Google opened new offices in New York this week...

...and I want to work there! Look at the size of those cinnamon rolls. Free food for all employees. Drewl, drewl; cinnamon rolls...! (It's almost dinner time)

By Lovain

The Nobel Prize Announcements 2006; an American blast

The Nobel prizes of 2006 are currently being announced. So far, the 4 winners of the Nobel Prize in Physics and Medicine have been proclaimed and they’re all Americans. In 1866 Alfred Nobel established the United States Blasting Oil Company in the U.S. I guess he saw the potential.

By Lovain

The linguistic consequenses of reading blogs - I'm an isolated English speaker in Belgium on linguistic life support

I’ve been reading blogs. There are so many blogs out there and impossible to know where the good blogs or the blogs I would be interested in are. Still, I’ve done a couple of random searches, and a few blogs did stand out (see my links), but mainly I’ve read blogs that somehow relate to my own; my readers’ blogs, my readers’ blog’s readers’ blogs, my favorite blogs’ recommended blogs, and so on. I’ve found that the blogs I’m inclined to keep reading are the personal blogs written by people that either lead a similar life to that of mine, or a very different life however with some form of connection to me or my life.

The other day I stumbled upon this blog where Linka72 recounts her life as call-center slave. I found myself reading the one post after the other, just to find out more about her seemingly disgusting colleague "Belly" and what happened at her co-worker's FABULOUS wedding.

However interesting these lives are, in reading blogs you will end up with a lot of wording of questionable quality, not to mention useless information, however I find it sometimes acts as life support for my current English (or for my other majority language Swedish, for all that matters). Living away from the country where the majority language is spoken, I find myself linguistically isolated and my English has become obsolete and well, shabby. I can read all the Charles Dickens I want, I speak English at home; to the Husband, my boys and most of our friends, but the fact that we are stuck on this “island”, recycling our own words and, all modern technology aside, are not in the immediate loop, inhibits my linguistic development. I know; I just used the word “shabby.”

By Lovain

It's fall in Leuven

We’ve had a bit of an Indian summer this past week, and dressing the boys in shorts & t-shirts in the mornings I had forgotten what season it is, however this morning as I raced down the hill on my bike; the cold gusts of fall rattling the trees, making the brown, red & yellow leaves fly everywhere, reminded me that it is indeed fall.

The Husband has taught the boys a poem, and they recite it with such rhythm and delight, that every time I think of the seasons changing, I hear their pretty voices:

In winter when the fields are white
I sing a song to your delight

In spring when the woods are getting green
perhaps I’ll tell you what they mean

In summer when the days are long
perhaps you’ll understand my song

In autumn when the leaves are brown
take pen & ink and write it down

By Lovain

Having a baby in Belgium or Sweden and the economical consequenses: a comparison

The Husband & I have been talking about having another baby, but the maternity leave system here in Belgium is in direct conflict with our ideas on having children. We have until now not had to take this into consideration; we have managed to provide for ourselves during the first couple of years of our babies lives without having to rely on paid maternity leave. At this very late stage of the Husband’s doctorate education, however, we rely on my income only, and should we choose to conceive another baby, our existence would be at the mercy of the Belgian maternity leave system, whose structure, again, is in direct conflict with our concept of parenting.

I have until now mercifully spared you, my dear readers, my opinions on pregnancy, birth and parenting. My personal philosophy is closely related to that of the Sears family, and in general I advocate natural pregnancy & birth, followed by attachment parenting; breastfeed on demand and practice co-sleeping. You cannot teach your child independence; only found it with security. In practice, this involves me staying home with the baby full-time for about 8 months, and then part-time preferably until the baby is 18 months-2 years.

In Belgium there is maternity leave and paternity leave. The latter is 10 paid days, usually 82% of the salary. Maternity leave is 15 weeks where at least one week has to be taken before the baby is born or this week is lost. The 1st month maternity leave amounts to 82% of the salary, the 2nd month it’s 75%, and the 3rd month 60% of the salary. Thereafter the parents have right to a parental leave which is partially paid. One parent can stay at home up to 3 months enjoying a grant amounting to 558,34 euro brut/month (it can also be a part-time leave for 6 months). This, I’m afraid, is all. In general, a well-meaning employer can also grant the parent an unpaid leave, but this is not compulsory.

In Sweden paid parental leave lasts 18 months and the parent staying home with the child receives 80% of his/her salary for 390 days; the remaining 90 days the parent receives approximately 20€/day. The leave can be disposed of as needed; both parents can stay at home, the father and the mother can take turns staying at home, or the parents can take part-time leave in order to extend it. In order to promote equality, there are also special paternity months that are reserved for the father.

I wish I was employed in Sweden.

By Lovain

The mind of a man: on labor and birth

My Polish colleague G. became a father for the first time in his life a couple of weeks ago. On Thursday evening his family was busy celebrating his birthday, and right after the cake his wife announced that it was time to go to the hospital. My Polish colleague G.’s baby was born the next morning; a healthy boy (as expected) named Rube. Since this was the day my Polish colleague G.’s brother was supposed to come over and pick up our late Ford, My Polish colleague G. and I had sporadic contact throughout the day. When I asked him about the labor & birth, he replied “no, not difficult - only 10 hours and no complications” and then added “now I’m home running around trying to gather things my wife needs - very difficult”. Well. The mind of a man - an excited new father - a caring husband is a wondrous thing.

10 hours of labor & birth = not difficult

Finding your hospitalized wife’s stuff = very difficult

I suspect his wife, having just gone through 10 hours of contractions followed by 1/2 hour of pushing out an 8-pound baby, would beg to differ.

By Lovain

I'm a wife of a doctorate student but I see light at the end of the tunnel

As I’ve mentioned before; the Husband, like several of our friends, is writing his doctorate dissertation. It is an arduous venture. Sometime this spring, we made a schedule that had the final draft handed in well before Christmas this year. Over the past few months, I’ve recognized that this deadline will not be met, and the latest forecast predicts early spring as a more likely time of deliverance; sometime around the arrival of our friends M&M’s 3rd baby.

I, as several of my friends (including the amazing M.), am getting tired of being the wife of the constant doctorate student, and it’s not the wife but the doctorate element that must expire. This earth-shattering Opus Magnum has to be finished so that we can get on with our lives!

