were no Amsterdam stairs, they were German stairs, which meant they were easy to ascend. You could walk up them, unlike the precarious clamber one needs to master in order to climb Dutch stairs. They were deeper than my foot! It felt like a palace!

The next week was a mix of reminiscing and relaxation. There was a visit to Augsburg, where Grandpa was stationed and Aunt Jen was born, and a visit to the base he was stationed at (now mostly a vacant lot), and the apartment where they lived. I’m sure the current residents wondered why photos were happening out front, but whatevs…

We went to Neuschwanstein, the castle we went to on our babymoon, where Nicole commented that it was much easier to ascend the mountain when she wasn’t pregnant, and I commented that it was harder to do it with a baby in a carrier.

We drove to Berchtesgaden, and up a scary, windy one-lane, two-way piece of ground that wasn’t luxurious enough to call a road to Obersalzberg to see… well to see what we could see.

And just to say we did it, we went on to Salzburg in Austria, home of Mozart:

Home of the Mozart rubber duckie:

And home of Stiegl, Europe’s answer to PBR and the reason that Austria isn’t the beer destination that Germany is.

And we went back to Munich.

And that’s Germany in a nutshell.

And the week was gone.

But along the way was a lot of happiness, and some beer.

Beer Gardens in Germany are a wonderful place, where families get together, and they have beer.

Kitten did not have beer. But she did have a pretzel.

And a coaster.

And she had a photo shoot in the hotel in Salzburg.

And it was just good, for everyone to be back together.

It did make us question if we’d done the right thing, moving here. If we were doing the right thing raising the Kitten so far from family. Almost every night I asked myself that, and as the trip drew to close, we asked everyone that. They assured us we had.

And the goodbyes were sad, and the trip back to the ‘Dam found us returning to rain, but when the cab driver asked us if we lived in the ‘Dam, we answered “yes,” and when he asked us if we liked it and I answered “love it,” without hesitation, I know that I agreed – it was the right decision.

And that’s what I did on my family vacation…

Number of days in Amsterdam – 318-324

Number of days without a bike theft – 314-320

Days since it last rained – 0

Ah yes, the all-encompassing summation post that tries to take a week in the life and make it all relevant, how I hate it, but here it is.

In a nutshell: This guy showed up.

This is the part where I tell you that he was a stranger who reached out to me from Snoqualmie, Washington, telling me he’s a big fan and regular reader and wanted to come meet me and stay with us, and you’d be all like torn because that’s insane just letting a stranger into your home but you’d also be all like jealous because you’ve never actually met someone from Snoqualmie and you wonder what someone from some sort of an exotic place would be like?

Or maybe you’re thinking that you’re a regular reader who wish you would have thought of that because you’d love to hang out with me, which we know isn’t true because anyone who’s a regular reader is either family or knows that the last thing they probably want to do is to be bored to tears by me.

So then this is the part where I reveal that I was just messing with you and that the guest was really a friend from Detroit passing through town for a few days and you’d be all like snap! You got me, but still now distracted because you’re still thinking about what someone from Snoqualmie is really like.

So that’s kind of what happened.

Our friend showed up, and we gave him the tour that we like to give – a walk through the city, drinks at De Prael, the Van Gogh Museum and a trip out to Zaanse Schans for a peek at some windmills and wooden shoes.

And we mixed it up with some new stuff. Like taking our very first canal cruise.

And it all went wonderfully, including the part where a torrential downpour hit us at Zaanse Schans, so I bought a cheap plastic poncho to cover the baby with a stroller, and the part at the wooden shoe factory where a busload of Japanese tourists decided to pose for photos with the Kitten, and the part where the Kitten cried on the cruise until we took her to the back of the boat, where she found she very much loved the open air… and the part where I’m rushing to get stuff done, work and otherwise…

Because here comes Queen’s Day.

Here’s the whole thing with Queen’s Day. It’s the day that celebrates the Queen’s Birthday. It’s actually held on the Queen’s Mother’s Birthday, because the Queen’s Birthday is on January 31, and the weather sucks then.

