On any given day M and his boss hear any number of terrible stories; people who have lost everything except for their lives, people who have survived accidents only to be forever changed, people who have lost limbs, memory, and any hope of ever regaining past abilities. They struggle to have their expenses covered by the insurance companies who are desperate to give them as little as possible. Money can’t fix a brain, but it can offer peace of mind.

But not everyone has a valid case. For instance take the man who called this morning. While on a ski vacation, his car skidded on a patch of ice and barrel rolled. M pulled out a pad of paper and started to ask questions.

“Who was in the car with you?”

“My wife and kids,” the caller answered.

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Well, no, but the car was totaled.”

“No one was injured at all?”

“No, no, we’re all fine. But the car was completely totaled.”

“Oh, and is the insurance giving you grief about the car?”

“Well, no, they’re going to cover the cost of the car.”

“OK. Then I’m not sure I follow. Why exactly do you think you need a personal injury lawyer?”

“I want to sue the makers of the car.”

“I’m sorry. Why?”

“The anti-lock brakes didn’t work. It’s their fault we skidded and rolled.”

“But no one was hurt.”

“Right, but still, it was their fault.”

M was incredibly polite and told the man he didn’t have a case.

That man is doubly lucky. One; that his family was in that car, a car that was sturdy enough to keep his family safe while they barrel rolled over ice. And two; that I’m not the one who took his call. I wouldn’t have been polite. I would have had a few choice words for that guy. He should be writing that company to thank them for building such a sturdy vehicle rather than trying to sue them for a minor glitch. And then he should go home and hug his wife and kids and thank his lucky stars that he’s not visiting them in a hospital, a home, or even the morgue. But, then again, some people just don’t get it.

This was a guest post written by Rose at It’s My Life… in honor of this month’s blog exchange.

When I’m not busy working, cooking, running after my toddler, C, or nursing Little L, I’m usually hiding in the bathroom thinking up my next blog post or trying to read a chapter or two of the book I’m currently wading through. When I do come up with something witty to write about, you can read it here where your usual blogger extraordinaire is blogging today.

Go on over and read her post and don’t forget to check out all the other blog exchange posts this month!

- Order meds for C – check
- Email work re:Sick leave – check
- Write blog post for Your Jewish Mother blog – Check (going up Thursday!)
- RSVP to friend’s wedding – check
- Menu plan for the week – check

When I broke for a shower and lunch I was quite proud of myself. Granted there were still some pretty big items on the list (Write a query, take a walk), but still, I was getting somewhere! I had a quick shower, ate a healthy lunch (WW day three, still going strong. Yay, me!), and sat back down to nurse Little L some more.

All of a sudden it was 2:30 and I realized there was no way I was going to make it through the whole list. I debated for all of thirty seconds and opted to procrastinate a little more on writing my query and go for the big walk, but first I had to get a week’s worth of groceries. I never look forward to exercising, but I know that I have to get my duff off the couch if I want to drop these pregnancy pounds. (Plus, I know how to walk, whereas I’ve never written a query, and right now that seems more insurmountable than getting back into shape. Go figure.)

Fast forward a half hour later, Little L is in the Bjorn and I’m ambling up and down the aisles of the supermarket, list in hand. My groceries are piling up and I’m starting to really believe that I might actually have to exercise. And that’s when I noticed the little old lady. Really, it would have been hard not to notice her; she was blocking the aisle and walking at snails pace. I squeezed around her and kept on trucking.

Around the next aisle there she was again, shuffling her way towards the end display. I pushed past, throwing groceries in the cart. By the time I was shoving bell peppers into a plastic bag I’d run into her at least three times, so when I turned my head and saw her again it would have been really rude not to smile. I’m many things, but I’m not rude, even if it means that I’ll have to chat with a little old lady.

It was her first trip out of the house alone since a heart attack and heart surgery. She’d been in the store two hours and was just getting done with her shopping. She’d had to empty her cart once because it was too heavy to push. She’d left her cell phone at home knowing her daughter would be mad at her for heading out on her own. I chatted with her a little more and then moved away. I gathered some peaches and a pear, chose some herbs, and watched her out of the corner of my eye. Shuffle, shuffle, pause, shuffle, shuffle, pause.