Yesterday the Husband kept talking about his “paper” and having to finish his “paper”, and finally I had to say “honey, it’s a thesis; a doctorate dissertation” whereupon he replied “yeah, yeah, whatever…” obviously trying to play some kind of psychological trick on himself. I have come to the point where I reply to any similar folly with “whatever works for the Husband, as long as it gets written.”

Confounding my apprehension, the Husband showed me this week’s work last night: 17 solid, ready dissertation pages. If he keeps this up, we might just have a Merry Christmas after all.

By Lovain

The opening of the academic year of 2006-2007 in Leuven

This week represents the official opening of the academic year 2006-2007 in Leuven. Town is suddenly overrun by old and new students, and it is the latter ones in particular that stand out. They take over the streets in crowds, bike like infants, and willingly consent to public humiliation in childish initiation rituals.

Yesterday my dissertation-writing friend newly-wed R. (who actually is not so newly-wed any more) reported from her office that “the Economics faculty has some guy driving around Leuven in a car yelling inane…inanities…on a loudspeaker!” which made it hard for her to concentrate. This morning I didn’t see any economics goons but I certainly saw traces of their presence around the boys’ school as I parked my bike & kids’ cart in between some broken beer bottles and vomit. The boys immediately noticed, of course “Mama, somebody threw up! Who threw up?” to which I mumbled “the students, sweetie, the students threw up”, immediately exposing myself to 100 follow-up questions: Why did they throw up? Who are the students? Where did they go? What did they eat? Oh, they drank too much beer? But I can’t SEE the beer! the youngest one noted, studying the vomit thoroughly.

Gaudeamus igitur, juvenes dum sumus…

By Lovain

This school-year's first cold

My productive weekend was followed by a non-productive week. I was constrained by a cold, and although I did not notably neglect my work or other duties, I had no energy left for extravagant leisure such as blogging. A low-key weekend restored my health however, and I have now returned with full strength.

By Lovain

The weekend when things got done

This weekend was one of those marathon weekends where things got done.

I cleaned the house; scrubbed the bathrooms, sorted out the toys in the boys’ room, swept and washed the floors, changed & washed all the sheets & blankets in our beds, did 4 loads of laundry that I folded & sorted and then I scrubbed the kitchen. I also cut back the ivy in front of our house, mowed the lawn, weeded, paid bills and fixed 4 broken lights. I ran errands in town - with the boys - which included, among other, making them sit still in a tiny fitting room while I tried on 9 different swimsuits. I played with the boys in the backyard and their room, we watched a movie and ate popcorn, went to the KERMIS with our friends, and then I spent a bit of quality time with the Husband. I also managed to call my friend & colleague T. the Dane’s widow and my mother.

As the great Margaret Thatcher once put it:

“Look at a day when you are supremely satisfied at the end. It's not a day when you lounge around doing nothing; it's when you've had everything to do, and you've done it”.

Of course; the hallway and closets still needs sorted, the laundry room needs organized as does the attick in preparation of the Halloween Haunted House. And the grass grew long again. It never ends, does it?

By Lovain

Happy Wedding anniversary!

Yesterday afternoon I called the Husband from work to check if, or rather confirm that he, like me, had forgotten that it was our wedding anniversary.

“Did you have something in mind for tonight?” I asked, scouting.

He thought for a while and then asked “How many years is it?” He got it.

Does this happen to everybody after so many years? Or is it just the Husband & I that have a different perception?

8 years ago, we had a very small wedding; a simple ceremony in the Warsaw Town Hall, followed by a family picnic in the city park. Rather than a grand event, our getting married was more of a confirmation of something we had already promised each other when we got engaged.

To mark the occasion last night, I picked up Chinese food – Lemon chicken; the Husband’s favorite – on my way home from work, and after having put the boys to bed we watched the final episode of LOST together.

Happy Anniversary, my love.

By Lovain

A 1991 Ford Scorpio - Part III; Epilog

In the end we decided that keeping our Ford is too much of a financial risk – a risk that we currently can not afford. Hence I posted our car on e-bay where it stayed for 1 whole week, like some forsaken redundancy; shoved into that callous realm they call internet shopping, awaiting its gloomy kismet. Nobody bid on it.

Fortunately my Polish colleague G.’s brother offered to buy it for 250€, and tonight he’s picking it up. I have signed a contract stating that as of today, our car is of a different owner for the representative sum of 1€. As of tomorrow I shall have to carry our milk home myself.

By Lovain

The Swedish elections are coming up

On Saturday I brought the whole family to accompany me to the Swedish Embassy. We entered a festive atmosphere; Swedes standing around chatting, people laughing, and there was a big bowl of Swedish candy centrally placed on the reception table. Swedish children were running around, filling their mouths with candy. The boys threw themselves right in and mingled with the other “blondes”, while I stood in line for a few minutes, and then watched the official voting administrator put my vote in an envelope with the other votes.

I left the embassy with a feeling of satisfaction and pride; I felt Swedish – a Swede that had just fulfilled her citizen duty. The sun was shining, it was a beautiful Saturday morning, and I was a voting Swede: we celebrated by going to the Pizza Hut lunch buffet for lunch. After all, one only votes once every 4 years!

The Swedish elections are one Sunday, and it’s a very close call. The parties have joined forces and are divided into 2 opposing sides this year: the blue side and the red side. The blue side is represented by the conservative party ‘Moderaterna’, the liberal party ‘Folkpartiet’, the farmers’ union ‘Centern’ and the Christian democrats ‘Kristdemokraterna’. The red side is represented by the Social democrats ‘Socialdemokraterna’, the socialists ‘V’ and the environmental party ‘Miljöpartiet’. It is the latter group that are in majority for the moment, but as of Sunday, our prime minister might not be Göran Persson any more, but Fredrik Rheinfeldt. God help us.

By Lovain

My friend T. the Dane is dead

On Thursday morning at 5:30 am my friend and former colleague T. the Dane suffered a massive heart attack and died almost instantly. He was 59 years old.

On Monday, 4 days later, T. the Dane's first grandchild, whose birth he has been proudly proclaiming and eagerly awaiting, was born.

