Tomorrow The Girl starts taking her eindcito. For three mornings in a row, she will be taking a cumulative test of what I have learned in the last 8 years. Her end score- combined with the school’s recommendation ( we all remember that : The Girl will be happiest if she grows up to be a sanitation worker) – will determine which school she may attend next.

In theory.

In practice, it seems that the eindcito is already out of fashion. For the last two weeks, she and The Father have been visiting various schools and so far, none of them seem very concerned about what The Girl’s present school thinks of her abilities or of what the eindcito may or may not reveal.

But The Girl and The Father have narrowed down the options to two schools in The Big City. One school has 2000 students, the other 340 and since The Girl seems to have no obvious favorite, we will probably push for the smaller school, for it impressed the shit out of The Father and received a very good rating in a well thought of dutch magazine.

Oddly enough, on paper the school was The Father’s last choice, but having visited it he feels that it would be the best place for The Girl.

We will see.

Carnival is starting soon. I have come to loathe carnival.

First, there is The Boy. The Boy wants to dress up like Austin Powers. Now, despite the fact that absolutely no one in his school has ever heard of Austin Powers, The Boy has drawn me a picture of the outfit he wants : little blue jacket, blue pants, red shirt, red tie and goofy, clunky glasses. Now, watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat…

The Girl wants a cheap white lab coat, that is what the kids her age wear during carnival, and people scribble all over it for four days. One would think that this would be simple, as The Girl’s father produces work wear, including lab coats. Only, after examining his samples of beautiful lab coats , coats that almost sell themselves, she has said that that isn’t what she wants. No, she wants a cheap, white lab coat. Of course, there are no cheap, white lab coats in our Town, nor anywhere I can get to by bus. We are going to have to beg The Father for a ride to the carnival store, just no way around that.

For The Baby needs a red wig, as she wants to be a mermaid. I have told her- numerous times- that I can not make a red wig for her, but these words go in one perfect little ear and out the other.

She needs a red wig.

I have sent The Father an email, begging….

This year is proving to be a very bad year for town indeed. After almost a century, the shipyard is closing it’s doors, putting 120 people out of work. And equally upsetting is the fact that both the drug store in town as well as the DIY store are closing.

The DIY store will become a deli, selling exclusive fancy foods and catering to the tourists. Who knows what will come into the old drug store, perhaps another over- priced boutique or art gallery which is only opened during the weekends.

In an article that he wrote for the local paper, the butcher pointed out what a dangerous trend this was becoming, something that threatens the very existence of town as a town, a place where people are born, are raised and live their lives. Each time one of the essential stores in town closes, it makes it harder to live here, and if this trend continues, town could just become another open air museum, no longer a functioning village.

As it is, since we have moved here the nursery school closed, the well- baby office closed, the pet store, a baker, a grocery store, the post office and City Hall all shut their doors. In return, we now have a rather large liquor store, three new antique stores and a clothing shop which sells boots that cost 800 euro. Oh- and how could I forget ?- we are getting a mammoth visitor’s center, complete with a miniature version of town which takes up entire floor of our former City Hall.

Yesterday, the light on one of my fish tanks went out. Normally, I would just go to the DIY store to buy a new one. Now I have to wait until The Father can hit a store in some other town.

My fish live in darkness for the time being.

While I never planned it this way, I’m glad that I am an older mother.

Last night, I bumped into The Boy in the kitchen. As he poured himself a soda and I poured myself a glass of wine, we some how began talking about mothers and age.

I found myself telling him that I never planned on being so old when I had him, but really, what was the choice ? Not have him ? I told him of that wonderful birthday that I had had, when the envelope from the hospital appeared on our door mat, the letter telling me that the baby was fine and a boy. I have always been lucky that way, each baby being exactly what I wished for, girl, boy, girl.

It doesn’t seem to bother him – what does he know- and he went on to tell me that one girl in his class had a mother who was 15 when she was born.

I said , hmmm. But my mind was doing the math : maybe- because this is the Netherlands- a child may live at home for 25 years. After that, you are being selfish, I suppose, and sure to be raising your own little version of Norman Bates.

Imagine, I thought during those few seconds, being 40 and your family life is over. Forever, really. One might have 30, 40 years left to go, 30, 40 years to remember the lost, good times, back when one was part of a family.

I’m very glad I’m an older mother, for I won’ t have to live for decades in a world haunted by bittersweet memories.

Today in history class, The Boy’s teacher brought up the subject of family history, of ancestors. The Boy was enormously proud to be able to raise his hand and say that a member of his family, a very, very long time ago, met Lincoln.