“Are you going to be ok to drive home?” I asked her.
“Yes, yes. I’ll be fine. I’ll leave the groceries in my car and my son in law will bring them in later.”
“Are you really sure? I could drive you home if you wanted.”
“Where do you live?” She asked, not exactly the answer I expected.
“I live around here, but that’s ok, I don’t mind driving you home, really. Your children can come get your car later. I don’t think you should drive yourself.”
“Maybe that would be nice.”
“Ok. I’m going to get a few last items and I’ll meet you at the cash register.” I raced off as she shuffled towards the registers.

She didn’t argue, and I was floored. She must have been exhausted to accept help from a complete stranger. I’m sure the fact that I was carrying an infant made me seem a little less like a serial killer, but still, it takes guts to admit that you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.

The cashier loaded her groceries into my car while I loaded mine into the trunk. I drove back to the store entrance and picked up my new friend. We chatted some more as we drove to her house; she seemed tired and frustrated by her new limitations.

“A year ago I could walk as fast as you.”

The quiet way she said this stopped me in my tracks. Sometimes getting older doesn’t happen gradually. Sometimes you lose abilities overnight, and that has to be terrible.

I brought in her groceries and made sure she was ok, then I jumped back into my car and drove off. A quick glance at the clock showed me that I only had enough time to go home, unload my own groceries, and head north to pick C up from daycare. No walk for me today. But it’s ok, I got a little exercise lugging all those groceries, and now I don’t feel like complaining about walking anymore. I have a hunch it will be easier to motivate myself tomorrow.

This was a guest post written way back in the day (you know, all of a few months ago) by Rose at It’s My Life… in honor of this month’s “Rerun” themed blog exchange.

When I’m not busy working, cooking, running after my toddler, C, or nursing Little L, I’m usually hiding in the bathroom thinking up my next blog post or trying to read a chapter or two of the book I’m currently wading through. When I do come up with something witty to write about, you can read it here where your usual blogger extraordinaire is blogging today.

Go on over and read her post and don’t forget to check out all the other blog exchange posts this month!

At the beginning of a new year, I’m always optimistic about the great things I hope to accomplish and then I’m amazed at how quickly time flies. To commemorate all things 2007, here are some “Best of” highlights I’d like to present, month by month:

January

• Best Winter Activity – Sledding with Dawson was quite fun. Although I spent most of the time pulling him on the sled, up and down hills, sweating my ass off underneath the long johns, jeans, turtleneck sweater, coat, hat and mittens I was wearing. I didn’t realize this activity was actually considered exercise. January was also the month that Karen created my current blog design that I love, love, love. (It almost won a Blogger’s Choice Award. I was only short 687 votes. Hee hee.)

February

• Best Valentine’s Gift – A fabulous steak and shrimp dinner my husband cooked for me. I’m giving him and award for his culinary masterpiece. He even made twice-baked potatoes – my favorite – and he hates messing with stuff like that. February was also the month I busted my ass at the gym nearly everyday. (That reminds me, I need to get back into shape!)

March

• Best Birthday Present – Since my birthday is March 17th, and I sort of freaked out about turning twenty-eight, my husband made the wise decision not to sing “Happy Birthday” to me. Instead, he bought a plain cake from the bakery and had the cake decorator write, “Forever Young” in the icing. It was the sweetest thing, and not just because of the butter creme frosting.

April

• Best Spring Activity – Puddle jumping with Dawson. After several rain showers, we put on some grubby clothes, galoshes and rain jackets and stomped around in the lake at the end of our driveway. It was the best fun I’d had since I was three years old. The neighbors thought we were completely wacko, but I didn’t care. We did a lot of biking this month, also!

May

• Best Mother’s Day Gift – A trip to the Milwaukee Zoo with family. I hadn’t been to the zoo since I was in preschool and it was wonderful to spend time with my mother, father, brother and of course, Dawson. Our favorite animals were the penguins because we had watched the movie Happy Feet a million times. I bought Dawson a stuffed penguin from the gift shop. He loved it so much he went to sleep with it each night, until our dog got a hold of it and chewed it to shreds. I suppose this is a great excuse to revisit the zoo next May.