The Lord Giveth, The Lord Taketh Away.

By Lovain

Babies to come & babies lost: I'm oh so happy but oh so sad

In July two of my friends confided in me; one of them had just taken a positive pregnancy test, and the other one had just had a miscarriage. The due dates of the baby to come and the baby lost were only a couple of days apart.

My friend the amazing M. is now somewhere around 15 weeks pregnant; we have seen solid ultra sound pictures of her healthy baby, and it is no longer a secret that she is expecting. 3rd time around, her body certainly knows what to do and you cannot be mistaken when you see her: she’s having a baby. We’re all happily expecting our addition at the end of February of 2007.

My other friend has wisely kept her secret, and although having recovered entirely physically from her miscarriage, the loss and sorrow remain. When I confirmed the rumors she had heard about the amazing M. expecting another child, and added the exact due date, my friend’s sadness came over her again. I’m happy my friend lets me share her grief. I have never had a miscarriage but I know what it’s like to loose a family member; you go on living a happy life, but the tears still come back once in a while.

By Lovain

I'm reading "Kant: A Biography" by Manfred Kuehn

Last night I started reading “Kant: A biography” by Manfred Kuehn. With the Husband finishing his doctorate on the philosophy of Kant, one would have thought that I’d read it before, but it’s one of those books that I never got to. Until now.

Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) was a great philosopher and an interesting man. He devoted his entire life to philosophy and never married or had kids. He never went further than 70 miles from his hometown, Königsberg in Prussia (now Kaliningrad, Russia), and yet, or perhaps consequently, he produced some of the most read philosophical texts ever. There are millions of pages in several languages written about him and his philosophy. I shall read my share while the Husband works on yet another opus.

By Lovain

First day of school and the boys did great

Today was the first day back to school. On Wednesday evening we took the boys to an open house at their school, just to reacquaint them with their class rooms and new teachers. This morning the boys excitedly ran into the school yard, dodging crying children and stressed parents, and made their way to their class rooms. The Husband followed the youngest boy, and I the oldest one; he hung up his coat and ran into the class room with a look of expectation and delight “bye mama!” and immediately started playing with his classmates. The teacher had a big smile on her face. What a relief.

I went back to the youngest one’s class room for a last check; he was busy assisting his new teacher in taking care of the younger, crying children in his class, putting their lunch boxes in the lunch box box, and had taken on his over-protecting concerned look. He seemed confident and comfortable.

I kissed the Husband good-bye and went to work. It was a good morning.

By Lovain

New research: breastmilk cures cancer

There is an article in a Swedish paper about research on cancer cells at a university hospital in Sweden: Professor Catharina Svanborg and her team have identified a protein only existing in breast milk that cures cancer. Named Hamlet “Human alpha-lactalbumin made lethal to tumor cellens”, it has actually been tested and proven to cure certain types of cancer. The concluded study involved an external benign cancer, papillom, which is a type of wart; however the cells in these warts are somewhat similar to cells in uterine cancer for example, and this, of course, makes the discovery even more fantastic.

40 people with the papilliom cancer participated in the study. After having brushed the protein on the cancer over a period of time, 8 in 10 were fully cured. 2 years after the study the cancer had not returned. Experiments involving urine bladder cancer are currently underway. Here, the protein is injected into the bladder. So far, the study has been as positive as previous tests. The protein actually kills the malign cells without hurting other cells.

Isn’t it amazing? And all we had to do was lactate; something women have been doing for 100,000 years, and I for 5.

By Lovain

A 1991 Ford Scorpio and 4 academics - Part II; we didn't pass the control

I’m trying to get over a depression. It started this morning at exactly 8:06 am when I read out loud to my friend Texas-born M. from our AUTOKEURING-slip “Corrosion. Code 2”. We actually thought the guy who checked our car, Mr. Flashlight, had said he would pass us this time, but that we should think about taking care of the rust (all the while rubbing his thumb & two fingers together giving us the general sign for “it will cost you”). When we saw our permit however, we realized that Mr. Flashlight had not been so generous. We have two weeks to recondition our car or we may not drive it any more.

My friend Texas-born M. is ready to give up. However, it’s really myself and his wife, the amazing M., that benefit from the car, and I don't think I can give it up. It makes shopping so much easier (we consume about 10 bottles of milk/week – try dragging that home on your bike after work)!, and no matter what anybody thinks; being able to go to IKEA and buy Swedish food makes me so happy I feel it’s a physical need. Is the convenience worth 300€/family though, seeing that we’ve already spent about that much on repairs already? None of us is wealthy with the husbands finishing their doctorates, not making any money at all, and the wives working for women’s pay, supporting 4 people each.

The car is a luxury; a luxury that I, however, have learned to not be able to live without.

By Lovain

A visit to the Brussels Museum of Natural Sciences - try explaining the evolution of man to a 3 year old!

On Sunday the whole family went to Brussels to visit the Museum of Natural Sciences. It’s not a very modern museum and they are actually reconstructing most of it so a lot of the displays are limited to a temporary exhibition. For us, it was perhaps best so. The train and metro ride to Brussels alone provided the boys with an exiting experience. For the boys’ little brains, the things we saw and taught them about were enough to last them a long time: dinosaurs, fossils, the composition of the earth, butterflies pinned to boards and mammoth skeletons, not to mention the evolution of man. “Mama, look! A monkey next to a man!” The younger one was pointing out a stuffed gorilla displayed next to a wooden statue of a man. “Well, yes, you see: scientific research indicates that man might ascend from apes. Before there were people…” The younger one’s eyebrows were touching his hair line by now: I could almost see the 3 year old brain processing the information. We had a great day.

