Of course, I stayed up too late last night, but how could I resist watching Rintje skate ? While he did not win this time, at least Rintje made a bundle touting Sanex products, unlike Yvonne van Gennip who was never quite able to cash in on the three gold medals she won in 1988.
The Father and I always have felt badly that Yvonne van Gennip wasn’t an American. If she had been, she would have made oodles of money, pushing milk perhaps or toothpaste. Instead, she started a sandwich shop awhile back that floundered and has rather become submerged into the masses once again.

Recently, Wednesdays have become no-Jo days. On Wednesdays, Mr. Jo takes off to the ‘mert’ ( the market), which is rather slow this time of year, so he spends his day doing crossword puzzles in between selling his wares. He sells the seconds, the left-overs and the return orders from ‘the company’. He also has one of those machines that puts a transfer on a t-shirt. So if you are looking for a t-shirt with Mr. Ed’s head on it, Mr. Jo is your man. I tend to luxuriate in the stillness of a no-Jo house.

Since coming down with this cold, I have been looking forward to this afternoon , everyone’s schedule was coming together in perfect alignment for me to take a nap : The Boy has a birthday party from 2 to 5, The Girl and Nelanie are going to play with some girl from Nelanie’s school, and The Baby ( poor wretch) now has the cold, as well as a blocked tear duct, so will surely sleep today. I love to sleep, and I am tired. As The Father left for work this morning, I gloated ‘I’m gonna take a nap, I’m gonna take a nap…’. I was so excited by the thought of my nap, that I actually did some housework today. I dusted. Then I pulled out the vacuum cleaner ( which that cretin Henk spilled a LOT of red paint on yesterday…), plugged it in, and the door bell rang. It was the guy from the heating company, what in the world did he want ? Oh, you’re going to put the new boiler in ? Where is Jo ? ( Well, my friend, Mr. Jo really doesn’t live here, contrary to popular belief) Oh, Jo doesn’t work on Wednesdays.

I watched them lug in esoteric parts for 20 minutes. I tried to finish up the vacuuming, but felt very uncomfortable about doing it ‘in public’ . It seems that ‘cleaning house’ is one of those things, like shaving my legs, that I prefer to do in private.

Then they told me they were going for lunch and would be back at 1. No way this will be a quick job. Bye-bye nap !

I’m still pretty sick, guess I picked up the flu from The Boy. I actually only very rarely get sick ( the last time was over two years ago, when I came down with the wildly romantic sounding Puerperal fever after The Baby was born ), and I know why . Because it simply sucks to be ill when you are what they call a ‘stay at home mom’. As long as you can walk, life continues as usual.

I only watch 2 sports these days : speed skating and the Tour. So I really enjoyed watching Gerard van Velde get gold last night.

I have a cold.

No, the kids don’t call me ‘mummy’. I’m not the ‘mummy’ type. They call me ‘mama’ or ‘ma’, with a slight yodel on the ‘a’.

Because of this, our house sounds like it is inhabited by a small flock of sheep.

Bleating.

The Boy : Wheresa tomadoe ?
Mummy Dearest: What ?
The Boy : Wheresa tomadoe ?
Mummy Dearest: Well, in a can or on a plant.
The Boy : In Pissa ?
Mummy Dearest:; Yes, it can be on pizza. It’s in the sauce.
The Boy : No, a TOMADO. You know, it’s all windy, goes round and round. Wheresa tomado ?
Mummy Dearest: A tornado, Boy. They are in Kansas, where Dorothy was from, far away from here.

( again, an acceptable answer)

I spent my morning looking for a hotel in Rennes , which is now always followed by the question : “Why the hell are we going to Rennes , of all places ?”. I have put this off for I believe 4 months. I have tried to get Win to do it, I have tried to get The Father to do it. But somehow it has always landed back in my court. The idea of finding a hotel in Rennes has become a stomach twisting source of shame : I can’t believe I have put it off for so long.

On Monday, I set myself a goal : this week I would find a hotel in Rennes. So this morning I pulled out the three hotel-in-France guides that Cecile lent us the last time we played cards with her. Of course, they are all in french. My french goes this far : I can misspell tres in four different ways on any given day. But finding a hotel in Rennes was surprisingly easy : the highest rated one in all three guides was a Novotel. Not up there in the same league as the Sheraton we stayed in in London, I’m sure it hasn’t a gram of charm, but at least there won’t be cooties in the sheets or on the toilet seat. There, she is done.

The Boy : Can we get a chimpanzee ?
Mummy Dearest : No, I don’t think so.
The Boy : Pippi has one.
Mummy Dearest: Well, I guess that she has a bigger yard than we do.

( It worked. This was an acceptable answer.)

I am watching the clock : at three, Mr.Jo leaves, and that is when my weekend begins.