June

• Best Field Trip – Visiting family in Allenton, Wisconsin and then heading to Milwaukee Polish Fest. We danced, we laughed, we sang, and we ate a lot of authentic Polish food, such as Polish sausage (kielbasa), sauerkraut, pirogies and ponczkis. Yum!

July

• Best Vacation Month – This is the month I attended a Polka Festival; Pulaski Polka Days — and I went to my first BlogHer conference in Chicago. I met so many wonderful people and had the best time talking to old and new friends. This month was extremely busy, but so worth it.

August

• Best Month to Read Books – This was the month I read three wonderful novels. The sad part is I can’t remember a single one. I may have to read them all again.

September

• Best Party – Dawson’s Birthday Bash. Even though I cleaned the house for five straight days, we all had a great time. Dawson received so many wonderful gifts from our family and friends. We are so grateful — and so very lucky.

October

• Best Anniversary Yet – Doug and I celebrated six years of marital bliss and again, my beloved made an amazing dinner of BBQ spare ribs and shrimp. I swear I gained twenty pounds that night, but we found a way to work it off. (We went for a very long walk, and reminisced our courtship along the way.)

November

• Best Thanksgiving Holiday Moment – My mother told the story of the deck falling off my parents house, and when my younger brother heard the noise, he ran to see what the big crash was and walked into thin air — he didn’t realize the deck was not there and fell straight down. We all laughed so hard because as he fell he was saying, “What the….(hell was that noise?)” It still cracks me up as I type this! Sadly, I never blogged about it because I was frazzled about NaBloPoMo.

December

• Best Christmas Moment – Watching a video of the Christmas we celebrated in 1989, when my grandmother was still alive, and realizing how wonderful it is to gather together to celebrate the true meaning of Christmas.

———-

This post is part of the January blog exchange, in which the theme is “Best of 2007 Awards”. Dana couldn’t think of actual awards to give out — probably because she was very lazy after all the Christmas chaos. If you’d like to participate in the February’s blog exchange, click here for details.

I remember walking down the sidewalk with a dozen or so other girls in brown smocks singing this verse. At the time, all of my friends were new. Only six years old, I hadn’t had the opportunity to acquire old friends. Today I count myself among the lucky ones to now have a veritable treasure chest of friends.

There is Jen, from back in the days of big hair and tight jeans. We’ve made it through high school drama, boyfriends, college distance, vacations, weddings, babies, divorces, you name it. You hold one the dearest places in my heart, now and forever.

Carrie and Chrissie, who became indispensable to me during the first year of college. We grew from children into adults together. I’m proud to have had you both lend a hand in shaping the woman I am today.

Susan and Lora. My baby mama friends. Can you say ‘instant rapport?’ Without these ladies, I doubt I would have made it through my pregnancy and Sam’s first year with my mind intact.

High Heeled Mama, Jenn and Courtney aka My Hotlanta crew. It’s not secret I didn’t love it down there, but if I hadn’t met them, I would have hated it!

And finally Stephen. The best of them all. You know me better than I know myself sometime. Loving you has made me a better person. Not a day goes by that I don’t look at our children and think of how wonderful you have made my life. You’ve been with me at my lowest times, and even when I pushed everyone away, you stayed by my side. You held me up. You are my one truest love.

I can only to give thanks for having received the love and friendship of the people in my life. They are ever more valuable than silver and gold.

–

This post was brought to you by Amy Jo. Consider it your official invitation to join Dana over at The Cheese Party, where she’s hanging out in honor of the Blog Exchange!

“Orange!” he chirps with a smile.

“Orange wasn’t a choice. Red or blue?”

“Orange!”

The orange shoes: our family’s participation in the rampant Crocs trend. At some point during the summer, my son’s appreciation of them blossomed into a full-blown crush. No matter the weather, no matter the outfit, they are the only shoes he wants to wear.