By Lovain

A 1991 Ford Scorpio and 4 academics

Our car, our dear 1991 Ford Scorpio (color indeterminable) that we share with our friends M&M, has to go through the yearly control, the AUTOKEURING, by Saturday. Since the car has died 2 times over the past month, we have not had access to it, and have not been able to see to the minor details that needed to be seen to. The right front headlight needs a new bulb. The drivers seat is a bit loose and needs a bolt fastened. Our car mechanic Willy (that’s his last name) also told us that the car would not pass inspection without 650€ worth of rust treatment and new tires. Yesterday, Texas-born M. picked up the car from the garage - the fuel pump had been fixed a 2nd time - and brought it over to our house. We circled the car and noticed rust. We checked which bulb needed replaced but couldn’t quite figure out how to get it out of the headlight. We decided that the rust had always been there and shouldn’t implicate our car’s worldly existence. We forgot to check the tires. We looked under the seat and realized that it was actually not a bolt that we needed, but a blow torch to reattach the metal piece that the bolt attaches to; alternatively, we needed a new driver’s seat. Texas born M. looked up and presented me with the standard American solution “How about super-glue?” suggesting that we try that just to get the car through the control, and then move on to a more permanent solution when time was less pressing. I offered to replace the bulb; however once at the store last night, I failed to identify a suited heir.

So here we are: in this strange country trying to figure out what will happen. We have no fathers or uncles here to show us how the yearly car inspection works; nobody to help us with the car, and nobody to tell us what to expect should we not manage to repair the car or even pass the inspection. We’re on our own. Will we be able to use our car two weeks from now? Between the 4 of us we have over 20 years of university education, at least 4 Master’s degrees, and yet, we don’t know. We’re just going to have to see.

By Lovain

on mother-daughter relationships

When I talked to my good friend A. on the phone last night, I found myself answering her question “How was Sweden?” with “Great. My mom & I did not get into one single argument. The whole trip was great.” I realized only afterwards that this might be perceived as an odd answer; however looking at it in the context of my relationship with my good friend A., perhaps it’s understandable. We often discuss family relationships, and mothers are naturally the issue once in a while. My good friend A. is, like I am, familiar with that, from time to time, rutted province, a mother-daughter relationship might occasion.

I love my mother and since the birth of my children our relationship has moulded into something comparable to a sustainable peace. The past conflict is present, however only as history, and time certainly has if not healed all wounds, at least made them acceptable.

By Lovain

The busy life of an American Swede in Belgium - Happy Easter!

Happy Easter!

You may think I’ve gone mad, but, well; it’s practically Easter. The summer we so eagerly awaited and enjoyed for what seemed like a microscopic moment is now officially over, and things are picking up again. The car has to go in for inspection this week, school starts on Friday, then it’s my oldest son’s best friend (M&M’s oldest son) I.’s birthday, our friends W. & A. are having their first baby, then it’s my oldest son’s 5th birthday tightly followed by Halloween, Thanksgiving, Sinterklaas, family visits and Christmas; Happy New Year! A full final doctorate thesis draft will (hopefully) be handed in, the Husband turns 29, we enter lent, our good friends M&M’s third baby arrives, and swish; it’s Easter. So there you have it, in case you were wondering what I’ll be up to in the next few months.

By Lovain

My friend Texas-born M. on his bike with 4 children

I wish I had a picture but I don’t because I was at work when it happened.

While the Husband is in Turkey astonishing the conference audience at the University of Ankara with his brilliant paper on the notion of life in Kant, our good friend Texas born M. has been taking care of the boys and his own 2 children while I was at work. Monday and Tuesday I left the house at 8:30 and didn’t get back until after 6 pm. Texas born M. would cook and keep the house tidy, and of course feed, dress, entertain and maintain 4 children aged 3-4 ½ years for nearly 10 hours a day.

Yesterday Texas born M. decided to take the kids to the big park; the Provinciaal Domein where a plethora of playgrounds awaited the energetic 4. Since our car is at the garage and it’s quite a ways to get there, they went by bike. Texas born M. has a bike with one seat in the front and one bike seat in the pack. We have a bike cart that seats 2 children. Texas born M. attached the cart to his bike, placed the 4 children in their seats; on in the front, in the back and 2 in the cart (all of the kids wearing helmets, of course), and rode to the park. I wish I could have seen it!

By Lovain

Cleaning the house while the Husband is in Turkey

The Husband is still in Turkey. I spent a wonderful weekend with the boys; cleaning the house, posting holiday pictures online for the family to enjoy, mowing the lawn, reading & playing – getting things done. It’s remarkable how much extra time one has on one’s hands when the significant other is away. When you live with somebody you spend a lot of time just talking to each other, or simply hang out. Alone, I go from doing one thing to another, and especially when the boys are in bed, I get a lot of things done. Alone-time well needed indeed, at our house. I’ve cleaned the house so well that all that is left is the garbage/storage room & the laundry room, the left-over rooms nobody ever wants to get to. Now I miss the Husband.

By Lovain

My boys at the beach in Ystad, Sweden

By Lovain

Back to work @ home and @ work: e-mails, phone calls & cleaning the house

I’m back to work after 2 weeks of holiday.

At work on Wednesday, my first day after a fabulous vacation in Sweden, I had 63 persons waiting for me to call them back. 652 e-mails in my inbox. My new-found friend K. from Portland said that many mails ought to be a crime. I’ve managed to sort them out however; neatly filed in folders and a lot of them deleted. It took me two days. I wonder what people did in offices before there was Outlook?

At home, the house is in dire need of a thorough cleaning. The husband might have done a significant amount of groundbreaking research and remarkable writing on Kant while we were away, but he didn’t sweep the floors. Or wash the sheets. To sum up, he didn’t clean the house or even keep it tidy. Today, the Husband departs for a conference in Turkey, and while he’s away the order of the house shall be restored.

By Lovain

My blond, Swedish-speaking, crayfish-eating boys

The boys assimilated well to life in Sweden. Even though they are not Swedish per se, it was obvious they felt a familiarity with the culture and the Swedes. The oldest one, our blue-eyed blond boy, kept noticing that a lot of people and especially kids had the same hair color as he. The boys also picked up on the language really well, and enjoyed all the Swedish treats in a way only a Swede can. The ultimate proof of their Swedishness is a skill they quickly aquired: they are, namely, both able to perfectly peel and eat kräftor: break, peel, suck, smack, and then a "skål!" followed by the emptying of a small shot glass of alcohol free pear cider. Those are my boys!

