The small handful of dedicated readers I mentioned has probably shrunk to a pinch or a teaspoonful since my complete lack of posts during the past month.

An endless source of wonder and amusement are the search terms that have brought people to my pages.  Imagine going to Google and typing in ‘lump on vagina wall,’  ‘fat beauty queen,’ ‘naughty birthday cake’ or ‘Frida Kahlo eyebrows,’ for example, and ending up here on Are You Receiving Me? !  Not to mention ‘funny pubic hair’ or ‘four eyed snowman’ or ‘does giving dogs bananas help them not to….’ – very frustrating that last one as it was too long so I don’t know what giving bananas to dogs may or may not do. The dog and banana link is quite obvious to me; the lumpy vagina and the funny pubic hair are slightly more enigmatic.

OMG – I had just landed at JFK airport.   Even the name was exciting!  Although I was going to be working for a family in Virginia just outside Washington DC, all of the au pairs who had rendez-vous’ed at Gatwick and then been flown en masse across the pond were taken to a hotel for three nights in hot and steamy Manhattan.

The purpose of our three day sojourn in the most exciting city on earth was to be trained in the art of child and baby management.  (Three days?)  After half a morning’s tuition of how to play games like ‘peek-a-boo’ with baby and a blanket, my newly-acquired-on-the-plane Au Pair Friend (APF) and I decided that we knew it all already and if we didn’t we could wing it, so skived off Babycare Class and headed out into the land of yellow cabs, steaming manhole covers and the Empire State Building.

Actually we headed straight for Bloomingdales, (it was something we had heard of) and immediately through the revolving door Au Pair Friend was persuaded into the Clinique chair at the cosmetics counter and given a real 80’s makeover, with bright blue eyeshadow and big lips and eyelashes.  She looked like Aunt Sally from Worzel Gummidge by the time they had finished with her.  I cracked up laughing every time I looked at her and the reaction she got when walking back in just before the end of ‘How to make mush for baby’s lunch’  was really something to see.

Browsing the cosmetics counter whilst waiting for APF, I did actually buy a deep petrol-blue eyeshadow that I still have and still occasionally use!!  Hmmm, that would definitely fail the latest UK craze of going through women’s makeup bags and telling them how far past its sell by date everything is.  I doubt even Clinique makeup has a 22 year shelf life.  Mind you, worse than that is an Estee Lauder blusher bought in all innocence when I was or 16 or so.  I had used my mum’s as an eyeshadow and decided I liked the pink-eye effect so headed out into town to purchase my own.  I had never even heard of Estee Lauder at that stage, so didn’t realise the extortionate price I would be charged once I reached the cash desk.  It cost about £5 and I was too embarrassed and shocked to put it back and wouldn’t use it at first (too scared) and then too worried I’d use it all up.  I still have that blusher, although the hinges on the lid have broken.  Not bad though for 29 year old hinges!!!  I think that blusher and eyeshadow will probably outlive me.

Return travel to baby classes in a yellow cab was deemed a must, although not before a large salty pretzel had been consumed from the street vendor followed by the largest ice creams in the most amazing array of colours and flavours topped with the most amazing warm caramel sauce.  The pretzel vendor actually tried to overcharge us, taking us for the gullible tourists that we were but we were onto him and felt incredibly smug not to have been caught out. The pretzels were good.  Mind you, we could have licked the pavement sidewalk and thought it tasted good, we were so smitten.

That first night in New York’s Roosevelt Hotel was an eyeopener.  Sorting ourselves into ’sleeping groups’  in the very impressive lobby area, we really thought we had arrived.  Once we got up to our box room on the eleventy hundredth floor however, our excitement diminished only slightly and it didn’t fade that much more during the sweltering night when we realised that the air conditioning was not working in our room, or perhaps installation didn’t reach that high up in the hotel.  Being both English and naïve, I opened the window to let some cool night air in.  Of course, there was none; only hot, sticky ribbons of suffocating air mixed with pollution, blaring horns (The City That Never Sleeps) and wisps of excitement.

In the morning we were all whisked off to a greasy diner (not unlike the one in Frankie and Johnnie, if memory serves, although ours was a lot dingier with nasty brown decor) and fed something called hash browns with bacon and syrup all on the same plate!!