On this particular morning, I make the choice for him, lacing on blue sneakers once he is trapped in his car seat. As soon as he comes home from daycare that evening, he makes a beeline to his true love. “Hi, orange shoes!” he coos. He’s thrilled to be reunited.

The next morning he issues a pre-emptive strike. Before I’ve even lifted him from the crib, he makes his wishes known.

“Orange!” he declares. “Shoes,” he carefully adds, making sure to close any possible loophole.
I appeal to the seasons. “Sweetie, the orange shoes are summer shoes. Summer is over. It is too cold to wear the orange shoes. Your feet will be cold.”

He considers that. “Socks,” he says firmly.

It’s not about the weather, of course. Autumn has only just begun, and he is right that socks with sandals (ack!) would keep him plenty warm. It’s about me—me and my vanity. In the summer sunshine the neon orange was cheerful and fun, the perfect finishing note to his brightly colored outfits. But with the sky turning grey and summer colors giving way to the drabness of fall, they’ve become a clear fashion liability. I worry what people will think of me. I want people to see my child in his affordable-yet-charming outfit and think I’m a good mom. A mom with taste and a touch of style. A mom whose child is always appropriately dressed. A mom who has her life (and her child) under control. A mom who doesn’t lose battles over a pair of shoes.

Before I became a parent, I said I would never quench my children’s creativity. I would encourage self-expression; I would never impose my own ideas. I would value them as individuals, not merely extensions of myself. I was also determined that they would always be impeccably dressed. I somehow never saw the obvious conflict headed my way.

I’m learning that becoming the parent I hope to be means not seeing every choice of his as a reflection on me. I want to be able to look at whatever weirdness and uniqueness and creativeness he comes up with in the coming years with an honest smile, saying, “That’s my son.” No matter what the rest of the world thinks. Letting him become whoever he wants to be means I must let go. And thanks to the inherent grace of parenting, I am allowed to start small. Tomorrow it may be going goth or bucking college to ‘find himself.’ Today it’s just a tiny pair of mismatched orange shoes.

So on this day I tell him, “Of course you can wear the orange shoes.” We head off to the library for story time. It’s a windy, rainy day—coats have been pulled out of closets and sweaters donned. My son’s scuffed sandals get a few curious looks as we enter. I check my resolve.

At the end of the songs and stories, the children crowd around the librarian to have their hands stamped. I lose track of my son, his generic shirt and jeans blending in with all the rest. Then I think to look down. In an instant I find his cheerful orange feet working their way though the jumble of look-alike brown and blue shoes. I watch the orange shoes’ tiny dance of joy when his hand is stamped, see them turn to run back to me and jump into my arms. “That’s my son,” I think with a smile.

Maybe standing out isn’t such a bad thing after all.

———-

Courtesy of the Blog Exchange, today’s post is from Heather—mom to one, wife to one, friend to dozens. She’s embarrassed to admit that she spends this much time thinking about her child’s shoes. You can usually find her blogging it out at Production, Not Reproduction. Be sure to click here for Dana’s post on this month’s theme: Orange or Black.

In the last six months I started a blog because she made me, I have had one of these, was rocked by how I felt about it, and moved cross country with my husband to a place where we knew NO. ONE.

My blog started out private, and then I decided to throw caution to the wind and join the public world of blogging. I have been going through a bit of an identity crisis, so forgive me as I use y’all as the sounding board for my identity crisis cure.

(I so can’t believe Dana trusted me with actual responsibility. Joey Lawrence style “Whoa!”)

There are so. many. blogs. out there. I have hundreds in my reader. Hundreds. What I’ve learned is that most blend together into some kind of Queen of Suburban Wanna Lose Weight Soccer Mom-dom blur. We all have a lot in common. Which is A-Ok. We share common stories, and this motherhood thing is pretty universal.

Being the same can suck if there is a goal of creating a reader base, if the refresh button keeps getting hit on Feedburner to see what the reach is, if there are ads that only make money when they are viewed or clicked on. Then, blending in a big ole blur? … possibly not what we want.