By Lovain

A Swedish tourist in Sweden: Suduko, bag-in-box wine and Summer at Skansen on TV

Sweden is an amazing country, and the Swedes are so… Swedish! Belgians have a lot of common features but it’s also a diverse country: there are several official languages, the northern Flemish & the southern Wallonian cultures are different, and most of all the social division is very noticeable. Sweden is of course also diverse; still the conformity is so much more striking than anywhere else. The majority of the population belong to the middle class, and they all seem to do and have the same things. This year, everybody had a swimming pool in their backyard, they all wore D & G jeans and shirts, they all did Soduko on the beach, they all BBQed a lot and had their food with a bag-in-box wine, and they all watched the summer shows on TV. I didn’t find any D & G clothes, but mormor had set up a water slide for the boys in the backyard, we drank bag-in-box, BBQed and watched the summer shows on TV, and I solved Soduko puzzles on the beach in Ystad. I felt Swedish. As a tourist in Sweden, I think I did pretty well.

By Lovain

Flying to Denmark, landing in Sweden

It was an evening flight but we were going to be fine: estimated time of arrival in Copenhagen was 9:50 pm, and the boys could fall asleep in the car on the way to my mom’s house, avoiding any major sleep disruption. This, my nice plan, was sadly eluded. We departed from Brussels 1 hour later than estimated due to “too much traffic”. One wonders how the traffic load can surprize the flight planner to this extent. Don’t they know who is coming and when in advance? On top of this delay, we ran into extremely bad weather in Denmark; I could see lightning around us, and the descent was anything but smooth. The youngest one had already fallen asleep at this point, but the oldest one was laughing his being-tickled laughter, as his stomach was turned upside down in the vivid landing. The captain announced “due to heavy traffic in Brussels, and bad weather over Denmark we are delayed but have now finally managed to land” long silence “in Malmö”. What?!

Apparently, due to the storm, no planes were allowed to land in Copenhagen. Some Swedes on the plane were happy about the alternative arrival, and requested that they’d be allowed to leave the plane. They were closer to their destination than they would be in Copenhagen and besides, one guy didn’t even have any luggage. But due to security reasons, nobody was allowed to leave. We all sat on the plane waiting for 2 hours and then a fuel truck came. The oldest one fell asleep eventually. Around 1 am we left Malmö and flew across the Öresund to land at Copenhagen airport. It was the scariest landing I have ever experienced; I seriously thought something was going wrong when we hit the ground and the plane starting sliding sideways, but we survived. I woke up the boys and we could finally go home to mormor’s house. So began our holiday.

By Lovain

Sweden, here we come! We're going on holiday.

Tomorrow the boys & I are going to the third top country in the world when it comes to internet penetration, but I sadly have to report that the gigantic broadband covering most of Swedish soil has somehow missed my mother's house; hence, I will not be blogging over the next 14 days. I will, however, enjoy the trip; cherish every moment of it, and return with a pad full of blognotes to post, which should at least be enough to almost make up for my off-line abscence. See you on the 16th of August!

By Lovain

Belgian beer culture and my children's drinking limit

After work tomorrow we are going out for a beer. TSince we had the kids, the Husband & I don’t go out as much as we used to, although here in Belgium people do bring their children for after-work drinks and other such activities, so it does happen. All of the parties we go to are also open for children, and there is of course always alcohol served; beer mainly. The children often want to taste “can I have a sip of your beer?” and the parents let their children have a try. Eventually you have to tell your children “no, no more”. You know you’ve been in Belgium too long when your children, not are not allowed to drink, but have a limit for how much they’re allowed to drink.

By Lovain

Polish contractor as a Belgian undertaker

Our friends Texas-born M. and his wife, my best friend here; The amazing M. have seen the student house they’ve been offered, and it’s not too bad, however, there’s no hook-up for a washer; a prerequisite when you are moving into a house with small children. There is however a redundant sink that perhaps could be turned into a washer hook-up, and M&M are going to ask the owner if they would be allowed to do this. If they were, they might actually opt for the student housing. If the owner agrees to the removal of the sink, M&M will need somebody to help them with the work, and my Polish colleague soon-1st time-father-to-be G. has a brother who can do these things. He has rebuilt my Polish colleague G.’s entire house. When G. and I talk, we speak Dutch. When we discuss his brother as my friends M&M’s possible contractor, we use the Dutch word ondernemer. Directly translated into English, the word would be (onder=under, nemen=to take) undertaker. How ironic is that?

By Lovain

Swedenizing the American Belgian Swede & her boys in Sweden

In one week I am going to Sweden with the boys. I have been looking forward to this trip for a long time now: I look forward to seeing my family, eat Swedish food, breath the Swedish air and enjoy the culture.

Having lived abroad for so long, I feel like a tourist whenever I go back to Sweden. I stare at people, listen in on people’s conversations (I can't believe they all speak Swedish!), take hours in the grocery store because I have to look at EVERYTHING, and feel, in general, a bit odd – like a foreigner; a tourist. To add to this; because I speak English to my children, whenever strangers need to speak to me, they will in a friendly but uncomfortable way address me in broken English.

It’s not that I’m not Swedish any more; it’s just that Sweden has not remained the Sweden I grew up in. There’s something underlying familiar about everything; yet, I cannot quite relate to the people, the culture, the fashion, etc. I am however, very fascinated and interested of course, and I want to Swedenize my boys as much as possible. I want them too, to feel a familiarity with everything Swedish.

By Lovain

Match point dissapointed the Husband

The Husband had been looking forward to the day that Woody Allen’s Match Point was going to be available on DVD so that he finally could see it. We have heard so many great things about it; “Woody Allen’s sharpest film in years”, and last night we finally got to rent it. The Husband was deeply disappointed, and said it was just Crimes & Misdemeanors all over again; nothing new or exciting.

I thought it was clever although not very humorous.

By Lovain

A blog reader attracted by the 33-year old married or the full-time working mother part?

On Friday I decided to take the big step and register my blog on Technorati, considering the possibility that I might find it gratifying to actually one day have someone but myself read my blog. My hard work and acumen immediately paid off: within hours I learned that, as far as I could make out, some gay guy in DC had visited my blog. I felt flatter, excitement, wonder and... fear: if a guy in DC could find my blog, that theoretically meant that anybody else could; my family and friends, for instance. I decided to let the Husband read my blog. If people were going to start finding it, then he should be the first one to know what it is. Crafty as he his, he found it himself. After he had read it, he told me it was good. Who would have thought? What that gay guy in DC thought, I will probably never know, but I did wonder why he decided to visit my blog in the first place. What in the following blog description was it that attracted his attention?