Everyone at the office loved my photos. I woke up this morning trying to decide if it was a simple enough task for The Baby to have done, but decided no, The Boy could have done it. All it really took was an enormous amount of patience ( I could literally watch hair grow waiting for those files to open) and the ability to look at the same three faces for 12 hours ( I never want to see those models again. I know every mole on their faces, the twist of their eyebrow hairs, the pose they think is most flattering…).

One thing I have always disliked about ‘free lancing’ for ‘The Company’ occurred last night : the kids are in bed, the dinner cleaned up, I’m going to sit and watch something on TV. The Father leans over and dumps a pile of papers in my lap. ” Could you go over these ?”. “Now?”. “If you can .”( which means yes, now). So I’m going through this pile of papers ( it has to do with trying to sell some of their line in the States) and the more I read of it, the more I am smelling ‘Scam’. So while Fred took off to go bowling with Barney, I’m back on the computer, doing mega searches on Google for this company. I find nothing on the company, nothing on the director of this company. The pancake house in our town has a site, why doesn’t this respectable place ? Or am I just, as usual , being overly paranoid ( I’m one of those people who is suspicious of everyone. You should see me in a cab. I’m always sure I am being screwed by the cabby.)

But still, I find it very suspicious.

Mummy Dearest: Shit, this is the last cigarette.
Mummy Dearest: That means I’m going to have to go into the kitchen.
Mummy Dearest: Again.
Mummy Dearest: Shit.

Ah, at last. The real reason that I am so glad it is Friday.

As the week progresses, the honeymoon- like relations between Mr.Jo and I become strained. As he becomes more tired, he becomes more demanding of my attention, more demanding of my appropriate display of interest and appreciation of his skills. He is very skilled at what he does, he’s definitely a craftsman. But by Friday, I’m tired of staring at things I don’t know the English words for. Hell, I probably don’t even know the dutch words for them, as he speaks in dialect, not ABN. I scuttle in and out of the kitchen, avoiding his eyes. And I have to scuttle a lot, with the three kids here, always wanting something to drink, spilling something to drink or filling their diaper with something to drink.

Take today. First thing in the morning, I am simply a flattery-beast, very good indeed. I look at the ceiling and agree with him, it is indeed a puzzle-werk ( complicated. According to Mr. Jo, everything in our house is complicated. That comes with all of the charming nooks and crannies : complicated). Checking my mail, I see That The Father has sent a note for Mr.Jo, so I obediently go to the kitchen to deliver the message. There I am delayed for 5 or 10 minutes, while the affects of floor heating on some ‘stuff’ ( I don’t know the English word for it) we have poured on the floor to equalize it are explained to me. In detail. I keep a pleasantly interested look on my face and listen to the different sounds resulting from tapping different areas of the floor. He explains to me how we will fix this damage. I nod in agreement. I then hear about the effect floor heating has on the glue ( ‘stuff’) used to stick tiles on the floor. I put a concerned, interested look on my face. I then hear how we will tackle this problem. I am in full agreement. I scuttle out.

Since then , I have admired a beam in the ceiling twice, once when it was propped up, once when it was very firmly secured ( after all, I agreed, we don’t want it to fall on our heads while we are eating dinner, do we ?) . I have admired a long, expensive screw used to attach the aforementioned beam to the ceiling….I do believe I am giving a general idea of why I am glad it is Friday. Plus, I do believe my cheeks hurt.

It was also drawn to my attention yesterday that I have forgotten to mention that Mr. Jo and Mr. Jan are brothers. They are brothers. They come from a very large family, I think that there are 11 siblings. I have met many of them. Yesterday, yet another brother ( his name slips my memory. I did shake hands with him and exchange names, as one does, but, well it’s gone) stopped by. Let’s see. This is one that handles in old metal and junk. He picked up the old fridge, dishwasher and scrap metal. He came with a big truck. I discovered, during one of my scuttles, that the truck contained perhaps 3 other people as well. I was rather surprised to open my kitchen door and find what for all of the world looked like a convention of retired Hell’s Angels, but I kept my composure. When Mr. Jo said that he had made the lads a cup of coffee, I asked , politely, if they had enough coffee milk. And scuttled out again.

Traudl Junge, Hitler’s last secretary, died Sunday night. As we watch every documentary that is shown covering WWll, she is a familiar face. It seems that a 90 minute documentary, The Blind Spot , has been made about her recollections. This is now on my ‘Must See’ list.

The police continue looking for the rest of Rowena Rikkers. According to the Brabants Dagblad , the police have recently drained a small pond near the area where one of her hands was found. The drained pond was gone over by trained dogs and raked over, but nothing was found.

The mother and the boyfriend remain in custody. On Feb. 28, the courts will decide if they are to be held for another 30 days.

This case upsets me to no end. I can’t imagine a mother watching someone hack her child into pieces and then tripping off to Spain with him . Of course, they are both innocent until proved guilty.