From what I can tell, we are blogging for any or all of three reasons:

1) Community – because seriously, there’s a whole bunch of stuff we don’t want our MILs advice on … and we can always use more people to listen to our MIL stories…. which takes me to

2) Entertainment – we like to entertain people through our writing, and in return we get a charge out of people commenting and entertaining us back, cheap entertainment, which is good considering we need

3) Revenue – ads, or pay per post or reviews, if there is money to be made, then we want to be pocketing some of it ourselves.

Of all the blogs I read, I can think of one that stands out as unique from any other. Take a guess which one I’m thinking of and then click here to see if you read my mind.

Now, of course she’s living 20 miles from anywhere on a ranch with her hawt husband. So, she’s different from the start. Then there’s the photos, the contests, the cooking, the Ethel Merman, the 4 homeschooled ranch punks, the burps, and the totally self deprecating sense of humor. THEN, she’s even apparently really freaking NICE, AND shows a total interest in her readers. AND she answers email. (I sent her email one time b/c I realized I was looking at her cow photos while I was pumping for the baby, I thought that was really funny, so I wrote and told her so. She replied. I felt like I’d been noticed by a celebrity.) The three words I would use as a description of PW are: photos, ranch, punks. When I think of her site, I have a picture in my mind immediately of what that site is about (fortunately the calf nuts and preg testing don’t stay in my mind too long – effective mental floss I have.)

No pun intended, but what has happened with PW is called branding. You know what you are getting with her, and she rarely strays from the central theme of her blog. Lucky for her, it’s unique so it does make her more memorable. However, she’s just so damn cute and lovable that I think she could write out her grocery list and I would be entertained. I’m not alone.

Branding. This is what I’ve been mulling in my own mind. Mostly because I really want new banner swag for my site, and I think I should have a vision of just what my site is about before I spend any more money, and before I get a shiny new piece of bling that is supposed to represent my site. I also think that if I want people to read my site, that I should consistently give readers something of value. This is my lamest, most pointless post, ever. I mean, seriously, yawn. I might as well have listed how many diapers I changed that day.

I’d love it if when people saw kaiseralex.com, that there was an immediate connection to exactly which blog that was, which voice, which stories, which cast of crazy ass characters. My first step to this is to figure out just who I am. (Did I just channel Dr. Phil?)

I am:

The Mom (After all, the blog is titled Alex Year One. I can’t really ignore the Mom part of things. Unless he’s actually sleeping. Or the gypsies finally answer my phone calls.)

Retro-Progressive (This sounds way cooler than I actually am, but after I titled what I was doing Gen X Grandma Values, I found this term and figured I’d try it on for size.)

Appreciative (I love people total strangers taking time out of their life to read what I write. That’s a large Keanu Reeves style “whoa” for me. I also appreciate that people continually put themselves out there, busting their butts or their balls or their boobs to survive this parenthood thing. That people are trying to make something a little better than it was before. I’m trying to give props where deserved, and support where needed. We’re all looking for friendly faces, I’m trying to be that. Frankly, I also need the good karma points, because I keep flipping people off in traffic, and I’m pretty sure Alex’s first word will be f@ck.)

If I use this these three ideas to guide what I write about, it should save us all from me posting something that belongs in a diaper.

That’s me, who are you? I’d love to get to know you.

Last Friday around 4:30, I stopped working. I punched out for the last time. And now I’m a stay-at-home mom.

Now what? Really. Tell me. I don’t have a clue. So I went online, of course, to do some research. I typed in “what do stay at home moms do all day?” The first page of results was a bunch of blog diatribes exhorting the value of the SAHMs, vigorously defending their rights to people who work outside the home and think that SAHMs must just watch soap operas, eat bon bons and polish their toenails. I read a bunch of self-righteous, in-your-face, stick-it-up-your-poopy-hole essays, but no real information for someone like me. Someone who honestly doesn’t know and doesn’t have any preconceptions about it.

I think this is one situation where research won’t really help, and soul searching and heart seeking is the answer. I have to figure out what I want to do, not what I should do. I have to start using my instincts, and maybe I’ll be able to make a binder after all.