"Lovain is an (American) Swedish 33-year old married, full-time working mother of 2 children living in Leuven, Belgium. Lovain will discuss everything from friendship and family to the Belgian healthsystem and garbage."

Here's to you my readers, all 2 of you: Thank you for stopping by!

By Lovain

Everyone else and my funny friend A.

Affleck-T.’s wife A. is one of my best friends. Unfortunately, she lives in Medfield, MA and not in Belgium so I don’t get to see her very often. Luckily, we are able to keep in touch via e-mail; however with 3 kids she does not get a lot of time to write, and when she does, she writes economically. She writes a lot, it’s not that, but she is very sparse with figurative speech and not at all concerned with decorating her text – she says right on what she wants to say; facts, sentiments - all very factually presented. She’s also not very generous with punctuation, so the sentences can be really long. I’m happy she takes time to write me; I enjoy every word, and with her style, it often turns out very funny (I assume unintentionally). Today she wrote me and said that things had been a bit hectic, and that “Everyone has been acting up lately, probably because I am tense with PMS.” That doesn’t quite make sense, does it? Although I knew exactly what she meant: everyone acts up during my PMS as well. Well said!

By Lovain

Don't hassel my hoff!

By chance, or rather; by mistake, I ran into this music video with David Hasselhoff, Knight Rider and Baywatch star. The sexism is sordid. What makes people even blog about this?!

By Lovain

Antwerp Zoo visit and gorilla empathy

Yesterday I took the boys to the zoo. They particularly liked the gorilla. The boys sat down on the ledge right next to the glass cage, and the gorilla came over and sat down next to them, putting her hand up on the window. There was only 5 cm between the boys & the gorilla, all of it glass. They sat there for a long time, talking to her, looking. On our way home the oldest boy said “the gorilla is sad because he has to live in a cage” and the youngest one expressed disappointment over the fact that the gorilla had not been running around beating herself over the chest, like King Kong.

She did look sad, just passively sitting there, watching the zoo visitors. The boys were so excited to go to the zoo and see all the animals, they had such a great time, but the oldest one still had managed to pick up on the gorilla’s sentiment. I was touched by the empathy.

By Lovain

Us perpetual foreigners, housing and our uncertain future

We didn’t move to Belgium to live here permanently. For the past few years, we have known that within the next few years we will leave this country and probably never come back. In some ways it’s reassuring, but it also creates a kind of perpetual state where we never quite settle in, however we actually do live here. In the meantime we rent a house, we’ve bought cheap furniture and we are probably not as integrated as other citizens in general.

Most of our friends, also foreigners, are in the same situation. Recently, our friends Texas-born M. and his wife, my best friend here; The amazing M., found out that they are going to have to move out of their house at the end of this year. Texas-born M. is at about the same stage as the Husband with regards to finishing his doctorate; let’s say a year away. The timing is bad. When you sign a contract to rent a house in Belgium you pay a deposit, usually 3 months rent, and a standard contract is for 3 years. If you decide to leave early, the landlord will keep a part of the deposit and your departure can turn out to be quite expensive. Hence, if you know you are going to leave within the next year or two, you are better off trying to get student housing, which they offer single students as well as families here. Student housing will, however, not quite measure up to the standards a civil contract carries; there will be no garden, no private washer & dryer and limited space.

Texas-born M. and his wife, The amazing M., have been approved for student housing, and should be able to move at the end of this year. Seeing that it’s possible they will leave Belgium in the fall of 2007, this is good news. However, when I talked to The amazing M. today she said they were going to look at a house tonight and asked if we would mind them dropping off the kids for half an hour. I told her I didn’t realize they were still looking at houses, whereupon she replied: “Yeah, we're not really looking. Well, we're kinda looking.” And then went on to explain that they had happened to spot this house the other day and it has made them think: they're not 100% certain that they will be heading back to North America in the fall of 2007.

Of course, after having finished our degrees, none of us will just pick up and move. There has to be something to move to, such as a great academic job somewhere acceptable.

“So, we're thinking.....thinking....” The amazing M. said.

We all do, honey, we all do. Even without the stress of having to find new housing, I wonder about these things all the time: When will we move? Where will we move? How will we arrange it? Where will our friends end up? What does the future hold for us?

By Lovain

Reflecting on life, friendships, love and childen lost & children to come

I thought that things would slow down a bit once summer break started, but I was wrong. The past week was more busy than usual; everything from graduation parties and BBQs to Shabbat dinners and emotional conversations. A friend & I had a misunderstanding that had to be straightened out. Somebody I know had a miscarriage and another person I know just found out she is pregnant. Both of them confided in me. I feel honored and happy to receive their confidence, and I am offering both of them any assistance they desire. I feel terribly sad AND incredibly happy.

I have realized that I am not used to this kind of emotional compilation. Not that things don’t happen in my life and around me, but these events combined with the intimate confidence they carried have led me to appreciate my life and what I have. I am thankful every day for the friendships I have, my family, the children I’ve given birth to and the Husband I love. I enjoy spending my life with the Husband, the prospect of having more children excites me, as does the fact that the relationships I have with my friends are growing stronger & more intimate every day. We have also recently made new friends, and especially the Husband who is not easily inspired in this regard, seems enthusiastic.

It sounds so tacky when you hear it, but sharing your friends' joy and sorrow really is double the joy and half the sorrow. To feel sad for one friend and happy for another adds a richness to life that is indescribable (although I'm sure Kant or some other German idealist probably has anyway; described the richness, that is), and the emotional compilations add to life appreciation, vividness and magnificence.

By Lovain

The world as a village - a sad truth?

I cannot vouch for that the below information is correct, but I got it from a member of the European Parliament (you’d think they’d have their facts straight!) - it’s one of those things that’s “going around”.