Memories of the rest of that first visit to the Big Apple drift in and out of my hazy, ageing head. Well, we are talking 21 years ago.  Just think, the two children who were the lucky recipients of my childcare skills are now 23 and 20.  The younger one only entered this world one week after my arrival at her family home.  Not only that but a third one came along a year or so after my departure.

It transpired that although APF was in Maryland (in a place called Chevy Chase – named after the actor, of course…), a totally separate state to Virginia where I was, we were both a 20 minute drive from each other and downtown DC.   We spent a lot of our time that year discovering the US together, even taking trips to California, New England, Massachusetts and, of course, back to New York for New Year’s Eve to see the ball drop – and I don’t think I’d be ruining anything for anyone by mentioning that technically the ball is lowered (on a rope) not dropped.

That was the start of an amazing year that left me breathless.  I had the best time and the most fun and met such an array of totally brilliant people. The most unexpected things would happen any old time, like the day I went down to some anonymous metro station and bumped into Muhammad Ali on the platform.  He had about 6 security monkeys around him and would shakily sign a religious pamphlet and hand it to you if you asked for his  autograph. And yes, I did.

Looking back, it seems as though the rate at which time passes was ratched up a notch or two and three or four years were compressed down into one.  It’s true what they say about time flying…

Who is Queen of the Netherlands?

- Beatrix.

Who is the Queen of England?

(Pause for thought):

- Wait!  There is no queen of England!  There’s a president – Gordon Brown.  I thought he was dead though, until I was about 8.  Like George Bush – one of those famous people that died.

Who is Barack Obama?

- President of the United States.

When Dad and I go out and Fourteen babysits, where do we go?

- Out for dinner or to see a film  No, hang on, not to the cinema, Dad goes to the cinema on his own most of the time.

What does Fourteen do to annoy you?

- She doesn’t do what I ask.  She kicks me sometimes.  And pinches me.

What do you do to annoy Fourteen?

- I don’t do what she asks.  I don’t kick her, though – only pinch.

Where do babies come from?

- Errr – women’s thing – private part – ok, the front bit – the lower front bit.

If you have children, what will their names be?

- Don’t know because I’m not that old yet.

How much pocket money do you think you should get?  (Currently €2 per week.)

- €3 per week.

Who do you think is cleverest, Mum or Dad?

- Both – they’re as good as each other.  Dad’s better at computers.  Mum’s better at spelling (and Dutch.)

What do you want to be when you grow up?

- Don’t know.  I might be a policeman and chase baddies, or a fireman.

If you could be anyone else, who would you be?

- Myself.

Thank you, Ten, for this post.

When I say oldest, I don’t mean she’s elderly, merely that I have known her my entire life, so it is our friendship that is grey haired and doddery and growing superfluous chin whiskers, not her.

Whilst there, we visited lots of beautiful Devonian countryside and got to eat enormous slices of delicious cake with butter icing.  Tea was served in china pots and drunk from cups and saucers.

Here is the view from the window of one of the tea rooms we patronised in a place called Bimbley Plimsoll:

When we parked the car (on the red cliff to the right of the window) it was pouring the way it does in films but whilst we were inside gorging ourselves on cakes and sending our blood sugar levels through the roof, out came the sunshine and dried up all the rain.

Later the same day, we ended up at another beach somewhere near Verruca St Herbert.  Husband and I walked for an hour along the cliff tops to get there, savouring the views, the fresh air and the absence of steaming canine deposits.  Friend and the assorted offspring made their way there by car and met us on the beach.

Traditional English seaside pursuits entertained the wee ones for most of the afternoon.

The children even caught some Kryptonite which you can see lying by the side of this rock pool.

This cliff was christened by the children.  Hover over the photo to find out the majestic name they selected for it.

OK, so maybe it wasn’t the precise name chosen by the children but surely you see my point?

Anyway, a jolly time was had by all.  The Famous Five-style nostalgic day at the English sea side culminated in a trip to the tacky souvenir shop conveniently situated at the entrance to the beach, where the children were insistent that they really needed us to purchase some hideously over-priced, brightly coloured plastic tat made in China for them in order to round the day off nicely.

Incidentally, on the way home we saw this boat heading uphill into a storm.  I love the colours of this photo, which have not been messed with.