For Queen’s Day, over a million people pour into the city to party in the streets. I think they may be coming to have cake with the Queen and give her presents, but find the line to be too long so they drink in the streets instead. I think.

Anyway, as we gear up for Queen’s Day, I’m treating it like Dream Cruise.

You see, in Detroit, we had this thing called Dream Cruise, where classic car owners from all over the country drove to Detroit to show off, cruising up and down Woodward.

It brought a ton of people to town, and as often as not… we fled.

I had a friend who lived in New Orleans. He loved it. And for Mardis Gras… he fled.

Now, as the madness that is Queen’s Day heads toward the city to cause some seriously overcrowded debauchery, we’re packing up for sunnier climes, making a break for tropical Bavaria, where it’s going to be sunny and warm, not chilly, rainy and overcrowded.

And if this post seems rushed, it’s because it is. I must make haste in order to run ahead of the orange tide. I’ll be away for a week, praying the ‘Dam holds under the surge of people.

May God have mercy on us all…

"Get back to work! I don't pay you to sit here and complain!"

Number of days in Amsterdam – 316-317

Number of days without a bike theft – 312-313

Days since it last rained – 0

Mama’s in Paris for work for two days, which leaves me and the Kitten at home, and me focusing on work.

I don’t talk much about work in this blog; it’s more about living overseas and being a parent. But let’s change it up a bit with this post.

Let’s talk about what I do all day.

I don’t play house all day; if I did I could stay on top of the dirty dishes.

I don’t play video games all day; if I did I would have beat Dead Island a while ago, when the fact is, I can’t even remember the last time I played.

I don’t play with the baby all day, although the fact is, that’s what I’d really like to do.

I don’t blog all day, as you’ll notice, sometimes several days go by without an update.

I do work.

I’m a writer, meaning I write stuff for various people. I have my music website, which is the most public thing I do, but the fact is that I have a handful of other clients as well. And I do work for them.

I do marketing, too. I write marketing materials and web content, create social media strategies and provide services that help companies sell things. They’re all skills I picked up over almost 20 years at advertising agencies and marketing departments and even a stint in TV news.

I just have the added bonus of doing it on the floor next to a play mat while my infant daughter plays next to me, and I take many breaks to give bottles, change nappies, play and dance in front of the mirror.

Some days are very productive from a work standpoint, when the Kitten is content to play next to me, and I talk to her out loud and we have long conversations.

Some days are not at all productive from a work standpoint, as she demands attention. She doesn’t just want to play, she wants me to play with her.

While those days are actually better, they’re not at all lucrative. And some days I have to hand off the Kitten when mama gets home so I can work, or get up before the baby.

It does allow the flexibility to take days off, go out for long lunches, get groceries during the day, etc., provided the work gets done. But the work must get done. As they say in the business “Shakespeare’s gotta get paid, son.”

When the Kitten takes a nap, I get hyper-productive, and the words fly off my fingers. When she’s requesting my attention, the work stops. Many times, it’s in between. Right now, I’m typing one-handed and using a doll’s hair to tickle her face while she giggles and dances.

When I’m not working, I’m hustling, looking for more people who want to give me work, and to pay me money for it.

It’s not a real lucrative way of living; my wages are roughly 50% of what they were when I had a day job in Detroit and I do spend a lot of time thinking about what comes next, making things always a lot less secure than when I was simply employed, but if you factor in the fact that Kitten is given attention all day and that we’re not paying for daycare, the benefits do offset the drawbacks.

While this is all going on, Mama is at her day job, working long hours to bring home the proverbial bacon. The fact is, we both bust humps every day to do right for all of us, and I know she wants to spend more time with the Kitten just as I’d like more time interacting with real people, and I’m jealous that she rides her bike to work every day while I walk about 10 feet to my office, but the fact is that it is how it is. We do what we do with everything we can, and nobody sits and eats bonbons all day (although I happen to know that Nicole’s office has free coffee AND soda, and in the interest of fairness, I will admit that I had two cookies with my coffee this morning).