If the entire world was reduced to a village of 100 citizens, and all proportions of the world remained, the village would consist of:

57 Asians
21 Europeans
14 Americans (from both North- and South America)
8 Africans
52 women
48 men
70 non-Christians
30 Christians
89 heterosexuals
11 homosexuals

6 persons would own & use 59 % of all the common assets, and all 6 persons would come from the USA.
80 persons would have insufficient housing, 70 would be illiterate, 50 undernourished, 1 dying, 2 being born and 1 would have a computer. 1 would be a college graduate.

By Lovain

The 2006 Soccer world cup emoticon

The 2006 soccer world cup is over. For French Zinedine Zidane, who lost his head over a comment we are still to learn, the game ended in shame. For Italy it ended in victory: they won a penalty shootout 5-3.

Throughout this world cup, there has been a lot of talk about faking falls and injuries to gain penalties. About this, the prime minister of Sweden, a big solid man, commented “it’s ridiculous to see all these strong athletic and well-paid men fall apart from a light push.” I say. But it's a game, and they're men showing emotion; isn't it supposed to be like that?

By Lovain

A school day schedule in a full-time working mom’s life

6:15am
She gets up, puts her jogging clothes on and goes jogging (mental note: MP3 player needs new batteries)

6:45am
She takes a quick shower & gets dressed/hair etc.

7:15am
She goes downstairs to the kitchen & gets everybody's lunches ready (WHY didn't she do this the night before? Because she wants everything to be fresh!) + eats breakfast

7:40am
She wakes the boys up; helps them with their morning routine, makes sure they get dressed (sometimes the Husband will come to life and assist the boys), gets them breakfast

8:10am
She gets herself & the boys out the door; wearing shoes, helmets, bringing schoolbags, her own bag…

8:35am
The party arrives at school; Super-mom leaves the youngest one in his classroom & chats with teacher for a minute, the she says good-bye to the oldest one in the schoolyard using the “triple kiss routine” (blow one, throw one, spray one)

9:00am – 17:00pm
She WORKS (Sits down by her desk with a big sigh and utters the words "gosh it’s nice to sit down for a minute!")

17:20pm
She arrives home; hangs out with the boys while trying to make dinner & pick up around the kitchen

18:00pm
Dinner

18:30pm
She plays with the boys OR does dishes & cleans up the kitchen while the boys play, and then picks up in the bedroom (takes care of clothes that were thrown on the floor that morning, and then she usually has to make the bed because the Husband didn’t)

19:15pm
She gives the boys a bath while cleaning up in the boys' room, she pays bills, and gets pyjamas and beds ready, as well as tomorrow’s clothes

19:45pm
She brushes the boys’ teeth and reads + sings to them

20:00pm
She puts the boys to bed

20:15pm
She does a load of laundry and cleans up downstairs – sometimes she chose to play with the boys before bed and didn’t do the dishes, and then she has to do them now. It appears that there is always something else as well: a bike tire that needs fixed, or something that needs to be arranged or prepared in advance.

21:15pm
She usually sits down on the couch exhausted, to watch a movie or whatever is on, read something, or to call a friend or family (they're scattered all over the world)

22:15pm
She goes to bed; if she's lucky and not too tired she'll have a few minutes with the Husband

By Lovain

Grading the philosophy students at K U Leuven

Last night we attended the deliberation BBQ at the philosophy institute. There were a lot of people we know; a lot of friends and acquaintances to talk to, and I was also approached by a young man who introduced himself as follows “Hello, I’m smiling J. - your husband gave me a really hard time last semester in his class on Berkeley.” Through the crowd somebody piped in “yeah, he put me through hell as well.” Whereupon the Husband remarked “smiling J., I thought you did really well! I gave you a 13.”

The grading system here is to say the least, unbalanced: a grade ranges from 0-20, where anything below 10 is a fail, and anything above 16 puts you in the top 5%. People rarely get an 18, and there’s a very small handful of students who ever received a 20. But 13 would probably not be considered a particularly high grade. Indeed the Husband has prospects of becoming an excellent professor here at K U Leuven; arduous and frugal when it comes to grading.

By Lovain

Woody Allen's philosophy diet

In the next weeks issue, The New Yorker is running an amuzing article by Woody Allen who claims to have come upon the “Friedrich Nietzsche’s Diet Book”.

“To sum up: apart from my own Beyond Good and Evil Flapjacks and Will to Power Salad Dressing, of the truly great recipes that have changed Western ideas Hegel’s Chicken Pot Pie was the first to employ leftovers with meaningful political implications.”

Woody Allen, Ladies & Gentlemen, witty as always.

By Lovain

Anti-pasta with Bob the Builder bologna

Yesterday the Husband went shopping with the boys, saw “salami” on the list, along with other anti-pasta groceries and thought “what is this for? I’ll just get Bob the Builder bologna instead, the boys will like that.” When he got home, while unpacking the groceries, he realized of course, that Bob the Builder bologna indeed may be an excellent replacement for salami on bread, but that I was not about to have mozzarella with fresh basil and roasted peppers accompanied by Bob the Builder bologna!

By Lovain

Making syrup -"saft" - out of red berries

Last night I made syrup. In Swedish we call it “saft” and it’s a syrup made out of fresh berries that you mix with water and drink like juice. There is a big berry bush in our garden, red berries, and the boys & I picked a big bowl full, washed the berries, boiled them with water, added sugar and poured the syrup into the Husband’s washed out ex-whiskey bottles. All the while I felt like a reincarnation of my own grandmother, my mother, her sisters, their mother and grandmother. I suppose I come from a long line of syrup-makers, and I remember swearing over and over again throughout my childhood and adolescence that I would never EVER as an adult pick berries to make “saft”. Such a boring and difficult process for what?! Something you could buy in the store! Well, I guess your perspective changes as you grow older. Now I found it quite rewarding, and the boys were naturally very interested in the chain of events that led up to a sweet drink.

Exactly where in this procedure we went wrong I don’t know, but the “saft” didn't taste like when my grandmother made it; it was less sour, sweeter and didn’t have that red berry edge. I wish I could ask her how she did it, but she passed 1 week after the oldest boy was born. It’s funny how you constantly come upon situations throughout your life, situations you didn’t anticipate, when you really miss a loved one that passed. Last night, I missed my grandmother and her “saft”. As I had a glass of my own, I thought of her: our “saft” might not taste as good as grandma’s, but it was worth making; just to see the boy’s faces, their interest, and to recall everything that I associate with “saft” - associations I didn’t even realize I had. So, here’s to memories of young summers, my mother, aunts and grandmothers – my “saft”-making family!