A little later, we noticed that Ten had disappeared.  Try as we might, we couldn’t see him anywhere.  The hungry fisheater offered to help us look for him.  I was about to admonish him for speaking with his mouth full (politely of course, as he was a stranger who had offered to help us) until I noticed just exactly what it was his mouth was full of:

The lanky fisheater had a whole noggin full of happy Ten, who told us the view was amazing from up there.

Honestly, what a headcase.

The Tuk-Tuk and the Bicycles

When you want to cross the canal on this little ferry, you have to catch the attention of the customers patronising the outdoor café (on the opposite bank) in the  hope that one of them will feel charitable and energetic enough to wind the squeaky handle that will pull the rope initiating movement across the water.  The white plastic jug suspended below the rail is for tips, should you feel so inclined.

Aahhh, those lazy, hazy, distant days of summer.

Fourteen: What languages do you think you’ll choose next year when you’re in Year 7, Ten?

Ten: Erm… I think I’d like to learn Napoleon.

Stifled guffaws from Fourteen.

Husband: Hmm, Napoleon, is that a language?  Where do they speak that?

Ten: At the North, um, you know, the North Pole.

Me: Are there people at the North Pole?  Who lives there, Ten?

Ten: The Inuits.

Fourteen: Napoleon’s not a language, Ten.

Pause.

Ten: Well, anyway.  I’d also like to learn that language that’s got a different alphabet with symbols.

Me: Like Arabic or Chinese, do you mean?

Ten: No. Hearts, squares, stars and hands, things like that.  You know.

Me: Do you mean Wingdings?!

Fourteen: You want to learn to speak Wingdings?  Ha ha.  That’s not a language, there aren’t any words.

Ten (Backpedalling furiously): No, I don’t want to learn how to speak it, just to write it.

Aww, that’s my boy!

Every other child in the country went back to school today apart from those attending the same school as my children, all of whom return after the two week Christmas break on Tuesday.  This is because Monday is an ‘inset’ day for the teachers.  A what?  How convenient that the ‘inset’ day should immediately follow the holidays.  Hmmm… I can’t help but be sceptical.

I go back to work on Wednesday afternoon, being a 50% part-timer working the latter half of the week and I’m really looking forward to that…  not.  Husband went back today but I don’t think he dreads his return to work as much as I do mine, fortunately for him.

Milly, our spare cat, (see previous post) went home yesterday.  The house is eerily quiet without the sporadic ther-dunk-dunk-dunk of cats fighting upstairs to interrupt the peace.  Stella has returned to her previous pace of life, pretending to be old and doddery at the grand old age of three and a half and is currently seated next to the lap top doing a fair impression of a nodding dog as I type.  Why don’t you just lie down if you want to sleep, dopey feline!  Next she’ll be dribbling and incontinent and knitting mittens.

Having a cheeky young whippersnapper usurping her authority reawakened the wild child within.  No longer is our TV viewing interrupted by the streak of a giant stripey-grey furball with eight legs and two heads rolling past.  Only when the romping turned nasty, with teeth and claws drawn, would one of us step in to break it up, usually unsuccessfully, as the ball would somehow steer itself to the remotest and most unreachable spot behind the Christmas tree.  This probably saved us from a few shredded arms.

The Christmas tree has gone, too – the day after New Year’s Day – taken by an enthusiastic friend of Ten’s who is trying to win the prize offered by the town council to the child who collects the most post-Christmas trees.  Such a clever ploy – all the children of The Hague race around clearing up trees conveniently left outside front doors in the hope that they will be the one to win the coveted iPod that is on offer.  They do the same with bags of spent fireworks on New Year’s Day.  Saves the council a fortune in clean-up bills.

If you have never experienced a Dutch New Year’s Eve, you wouldn’t believe me if I tried to describe it to you.  Suffice to say that there are fireworks (turn speakers up loud for that link) going off literally everywhere you look by midnight and up at the beach they build gigantic bonfires using JCB’s and pallets.  That last clip is an excellent example of young children being allowed to run around unsupervised with fireworks which they often light and let off whilst holding.

It’s an incredible spectacle, with the whole skyscape lit up.  Every household buys their own equivalent of the London Eye’s stock of fireworks (using savings put by for offsprings’ weddings and university fees, I suppose) and all are set off at midnight.  The noise is amazing, as are the colours and even the smells.  It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before and it goes on for a couple of hours.  Last New Year’s Eve we were in England and Fourteen and Ten were unable to understand why I tried to send them to bed before midnight.