OK, I say all this not because I’m looking for any sympathy or anything like that. These are all the results of choices we’ve consciously made. It’s just so you can see where I’m coming from as a freelancer/stay at home dad.

And there is a point to this.

A little while back, an opportunity came along, one worth preliminary celebration, even if the contracts had not yet been written.

It was what was known as “sexy work.”

Now that’s not as racy as it sounds. Sexy work is the kind of work that makes for interesting conversations.

In other words, when someone asks you what you do, and you say “I write brochures for a company that puts spindles into boxes, and create marketing materials for another company that makes boxes to put spindles in…” – that’s not sexy work.

So this was a new publication on horror. I was being commissioned to write a series of 10 feature length articles over the next few months. These were pieces on horror films, horror in music, fashion and even introducing your children to the genre with age-appropriate “monster movies.” It’s the sort of thing that’s right up my dark, scary alley (I’m also a published horror writer, although my work is now out of print), and I was really looking forward to this.

So much so, that when they came back and said that they were really interested in working with me but dealing with a budget, I lowered my rates (which are already not at all high in the scale of things) to a rate they agreed upon. Nobody was getting rich off this deal, but it was going to be an enjoyable and yes, sexy, project.

Then I was passed off to someone else within the organization, who said there was a problem with the rates I was asking; the price I had quoted per article was what they wanted to pay for all 10. In essence, they lowered the offer by 90%.

Once all was said and done, they were offering me a rate of about $2/hour (about €1,50), provided all went smoothly, which it never does. I don’t care what you do, that’s not a good wage.

Keep in mind that I also then pay taxes on this. As a freelancer, employers just pay me, and I then have to do my own taxes.

This contact then added insult to low-paying injury by then saying my rates were “astronomically high.”

I sent a reply that read, in part:

Please understand that I don’t set my rates “astronomically high” to fleece your organization – It’s pretty standard for the work I do. As a working freelance writer, I set a certain rate with my clients, and if I go too far below, well, I don’t make rent. It’s a rate I set based on two decades of building my experience, portfolio and resume, in advertising and marketing agencies and on the freelance front.

Really, it wasn’t even worth my time to dignify this with a response. Of course by their scale, it only cost me about 12¢ to write it.

At that rate, I’d rather not work and just play with my daughter. That would be much more lucrative in the long term.

Now I’m not sure what’s more upsetting about all this: that there are people who feel like this is a fair wage to offer writers for their services, or that there are writers who will accept such rates.

They have to be high school students doing it for a little extra spending money and, while I’m sure there are some very talented high school students out there, this isn’t the way to release a quality product, especially if you’re also trying to tie parenting advice into the mix (I’m sure there are plenty of high school age parents out there, but how many of them would even work at this rate?).

So I wish the fledgling publication well, and hope they have a quality product that enjoys a long life.

But if they’re relying on the quality of their writers to carry it, I will hold my breath, because they’ll go under before I run out of air.

Number of days in Amsterdam – 315

Number of days without a bike theft – 311

Days since it last rained – 0

It was a special night here. We had a babysitter, and we had concert tickets.

And it was Andrew WK.

Musical interlude: Andrew WK – “She Is Beautiful”

A bit of history:

Andrew WK’s first album, I Get Wet, came out in 2001, and quickly became a fast favorite. It was a perfectly orchestrated album of party anthems with titles like “Party Hard,” “It’s Time To Party” and “Party Til You Punk.” The songs were motivating, uplifting, energetic and fun.

At the time, Nicole and I were both working in an ad agency that was really an ad agency in name only. Sweatshop may have been a better name, based on the hours we were putting in. I Get Wet was an album that got heavy play on late nights in the office.

When we started racing mountain bikes, I Get Wet was constantly played on the way to the trail.

When we joined a gym, I Get Wet was always on my iPod while I ran the treadmill.

I saw Andrew WK a few times over the years in big venues, and the shows were always the expected party they should be. And while his subsequent albums were nowhere as exciting as I Get Wet, the songs from that album always figured heavily in the playlists.