My mom was a SAHM from when I was three onward. I have lots of nice memories about that. I remember playing in the kitchen while she cooked. I remember spending hours filling my coloring books with lavish color. I remember spending a lot of time at the park. And I remember coming home from half-day kindergarten to eat pea soup and buttered bread while watching Mr. Rogers. My mom wasn’t a good housekeeper, but the laundry was usually clean and there weren’t any gross messes around.

How can I translate my experiences into a plan for my future? Well, I know that I probably don’t need to concentrate really hard on entertaining Ben. He can be my tag-a-long. We’ll be on a very restricted budget, and that means I get to practice my cooking skills. A lot. I get to finally have a clean, tidy house because I’ll hopefully have time to sweep and mop and pick up clutter. We’ll probably get to have clean sheets more than once every three weeks because I’ll have time to do the laundry more than the three loads we manage to run through on the weekends so we’ll have clothes for the week.

And the play. I intend to play a lot with my kids. I got a generous gift card from the folks at my former place of employment, and I’m spending that money on art supplies for Ben, along with other items I think I might find useful, like more freezer storage containers for all the meals I’ll be preparing.

Next spring, I want to plant a garden. I have fantasies of kneeling in the dirt with Ben, digging my fingers in to plant vegetables and flowers, chatting at Anna while she sits on a blanket nearby.

That’s what’s in my heart, and now I just have to incorporate that as my new lifestyle, my new purpose. As for binders, I can print off instructions for art projects and organize them nicely. I can make my own recipe binder with recipes I find online and try and enjoy. Hopefully, my anal-retentive, detail-oriented proofing skills will be useful in my new endeavor. I’m not worried, though. Making the choice to become a SAHM was one from the heart, just like some of the best decisions I’ve made in life.

Cheryl is a brand new stay-at-home mom who blogs at Red Pens and Diapers. She has a 20-month-old son and a daughter on the way.

I don’t have much opinion on the job you are doing politically.  I don’t think anyone could do your job without substantial criticism, so I don’t make judgements.  I do have opinions on weddings though and I have heard that your beautiful daughter Jenna is about to be featured in one.  I thought I would make some suggestions for that wondrous occasion.

I think a White House wedding would be cool, but sounds so over rated and maybe intimidating to the guests of the groom.  I on the other hand think that a wedding at Ranger Stadium in Texas would be so so cool. 

I envision the actual marriage occurring on the pitching mound with the guests in white chairs spread through the outfield.  The wedding party circling around the mound.  Oh, it would be so fun to and so memorable to be a guest at a wedding such as this.  There should be lilacs or cherry blossoms with there fragrant aroma’s everywhere like when your a kid playing in the park.

The wedding should occur with the bride and groom facing the audience instead of seeing the preacher, he should be standing back towards the crowd like a conductor.  He should have an acute understanding of what his profile looks like in portions of the wedding service. 

The take me out to the ball field music should play ever so softly in the background to remind the guest where they are and fill in those awkward moments that always happen during weddings.

The reception should be held in the more intimate VIP boxes with that spectacular view of the field with the remnants of the wedding just past.  The food should be simple, hot dogs, popcorn, funnel cakes…all those fattening foods that should never be served except on special occasions.

Well, that is my vision of the perfect wedding. 

The most important thing of course is love and acceptance.  The marriage can never last without your support.  Family is the most important thing in the whole world and we can never expect our kids to grow up and do like we did. 

I imagine the pressures on Jenna and Henry are even greater than the average person because of your position in politics.  You should remind them of and celebrate all the achievements of their lives no matter how small and never compare their accomplishments with your own in a negative light.

That is all of my thoughts and advise, taken or left.  I still wish you and your daughters the best of luck with your lives and marriages.

Sincerely;

Jennifer

_______________________________

Jennifer writes about her life at her personal blog The Life of a School Bus Driver.  She resides in Pennsylvania with her 2 year old daughter (Kyra) and ex-father-in-law (Stan). You can find Dana over at Jennifer’s site today. If you’d like to read other Blog Exchange Posts which I highly recommend, click here.