‘Really, there’s nothing to see,’ I insisted.

Ten dutifully went off to bed but Fourteen steadfastly refused to believe me and stayed up watching Jools Holland with us.  At midnight she raced outside, her expectant face turned skywards.  One rocket went off somewhere across a field.  That was it.  This year she said she never, ever wants to spend New Year’s Eve in England again.

The Christmas / New Year break proved to be fun, eventful and relaxing as well as exhausting on occasion.  I don’t think I’ve ever eaten and drunk so much for such a prolonged period without doing any form of exercise in between.  The latter I blame on the snow – how can you go running in 18 cm of hard-packed snow and ice?  Once the snow went though, I did pull my trainers back on and greeted afresh the delights of over-zealous dogs (read ‘uncontrolled and off the leash’) and their innumerable deposits that did not melt away with the snow.  Aaah, the flip side of the delights-of-Dutch-life coin.  Being all cosy and cossetted in the house with my family I had forgotten for a moment where we were – until 31st December at midnight, of course!

Earlier in the day, Husband had been packed off to the infamous Simonis fishmongers at the harbour to buy, amongst other things, oysters.  It’s a tradition in our house to kick the evening off with oysters and champagne on the 31st.  This year, or I suppose I should say, last year, Simonis had the oysters on a display table in the middle of the shop and were offering free samples.  Once his oyster was sucked off the shell, the empty half was then filled with vodka straight from the bottle and that, too, was consumed in one swift gulp.  Husband reported back via sms that he had a nice warm feeling in his belly for the duration of the shopping trip!  Hmm, I should coco.

Before Christmas, we had huuuuge snow and, on a walk out one evening we encountered amongst the many snowmen…

… a real igloo!  Not so much made with bricks as carved out of a giant snowball, perhaps, but it was brilliant and was the first and only one I’ve ever seen or been inside, for that matter!

♥ Happy New Year to all three of you, dear readers♥

… and here’s to a deliciously exciting 2010 xxx

I had completely forgotten that I had offered to have a friend’s cat over Christmas while she was away.  Fourteen bumped into her at the shops a week or so ago and was surprised when asked whether she was looking forward to having Milly for Christmas.  I was highly embarrassed at having been nailed for the numb-brain that I am – I really have no recollection of offering to have Milly, despite being more than happy to do so.  On top of that, the friend whose cat she is happens one of the most reliable people I know – the sort who would come round at four in the morning if there was a problem despite the fact that she and her daughter (another Ten) don’t have a man or second carer about the house.

Stella, the old queen, is FURIOUS.  Her whiskers have been well and truly knocked out of joint.  At first, upon Milly’s arrival, Stella serenaded her in the same tuneless droning usually reserved for long car journeys.  Believe me when I say it’s enough to make your blood run cold.  Milly, in her turn, was quiet and unresponsive and didn’t seem too bothered.  Two hours later, when she was still in her box and probably a bit bored of the whole fuss and nonsense, she responded in kind by hissing and growling through the bars like a Very Big Dog.

At first, the children and Husband thought it would be a good idea to let Milly out of her catbox immediately she arrived but soon realised what a bad idea that was when Stella had her cornered behind the Christmas tree and was torturing her with the aforementioned caterwauling, so back in the box she went.  We spent a fairly tedious majority of the afternoon trying to cajole Stella into coming close to the box just to have a look inside.  For her it would be like looking into a mirror and seeing a younger, prettier and much slimmer version of herself but this proved to be no temptation.  It was outright war as far as she was concerned.

Milly decided fairly early on that all this hostility and  posturing was a complete waste of time and once out of the confines of her box, started enthusiastically exploring Stella’s territory.  Needless to say, Stella is in a big huff and is sulking under the table.  Whenever Milly comes near, she shouts at her and whenever Stella ventures out for a change of scene, Milly follows her like a faithful puppy.  Stella’s having none of it, though.

Anyway, we’ve tried talking to Stella, giving her special treats and attention and even explaining that there are two laps available for TV viewing (one was not at all amused when Milly decided to sit on my lap whilst we watched a recording of Live at the Apollo earlier this evening) but all to no avail.  She’s having none of it and has skulked off to sulk somewhere whilst the young, lithe one usurps her authority and veritably flaunts her position.  I had to laugh earlier when Fourteen said:

‘Aww, I feel so sorry for Stella.  She looks so fat and ugly next to Milly but I still love her.’