Nicole has taken some amazing photos of the guy over the years, too.

Now, with I Get Wet turning 10 years old, Andrew WK had set out on an anniversary tour, playing the album in its entirety. Being here, I missed him in Detroit and Chicago, where friends from both towns said it was great. I was quite bummed.

Then, it was announced he’d be here, and I knew we had to go.

So our lovely Canadian babysitter came over (threatening to expose the Kitten to Rush, but Andrew WK was well worth the risk) and we set out to a venue we’d never been to – The Bitterzoet.

You never know what to expect from a new venue, but I didn’t expect this.

It was tiny.

Not only were we going to see I Get Wet performed in its entirety, but we were seeing it in a tiny, intimate venue.

It truly was time to party.

We got a spot in the front at the side of the stage, and watched the madness ensue.

Not only was the venue tiny, but the stage was as well, maybe 12-15 feet wide, and yet they fit three guitarists, a bassist, a drummer, a backup singer and Andrew WK with his keyboards in there.

And from second one, it was insane.

Again, like when I went to the Occii, I can’t say enough about the coolness of Amsterdam crowds at shows. Everyone is just there to drink, dance, and have a good time. There are no tough guys in the crowd, and nobody’s idea of a good time involves reducing someone else’s ability to have a good time.

The band came out with Andrew WK in his trademark white jeans and white t-shirt and powered through the album. The crowd was a sweaty dancing mass, and we all sang along to every lyric, with it striking me how relevant those songs are to me, still today.

I was chanting “You gotta keep up, gotta keep going” along with the song “Gotta Do It” and it was exciting and emotional, realizing how much this song has played in my life, from biking (“When you’re down on your luck, you gotta do it. And you’re covered in mud, you gotta do it”), to life in general and to packing up our lives and moving away to every time I’ve felt down (“We were nothing but kids on top, never gonna stop. We never let down, we gotta keep up”.), and this was by no means the only song that has that weight.

I could load this post down with quotes of Andrew WK lyrics that I find inspirational, but that could get old.

Anyway, eventually they hammered through the whole album, wrapping up with “Don’t Stop Living In The Red,” and left the stage, with the crowd chanting “We Want Fun.”

Here’s the thing with “We Want Fun”:

I had mentioned that all his best stuff was on I Get Wet. This is true, minus one song. “We Want Fun” is a track he did for the Jackass Soundtrack and also was on an older EP. It’s almost like the missing track from I Get Wet, and is needed for the full experience.

The band came back out and played a set of the newer stuff. The crowd partied, respectfully, but at a lower intensity than before. Everyone just wanted one more thing – fun. The band really could have killed that second set and just played “We Want Fun” and called it a night, and everyone would have been happy.

Eventually they left the stage to everyone chanting “we want fun,” before coming out for one final song.

Yes. “We Want Fun.”

The crowd went nuts again.

We made our way back out onto the street, sweaty and happy. We walked down the Spau, making our way to the tram stop on Dam Square. Nicole noted that the first time we walked that stretch of the Spau was just five days into our trip here, looking for Recycled Cycles. We’d been here less than a week, my bike had been stolen, and we hated it here.

Now, as we walked that same street late at night in a city we’re considering home, we sang Andrew WK songs, and remarked on how much we loved it here.

We took the tram back to the Pijp, grabbed a couple doner kebabs, and relieved the babysitter. It was an awesome night, and not bad for Nicole’s last night in the city.

For a bit.

Tomorrow she heads to Paris to work for a few days, and I’ll be going solo with the Kitten. That’s another adventure, but for now, we wanted fun and we got it.

Number of days in Amsterdam – 314

Number of days without a bike theft – 310

Days since it last rained – 0

Let’s be clear on this. I realize how wonderfully fortunate we are with the disposition of our Kitten. She’s a sweet-tempered baby who is almost always happy, is very sweet-tempered and very loving. She sleeps through the night for the most part, loves going out and about, loves being where the people are, thrives on busy environments and is an all-around joy to have.

But sometimes we all have bad days.

