July 1, 2007

Eye of the Beholder

Our first spring in The Netherlands was a wonder to behold, perhaps because our first winter here was such a misery to endure. After 12 years in the Arizona sun, the initiation to real winter was difficult. Nevertheless, when spring approached it was so welcome a thing we all found ourselves feeling refreshed, deeply alive and awake.

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.