Of course, none of the other children had any idea who Lincoln was, but the teacher did.

And so did The Boy.

Comments are closed for …maintenance. I figure it will take me about a week to clean up the mess.

Yes, the nasty spam bot hit my comments, at last, at last.

This evening, hanging over the remains of our Jachtschotel ( doesn’t that sound fancy ? Now, lean very closely and I shall whisper in your ear : it’s a casserole. You can’t fool me, that’s what it is. It’s made with mashed potatoes, onions, apples and left over meat. But wait ! We never have any left over meat, so first, I have to make meat to be left over), The Father and I caught up with our week. Sometimes life is like that. In fact, yesterday, he gave me his travel schedule for the next few months. After he had finished, I said ‘So, basically, you are home for dinner tomorrow and will be back before we go to Portugal ?’ A brief moment of panic crossed his face, he quickly asked me when that was. First week of May. Yep, he can make it.

So, he’s telling me all about the new company, this that and the other thing and before I know it, his stare is stabbing into my eyes as he says ‘You know, it’s a simple job. You could do it, but you don’t want to. ‘ I do believe that I was supposed to feel guilty or lazy, or perhaps both. But I didn’t, I don’t.

I don’t want to work full time, out of the house. We are lucky enough that we don’t need the money ( sure, we would enjoy it, but need it ? Nope.) In fact, the only reason I work at all is because The Father is totally convinced that it is good for me, something to keep me from feeling like Rosie, that robot in The Jetsons, even though I have told him, time and time again, that the only thing that I wanted to be when I grew up was the recipient of a trust fund.

Oh, there was a time when I had to work. Grave miscalculations on the part of our bookkeeper found us living in a house that we could not afford and so I saddled up my bike and earned a paycheck. I worked for 7 years, until The Boy was born. And then realized that The Father and I were burning out at both ends and that I didn’t have enough time in a day to teach The Boy English.

The tempo was murderous, I don’t know how people can keep it up, year after year. Especially now that the children are older and seem to need even more time, of a different sort.

I’ll just take my box of bon- bons, thank you, and the life of leisure.

I have never felt compelled to prove anything.

Finishing up my CDs for The Lounge , I realized that I can’t listen to music and actually think at the same time. I seem to be too busy listening to the music, leaves no room for me.

Or something like that.

Whatever bug I caught was a regular steamroller, baby. Today I could walk, but my heart was in the bed.

Nasty cold, this one.

A few weeks ago, when a VIP client ( you know, the one that sponsors the team that shall not be named) asked The Father if it would be possible to have a small, secure website put up, so that employees could easily review work wear options, The Father- being such an agreeable chap- said sure, no problem.

He came home and told me what they wanted and I said sure, no problem. It’s a pretty simple thing and simple is my middle name. And as a last by- the- way, he told me that my name would be attached to this site. I don’t know how, I only know that it has never been attached to anything else that I’ve done for them, so now why ?

A poor designer at the best of times, this news did not inspire me as it might have others. It has been more of an oh shit thing. Until today. For some reason, when I opened up my software this morning, I knew exactly what I wanted. And – for a change- everything went smoothly, graphics, layers, positioning, works in IE and Mozilla. The dummy ( or whatever you call a working draft) is being well received- so far.

And no, I won’t be flashing it around here, for I never design anything flashy. It is just a clean, simple site which does what it supposed to do.

But I am pleased, for designing is not my strongest point.

I have been asleep since…last Wednesday ? I know that I slept all of Thursday ( during which sleep I decided that my brain had a search engine, although a much more confusing one than Google, in that contents of sectors of the brain were listed in no order at all- enough to keep anyone asleep-), most of Friday and half of today.

Needless to say, when I finally awoke this morning, I sortof had food on my mind. I was fearsome hungry and my hair needs a good wash. While not feeling wan, I did indeed feel peckish : the only thing that I wanted to eat was fresh salsa. The thought of anything else made me want to head back to my bed.

And so I dressed, brushed my teeth, hung my shopping bag over my arm and went to the fruit store, where I bought two limes. After which, I took a three hour nap.

Having regained my strength, I minced everything up and now it is chilling and melding , one would hope, in the fridge.

Getting old- at times- sucks. Where are the days when a bag of M&M’s and a jar of dry roasted peanuts would solve the problems of the world ?

Fresh salsa, what a spoiled wretch I am. And, well, isn’t it almost embarrassingly healthy?

Bah ! Age.