I don’t know if it’s teething, a poor night’s sleep or just a case of the Mondays (yes, I know it’s a Tuesday, but the Kitten doesn’t keep track of these things), but the Kitten woke up on the wrong side of the bed crib this morning.

All morning long, she was just grumbly, fussy and foul-tempered. I called her Mr. Grumblepants all day, which may have possibly worsened your mood. Seriously, when you’re in a bad mood, how annoying is it to have people point it out to you?

I took her to lunch with her boyfriend, where some playing lightened the mood, but even that wasn’t enough, it eventually soured again. She barely napped, and instead wallowed in a pit of grumpiness.

And then I took her out again, this time to a Chinese restaurant in the center of the city, for a going away party for one of the Canadian contingency.

Now a note on this Chinese restaurant: I’m sure you’ve seen many such places in any big city. It’s the sort of place with no name; a sign declaring “Chinese Restaurant” simply points it out for what it is, and based on that, it would never merit a second glance on our part. But our friend who resides in Hilversum took us there one night, and in addition to having the best dumplings I’ve ever had everywhere, it seems to have everyone’s favorite something or other. It’s one of those places that’s always there, hidden in plain sight.

When I put Mr. Grumblepants in the carrier and set out on the train, she passed out, and stayed asleep when I got to the restaurant. I hoped the mood had passed.

My hopes were for naught, because first she started grumbling, and then she started wailing. Both Mama and I took turns standing and rocking her which would quiet her briefly, but I believe that may have even been so she could regain her strength for another round of loud vocal protest.

We made the executive decision that we should devour our food as quickly as possible (a shame, because I had the Peking Duck, a dish I never got to try in the States because it’s always the most expensive dish on the menu, but here it was the same price as all the others, and it was exqusite!), pay, bid farewell, and head home.

The Kitten didn’t cry heading home, but did sit in the carrier, sullen, grumbly, very much awake.

We got her home and got ready to start the bedtime rituals, when she picked up Miss Cat and started giggling and playing.

And just like that, just like a fever breaking, her bad mood ended. She played for a bit and went to bed.

Mr. Grumblepants has left the building.

For now.

Number of days in Amsterdam – 313

Number of days without a bike theft – 309

Days since it last rained – 0

Mornings here start pretty much the same every day. The Kitten starts her stirring just before it’s time to get up (we really don’t need an alarm clock, only for the rare days she decides to sleep in), kicking her mobile on if she just wants some entertainment, or fussing if she actually needs attention.

We have a short discussion over who will make the bottle and who will collect her out of her crib to change her. It’s a toss up either way. Making the bottle involves going downstairs and getting everything ready, while changing the diaper, while seeming much more abhorrent, is a much shorter trip through the bedroom.

Today I went down to make the bottle.

And discovered we had no hot water.

First I told Nicole of the situation, the used the electric kettle to heat some water for the bottle, then went to look at the boiler.

It was working.

Too well.

While it wasn’t making hot water, the thermostat was trying to heat the flat to 25° (for those of you on the Fahrenheit scale, that’s something between 400 and a million degrees), so the place was getting hot.

I fired off a quick email to the landlord, and Nicole took a cold shower before grumbling her way off to the office.

While I waited to hear back from the landlord, I turned off the boiler, as it was just getting too hot in the flat. After a while, I decided to check it out, and turned it back on again. It was working fine.

When I heard back from the landlord, she told me there was a reset button on the side to hit if this happens. I had accomplished the same thing by turning it off and on.

So, problem solved.

Except for that part where Mama went to work after a cold shower.

We’re getting into an American cuisine kick here, and by that I mean we’ve started getting Domino’s Pizza delivered once or twice a week. It’s cheap, it’s better than a lot of pizza here, it’s better than Domino’s back home, and it just does the job.

My friend in the states sent me a link to this video of a Domino’s electric scooter here in Amsterdam, but I’m not sure if it’s the same one that delivers to our ‘hood, as the scooter is always parked when I go downstairs to get the pizza.

