Saturday, June 16, 2012

I'll Be There For You

I'll Be There For You

“I’ll be there for you!  As the rain starts to fall.  I’ll be there for you, like I’ve been there before. . . I’ll be there for you, cause you’re there for me too.” 

The Friends theme song is blasting through my kitchen.  Hum.  This is one of SkyRadio’s more recent tunes.  According to my Lonely Planet Netherlands guidebook, the ‘Don’t Leave Home Without. . .” list includes:  “good jacket and scarf” (check!), “appreciation for flowers” (check!), “220V converter for European plugs” (after frying my American Crockpot, neubulizer, and Blue Ray player – check!), “quick reflexes to avoid cyclists” (check!), and “taste for bad ‘80s music because you won’t be able to escape it.” (uh, working on it).  Driving down the road, my husband and I often glance at each other when a song comes on the radio.  After the intro, I’ll cock my head to one side and ask, “Jazzercise song?” and more often than not, he will reply, “Oh yeah.”  It’s one of the things we have in common from our childhood.  My mom was a regular attendee in Texas and his mom was an instructor in Louisiana.  Here in The Netherlands, I’ve heard a range of warm-up songs, increase your heart-rate songs, and cool down songs.  Some of their favorites are, I Just Called To Say I Love You, Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go, & Dancing on the Ceiling.  More recently, I’ve heard Ace of Base (All That She Wants), Savage Garden (I Knew I Loved You Before I Met You), and Vanilla Ice in the same set.  (Although, I must admit, my 6th grade alter-ego does appreciate a little Ice Ice Baby while spoon feeding my 8-month old.) 
   So, anyway, the Friends Theme song is playing and I’m smiling.  I have two friends in this country.  And I’ve only been here 4 months.  I think I’m doing pretty well for a stay-at-home mom who is exhausted and overwhelmed and well, a stay-at-home mom in The Netherlands.  I’m used to making and keeping friends at work.  2/3 of my wedding party was friends from work.  So, how did I find friends?  Well, admittedly, there are playgroups and such around here.  We did attend one.  Once.  There were about 200 people in a space about half the size of an elementary school gym and twice as loud.  Kids of all ages and backgrounds were running around and shrieking.  The parents around us were unaffected by the chaos and pleasantly sipped their coffees as the newcomers stood with eyes wide open as the scene unfolded around us.  This was our first month.  My family was still accustomed to the organization of daycare in America.  You enter the cozy room, your daughter sits at a table with kids of her own age.  One teacher leads the kids in singing grace as another one puts a small plate of food in front of each child.  You’re dressed in your suit and heels, quietly kiss your child on her head, and slip out the door while mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ to the instructors.  “Playgroup” was not in our vocabulary.  My daughter looked stunned.  She stood, feet planted, mouth open.  Luckily, my husband was with me.  We decided to divide and conquer.  I took the baby (then, 3-months old) to a very large, but questionably sanitary pillow where other babies were just lying there with their mothers talking.  My husband took our daughter to a large, equally questionably sanitary, inflatable trampoline.  After an hour or so of making straining-to-hear-you-as-if-I-was-drinking-in-a-loud-noisy-bar-but-I’m-unfortunately-not-small talk with people from around the world, it was time for singing time.  The children and parents struggled to make a circle with the chairs as one of the instructors(?)/ lead parents (?)/ zealous volunteers (?) passed out song books and started to lead the choir in their first song.  My husband was one of the few men in the room.  As the chorus began, an extremely excited man wearing a pink shirt and baby carrier, practically tripped over my daughter as he encouraged his other child to get closer-to-the-action in the middle of the circle.  It was clear.  This man loved singing time.  After we sang the Itsy-Bitsy spider in both English and Dutch, we justified that it would probably be ok to slip out a little early, like a Baylor football game in the 1990s: the event wasn’t quite the success we had hoped for. To top it off, I ended up getting a cold for two weeks after the playgroup.  Perhaps it came from somewhere else, but on top of everything, it shook me enough to decide not to go back.  At least until cold season was over. 
  So, we found ourselves hanging out at the library.  The library here has a cute children’s area complete with a Pooh bear, rocking horses, miniature stroller, and tiny shopping cart.  They mop the floor every morning and it’s relatively quiet and organized.  I had been to the library before and heard any number of languages, but on a particular day in early February, my two kids and I entered the children’s corner of the library and heard English. American English.  I had been here three weeks.  I was weary and exhausted and as much as I just wanted to be an ostrich and stick my head in the ground, I knew this was important.  “Look Cosette, they’re speaking English!” I told her.  The girls looked my way.  I smiled, we started talking, and I found out they were both from Minnesota.  One was named Erin, and she had fabulous hair and boots (later, I found out, which were both obtained in Italy, where her husband is from).   The other was named Janelle.  She started her bio, like I’m sure she has, so many times before.  “I’ve been here for 10 years.  I came to The Netherlands to study, but I just never left.”  This rang a bell with me.  Previous to moving here, I had found a blog on Expatica.com of a woman who lived in Leiden.  She had given birth in the country.  Her story (for better or worse) made me decide that was not something I was interesting in doing.  She loved Amsterdam, but Leiden suited her well, as it too has picturesque canals, but a lack of tourists as she described in her post, Amsterdam vs Leiden.  Well, it had me.  All signs pointed towards Leiden, and this mysterious blogger justified all the cosmic forces.  After the playgroup adventure, my husband had suggested I contact her.  “Are you serious?  I’m not going to contact her like a ridiculous groupie!”  But as she reiterated her bio to me in the children’s section of the library, I could not help myself.  “Ten years?  From Minnesota?  You wouldn’t happen to be the girl who writes the ‘BlondeButBright” blog? Would you?”  She threw her head back, slightly embarrassed, and laughed.  “Yes.  Yes, I am.”  I was no longer aloof and far, far from cool.  I was SO excited.  I was a total super-fan and treated her like a celebrity.  “OMG!  Let me shake your hand!” I exclaimed!   She obliged, with a slightly-uncomfortable smile.   She probably thought I was crazy.  I’m sure she did.   But after she had said to please contact her,  packed up her son and left the library, Erin admitted that she too had found her blog on-line, had contacted her about giving birth in The Netherlands, and now they were good friends.  Wheew.  Okay.  Erin gave me her number and email address.  Happy, but still overwhelmed by just, well, moving here, I contacted her a month later.  Ever since then, all three of us have been in touch, meeting up for coffee, hanging out at the library, and anyone who knows me, knows I LOVE hosting parties, and I’m pleased to say I brought one of my favorite traditions to Leiden: Brunch, with my new friends and their families.    
  Although I’ll unfortunately never hear the song on a Dutch radio station due to the decade in which it was written, I am on the same continent of the fabulous Beatles song which resonates, “I get by with a little help from my friends. By with a little help from my friends.”  In a country where language, logistics, and just the daily way of life is completely foreign, nothing could be truer.                                    

2 comments:

  1. I didn't think you were crazy. :) And I'm really glad you spoke up! It's really great following your adventures - here on the blog and in person!

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  2. Yay! You found the Minnesotan!

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