It so happens that the season coincided with the advent of Andrew-speech. Our soon to be three year old (growth and language delayed) began to speak that spring. Not only did he speak, but he also began to assert his opinion about things. Gone were the days of guessing at what was on his mind. He developed words and with his words a small amount of attitude. An ‘I will do it my way‘ attitude, which we had not seen before. That didn’t put me off in the least and I chalked it up to the idea that spring had brought us so many nice surprises. 
 
As the temperatures began to climb, and the sun began to shine more readily, Andrew decided that the one most crucial piece of clothing when he went outdoors to play was a ratty old knit cap. It became an absolute favorite and he literally would not leave the house without it. Here I must insert that I spent the whole of the winter season begging him to wear a hat. A hat, which would keep his head warm, and his ears protected from the relentless winds of Holland. Andrew adamantly refused my request the entire season and most often, I was holding his hat in my hand. 
 
However, I digress. 
 
The spring hat was a knitted tube cap. It was tattered and had a faded #5 printed in white on the front panel. It was blue in color, a hue somewhere between sky blue and turquoise. Andrew called the hat “purple”. He wore it pulled snugly around his ears and pulled low on his forehead, nearly covering his eyes. In fact, he pulled the cap so low it was necessary to tilt his head backward at an angle just to see where he was going. The sight of Andrew with his cap pulled low over his eyes caused the Dutch Omas on the bus to cluck and fuss at him, sometimes a concerned grandma even reached out to lift the cap an inch or two above his eyes. To which he would respond with a defiant grunt and immediately shrug it back into place. 
 
This is the kind of ‘tude I’m talkin’ ‘bout. 
 
Our departure ritual before leaving the house included his chant: “coat on, cap on” as he placed his arms into his ‘doggie coat’, a green fleece jacket with a weenie dog appliqué on the front. When the jacket was zipped, he would then dive into the basket in the front hall to look for his hat. Although a delightful little cap, which incidentally matched the jacket, was available, he vehemently refused my offer of that ensemble piece and boldly declared “NO! Purple”. We then would dig through the box and unearth the favorite cap. From there a daily discussion over the actual color of the hat, which indeed is blue, occurred. Though I explained and clarified its color dozens—nay, hundreds—of times Andrew persisted. “Purple” he said. Therefore, “purple” it was. 
 
Flash forward to a gorgeous spring day in May. We ventured off for a tour of the beautiful Keukenhof Gardens. We spent hours among the flowers, admiring the fields of tulips and hyacinth and leisurely strolling through the immaculate, vibrant beds of color in the park. As we came across a garden filled with hyacinth in the most amazing purple I had ever seen, my husband engaged Andrew in a conversation about the flowers. It seemed perhaps a good visual demonstration to show our headstrong toddler the difference between blue and purple. I imagined he was thinking this could be the end of the color confusion. 
 
Don crouched down next to Andrew who was next to the flowers. 
 
“Hey, look Andrew, these flowers are purple.” 
 
“Purple,” Andrew repeated. 
 
“Now look at your hat. Your hat is blue,” he said as he delicately lifted the cap from Andrew’s crown. 
 
Silence from Andrew. 
 
“You see Andrew,” Don said. “Your hat is BLUE and the flowers are PURPLE. They are not the same color at all.” 
 
“Blue,” Andrew said. 
 
“Excellent,” said his daddy. 
 
At this point, I could not resist and just had to join the conversation. I tossed in my question.

“So Andrew, what color is your hat?” 
 
“Purple,” he said.

Then without another word, he snatched the hat from Don’s hand, rose to his feet and galloped to the next flowerbed. Then he put the cap back on, pulling it snugly over his ears, across his forehead and down over his eyes.

Andrew’s adoring Mama is Jenn in Holland who blogs daily about Andrew, his two siblings, his daddy and a whole bunch of other things over at Something to Say: About Life in The Netherlands. If you are curious about what Dana has to say today, you can find her across the ocean at Jenn’s place.

Jenn and Dana have swapped places today as part of The Blog Exchange.  Visit TBE for links to others who are trading places and sharing stories. Jenn wants to share with Dana a heartfelt Dank je wel for her gracious hosting and help with this endeavor. Also big thanks to Andrew who provides lots of fodder for her blog!

Bedankt en Tot ziens.