For non-Dutch readers, “lekker” is one of my favorite Dutch words. It’s an all-purpose adjective, meaning tasty or delicious when applied to food, but it also can just mean that something is generally good.

“Super lekker” is also a useable phrase.

And Domino’s here is, in fact, quite lekker.

That’s a sideline, though, because we didn’t have Domino’s tonight. We made our own pizzas, with pizza crust from the grocery store, and a tone of fresh vegetables and buffalo mozzarella.

This was super lekker.

As we made it, the Kitten supervised, and we told her that when she gets older, we’ll make pizzas together.

It’s really hard, because you’re looking forward to all the things you’ll be able to do with the baby as she gets older, playing in the park, teaching her to ride a bike, making pizzas, but at the same time I don’t want to wish away the wonderful little tiny thing she is. As it is, we’ll be out and about and see people with tiny babies, and it’s already a little sad, knowing she’ll never be that tiny again.

It’s best to just go along and love every moment of it.

We’re also already looking at toy kitchens. Of course it won’t be for a while, but she’s going to have an awesome toy kitchen. And while we don’t have the kitchen yet, we’ve started stocking it.

Albert Heijn is currently giving away these awesome little packages for toy kitchens, shown here with an American quarter for size.

Right now, we have two pannekoeken mixes, and two pizzas.

We go to Albert Heijn enough that her pantry will be fully stocked before no time.

Super lekker.

Kitten did not have pizza for dinner. She had carrots.

Fiercely independent, and also wanting to imitate mom and dad, we have had no success feeding her just yet, but if she sits in your lap, at the table, she is very fond of feeding herself.

Spoons have a design flaw when it comes to babies, though, as they’re not quite sure how to wrap their lips around the bowl of the spoon in order to get the food out. Mama took to putting globs of carrot on the bottom of the spoon so Kitten could get a mouthful.

But sitting in Mama’s lap, eating with the grownups and feeding herself, she was really beaming with pride. And the parenting books say one should only expect to feed them a teaspoon of food or so the first few times, and she had much more than that.

She thought the whole experience was super lekker.

Then we took her to the bath to wash the carrots out of her ears.

Good thing we have hot water again.

Number of days in Amsterdam – 310-312

Number of days without a bike theft – 306-308

Days since it last rained – 0

Remember when you were a kid, and a year lasted forever? It seemed like ages between your birthdays, or from Christmas to Christmas, and even vacations and weekends, while always too short, also stretched on full of endless possibilities.

As you get older, the days fly by, as do the years, and a weekend is accomplished in a flash. As was this one.

Friday called for a boy’s night out. I went with friends to the Occii to see a handful of Dutch bands and one from the UK. The amazing thing was that there were some seriously historic bands from the Dutch scene, and yet they were all new to me. But they were amazing, and the night out was much needed. The crowd was very friendly, conducting themselves by old school rules, and the pit was a fun, sweaty dancing mass.

I had an exchange with a Dutch friends after the finish of one band’s set.

“What do you think of them?” He asked.

“I really liked them,” I said.

“Really, I think they’re too political and preachy for my taste.”

“Well, they were singing in Dutch, so I really don’t know what they were saying. It just sounded good.”

It was the sort of fun night that used to happen quite often, where we wandered back to a friend’s house for a bit, with me riding my bike home at around three in the morning.

One reason that sort of thing is so rare, is that the Kitten doesn’t mind how late you were up, when she’s ready to start the day, she’s ready.

But it was a really awesome Saturday, so I’m glad she kicked it into gear.

Saturday was a perfect spring day, warm and sunny, which meant we couldn’t waste it sleeping in. We instead wandered around the city, wandering through the market and finding a new little boutique bakery called Poptasi, that makes macaroons. Macaroons are the new hot thing, it seems, but after devouring some chocolate chili flavored soft, squishy delectable sweets, I see why.

Then we made our way through Rembrandtplein (which oddly looks so much smaller without its Christmas Market filling it up), and on to Waterlooplein, where we perused the flea market before stopping at a cafe for some snacks and people watching by a canal.

