Number of days in Amsterdam – 106
Number of days without a bike theft – 102
Days since it last rained – 0
Let me introduce you to a corner of the flat, heretofore unknown on these pages.
This particular corner hasn’t been used for much, other than to hold a car seat and a few boxes of baby clothes. This all changes tomorrow. Tomorrow it becomes a nursery.
So, as I was out and about, I took notice of a bunch of shrill, shrieky little creatures just up the street. In the Netherlands, they’re known as tienermeisjes, but we have something similar in the states.
We call them teenage girls.
It’s not the first time I’ve noticed how loud, piercing and high-pitched they can be, but this was the first time I followed up that thought with “Oh no, I’m going to have one of those in just a few short years.”
Ouch.
I’ve started to notice that shift in perspective in a few places. At one time, a crying baby in a restaurant or next door would have elicited thoughts of “Can’t you shut that kid up?” or “Couldn’t you leave the kid at home?”
Now it’s more like “I’m going to have one of those. Oh crap, I’M GOING TO HAVE ONE OF THOSE.”
To be fair, neither extreme is entirely accurate, and the change in perspective started when my friends started having kids, but I have found myself much more sympathetic to frazzled parents in public as they desperately try to calm down an infant on meltdown or get their check so they can make a hasty retreat (and I have noticed that one can calm a baby faster than one can get their check in this town, so the former is likely the better option).
So, today is a bit of teaser, urging you all to check in tomorrow, to see the nursery!
Also, for my friends in Detroit, I want to mention this:
GO TIGERS! GO LIONS!
For once we have a baseball team AND a football team worth being proud of!
Sometimes you get lucky. Gina, for example, is rarely shrill or shrieky. Plus, she was a very quiet baby, almost all of the time. She’s always preferred the companionship of boys to girls, too, so that means that she rarely brings over any shrill, shrieky visitors to the house; usually just quiet, slightly oily visitors who smelled vaguely of goat. Notice how I’m avoiding the topic of my other two girls? Shrill, shrieky … and sometimes I prefer the scent of goat to their fragrance selections. If you are perfume-sensitive, you need to talk about fragrance rules with the Kitten’s mother, ASAP. SQUEEEEE!