Phew, thank heaven for unconditional love….

Wow, a whole post dedicated to our feline friends.  I’m turning into the mad old bag lady with an abundance of cats…

We weren’t able to purchase it last weekend as our corner of the globe found itself in the middle of a two week rain storm and you just can’t buy a Christmas tree in the rain, can you?  Yesterday, the rain cleared and the cold arrived for real.  We set off to the tree seller’s on foot as it’s less than quarter of a mile away but I insisted that we go the back route as I was in full ‘tracksiut and slip-on trainers’ Waynetta Slob mode.  There was a real danger of bumping into someone we know as the area we live in is very international and it’s such a small village. I hadn’t even brushed my hair since getting up.

The tree sellers in this country take up residence on the corners of busy shopping streets, appropriating a few parking spaces for occupation by their trees and caravan.  The children made what proved to be an excellent choice of tree, which I managed to get for €10 less than the original price quoted by Pikey Tree-Seller No. 1.  As soon as you open your mouth and they hear the non-native Dutch customer, you run the risk of paying over the odds for anything that doesn’t have a price tag firmly attached.  It’s the over-paid-and-over-here mentality and is oft seen as something to take advantage of.  We looked round a little longer and settled on the first tree we had selected and asked its price again from Pikey Tree-Seller No. 2, who quoted the lower price.  Thus in a sweetly ironic twist of fate, the tree-sellers became victims of their own dubious methods.

We carried the tree home, set it up in the living room and left it to ’settle’ overnight.  It is a surprisingly beautiful tree,  triangular and symmetrical and still smelling of Alpine forests, which I am sure is where it comes from.

Today, I spent the whole afternoon decorating the house.  Fourteen helped – she did most of the tree after I had had my annual strop about the lights and how difficult they are – and a beautiful and artistic job she made of it.  I created some sparkly and, let’s face it, quite cheesey, snowy scenes in the fireplaces with lights and glitter and all manner of kitsch things, I hung baubles on red ribbon from the chandeliers and strung tinsel garlands across doorways and mirrors.  Strings of star-shaped lights hang between the living room and dining room and vivid red poinsettias add the final touches.  Ten ran away right from the start without hanging a single bauble, although not before asking if he could eat one of the chocolates destined to hang on the tree.

I noticed Husband had gone very quiet and slightly mono-syllabic – usually a sign that something is wrong – and so asked whether all was ok, only to be met with the response that he found the whole decorating fiasco a bit of a nightmare and very stressful.  I was slightly stunned.

‘Stressful?  But you’re not doing it, I am,’ would have been an apt response but instead I did a reasonable impression of a gold fish for a second (mouth silently opening and closing) while I tried to digest and make sense of this comment.

‘What about me?’ was my inadequate response.

“But you enjoy doing it,’ came the reply.

Hmmm… that’s not quite how I would put it.  The whole task of decorating the house is stressful in the extreme, to the point where I am filled with dread upon waking on the morning of Decorating Day.  I see the whole project looming in front of me like a huge snowy mountain or a nasty rash – it sits there, all big and impossible to conquer, slightly threatening, a little bit irritating and definitely not going anywhere until the job is done.  I have to grit my teeth and try my hardest to remain civil with the family and try to make it all seem like fun, whilst inside a raging storm is threatening to give my farcical act away by manifesting in the form of steam coming out of my ears and the top of my head blowing off in the manner of cartoon characters.

Do it we did, though, and the house looks very Christmassy for it.

I did not, however, make it home from the tree-sellers without spotting an ex-colleague of mine from my previous place of work.  This man is tall and handsome, dresses well and even smells expensive.  His wife, whom I saw with him as I skulked behind the trees, is cut of the same cloth – beautiful, chic and elegant.  I have not seen him in over a year and point blank refused to let him see me in the People of Walmart condition I had allowed myself to wallow in all morning and then had the gall to appear in in public.  I could just imagine him going to work on Monday in a state of shock at my disheveled appearance, reporting that he had “seen Purplejake at the weekend and my god did she look awful.  I guess things haven’t been going so well since she left…. Has she been ill, do you know?”

Lesson learnt: never, ever go out of the house looking like a bag lady, even if it’s only to buy milk from the corner shop.