Then it was back to the Pijp, where we met up with friends to drool over some beautiful custom bakfiets at a bike show before gravity drew us to another cafe, for more snacks and drinks. Someday, we’ll own one of these bikes built for taking a baby around the ‘Dam, but for now the price (around €1,200-1,500) makes it just as unattainable as a car in this town. Also, if we do, ours probably won’t be this nice.

Saturday just couldn’t end yet, so the Canadian embassy ended up at our flat for burgers grilled on the balcony and – what else – Settlers of Catan. We can be so predictable.

Sunday, we sat down with the Kitten, asking her what she’d like to do. We’d dragged her around town all day on Saturday, and were ready to do a day just for her. She briefly contemplated the zoo, but the weather had turned cold and rainy, so that wasn’t a possibility. She then thought about going to the Tropenmuseum, before settling on the idea that she might like to spend the day with her boyfriend.

So we met him (with his parents) at Gollem’s Proeflokaal. A Belgian place with a large selection of beer, Gollem is cozy and warm, with intimate little booths that allow for eating, drinking, conversation and discrete handholding, albeit under the watchful eye of parents and the resident restaurant cat.

Afterward, we went back to her boyfriend’s house for real homemade Dutch pannenkoeken, made with bacon, which has henceforth ruined me forever from the things that the touristy places try to pass off as authentic pancakes.

I think Kitten and her boyfriend really enjoyed their day together, and mom and dad enjoyed the splurge on a cab ride home, rather than the train. So thanks to the parents of the Kitten’s boyfriend for the hospitality, the company, and the springing for the cab as mama and I were not carrying cash.

We will get you back. If not sooner, we’ll settle up when the time comes to pay for a wedding.

So, while the weekends are flying by, perhaps it’s a sign of our getting older, but I’d rather think it’s because we have made amazing friends here to make the time fly by with.

Number of days in Amsterdam – 307-309

Number of days without a bike theft – 303-305

Days since it last rained – 0

Some weeks it’s just about maintaining, holding the course, and business as usual.

This was one of those weeks.

I think part of it was its being a four-day work week. That’s something that looks really nice on its face, but actually translates into “hey, here’s five days worth of work. Can you do it in four?”

So mama would roll out of bed each day and head to her office, while daddy would roll out of bed, scoop up the Kitten and head a much shorter distance to his office, and the day begins.

At times like this, when everything is business as usual, it’s easy to forget that you’re living in one of the most amazing cities in the world.

The Kitten hasn’t forgotten, though. In fact, she’s been a bit swept up in the nightlife. About every other night, she’s been ready to party. But she understands that the best parties don’t really get going until late, so she needs to be her best, which means she goes to sleep between nine and ten, sleeping until two or three. This is when she wakes up, ready to rock for a few hours.

While mom and dad can appreciate her youthful exuberance, the execution isn’t always appreciated.

Sometimes, she just wants to listen to music, and has figured out that she can kick the button to her mobile to turn it on. OK, the first few times it flipped on at four AM were a bit disturbing, and we’ve grown accustomed enough to it that we barely wake up to its digitized classical jams.

But other nights, she wants everyone to party. And will scream until it’s done, with someone up, holding and rocking her.

I do hope this is just a phase.

Thursday night, we had a fun experience that made this neighborhood feel much more homey. Thursday’s are starting to become the traditional Family Date Night, where the three of us put the Kitten in the stroller and head to one of our cherished local establishments for a family dinner out. More often than not, we have been heading to Restaurant De 3 Vrienden (“The 3 Friends”), where the staff is nice, the food is good, and there’s space to park a pram.

Once again, we headed there, to be greeted warmly by the staff – out of recognition. Our server came over to talk, showing us the menu that we’d not seen before, and telling us about his favorites, and even bringing us out some tasting samples of the new dishes. We both ended up going with Grilled Iberico pork with a sherry sauce. Delish!

I had just about sampled everything I wanted on the old menu, figuring out my faves, and now they thrust a new menu at me, as well as treating us as regulars. I am up to this challenge!

Provided, of course, the little one will let me get a full night’s sleep afterward.