By Lovain

My favorite books

It’s time for my very first list. Before the boys arrived I read books all the time. Now I have much less time to read. The beauty of books however, is that the words, the images and the characters remain with you for a very long time after you’ve read a book. These are the books in particular that made an impression on me:

(In no particular order)

Gabriel Garcia Marquez - 100 years of solitude

Umberto Eco - In the name of the rose

Anything by Charles Dickens - David Copperfield & Tale of two cities are my favourites, but most of his other books are just as amazing!

Per Anders Fogelström - Mina Drömmars stad

Heroditus - The Histories

Nathaniel Hawthorne - The scarlet letter in particular, but also The house of the seven gables

D H Lawrence - Women in love, but also some of his other books if I’m in the mood

Thomas Mann - The magic mountain – sadly I never quite finished this novel, however one day I will.

Thomas More - Utopia

Just about anything by Oscar Wilde

Leo Tolstoy - The death of Ivan Iljitjs (Smert Ivana Iljitsja) - short but great!

Marianne Fredriksson - Anna, Hanna och Johanna (also translated into English)

By Lovain

The missing girls in Liege

Today the bodies of the two missing girls in Liege were found. A man has been in custody for a while but keeps claiming he had nothing to do with the disappearance of the 7- and 10-year olds. As a parent, I hold my breath.

When I first moved here, a man named Marc Dutroux was on the news all over the world. Reading about what he did makes one (almost) contemplate promoting the Louisiana, Mississippi or Florida legislations on this matter.

By Lovain

Going to the emergency room in Leuven -1 fingertip

Saturday afternoon: dinner was just about on the table and we were getting ready to go to a party for a friend who recently received her doctorate in philosophy, when the Husband, who was chopping herbs, suddenly screamed out in shock. All of a sudden there was blood everywhere - and there on the cutting board was the Husband’s fingertip! The boys immediately rushed to: “Daddy, what happened?!” and “Daddy, did you cut yourself?” The husband was all the while moaning and I was trying to get his hand rinsed off and wrapped as I was looking for the phone number to the doctor on call. “Go to the ER” the doctor said “they should be able to repair the damage”. So I place the fingertip right back on the Husband’s finger, wrapped it up in gauze & tape and sent the Husband off on his bike to the Helige Hart Spoed (calling a cab would have taken far too long). 45 minutes later the Husband returned with a bandage around his hand.

Our health insurance here does not allow you to go straight to the ER, should you need immediate medical assistance. You have to call your doctor or the doctor on call first; otherwise the intervention will not be covered by your insurance. The first time we learned about this was when the youngest boy ran straight into a coffee table corner busting his eyebrow, bleading so much we couldn't see his eye, whereupon we immediately rushed to the ER – in my opinion a sound reaction from first time parents. When we later went to claim our reimbursement, however, we were informed that we would not get anything back, since we had not called the doctor first.

By Lovain

Celebrating a Swedish midsummer in Belgium

After living abroad a few years, leading a married life with an American in Belgium, I found myself slowly abandoning some of the less outstanding Swedish traditions; the traditions that you celebrate only in Sweden among Swedes: Våffeldagen (Waffle day- Annunciation Day), Semlaldagen (Swedish version of Mardi Gras), Valborg (30 April) and Midsummer just to mention a few. Since the birth of our children, however, I’ve started thinking about these traditions again, and now that I have a new career in which I actually relate to Swedes and Sweden, I find myself trying to recreate these partially neglected traditions.

Friday was Midsummer Eve. In Sweden everybody decorated a May pole and themselves with flowers, danced and got married, and a lot of people had dinner consisting of haring, new potatoes, and alcohol. The Swedes sat down around the dinner table, surrounded by family & friends and ate, sang drinking songs and drank “schnapps” (shots). As did we: my Swedish colleagues came over to celebrate midsummer with me. Since the tradition is lesser known outside of Sweden, to spare our neighbours, we refrained from dressing a cross with flowers as well as dancing around the latter. There was however flowers on the table, herring, potatoes, loud singing and plenty of drinking. The next day I was painfully reminded of what this combination inevitably leads up to: hangover. As a parent I don’t have the privilege to enjoy an extended traditional hangover anymore; the boys will rise with the sun no matter what I consumed the previous day; however I did feel “out of it” and when it was time for the boys to go to bed in the evening, I happily joined them.

The Husband, strategically, kept himself away from all this, having to work. Good move.

The drinking culture in Sweden is very different from anywhere I’ve lived. One does not drink very often - once a week at most - but when the Swedes drink, they DRINK. Of the four traditional days I mentioned above, two are associated with heavy drinking: Valborg & Midsummer. How they do it, I have no idea. I enjoyed the singing and the “skål!”, but really, once every few years is probably about what I can handle. For the next upcoming tradition “kräftpremiären” (the craw fish premiere) I will be in Sweden. Deus Misereatur.

By Lovain

Observing summer in Belgium

People's behavior in this country varies depending on the season. We have now entered one of the most interesting seasons: summer. This is the season in particular when the Belgians’ behavior is altered.

Nobody is faster than the Belgians to undress as soon as the temperature and weather allow it. You know summer is here when:

-Students appear seemingly out of nowhere (read: student bars), and occupy every single square inch of the Leuven city park lawn wearing practically no clothes. They study (unsuccessfully as it turns out for 35% of them), juggle, play soccer and Frisbee, or unreservedly make out in the grass.
-Belgian women appear at the office merely dressed in a tank top and a short tight skirt, and
-Belgian men will stroll through town on a Saturday wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and flip-flops.

Combine this imprudence with the Belgians’ general disregard for personal hygiene and Belgian women’s partiality toward hirsute, and you might find yourself inclined to avoid public places all together.

However; in Belgium, the summer is a social call – an enthusiastic call to all, young and old, to participate in all the activities the summer has to offer. On any agreeable summer evening, you will find practically every Belgian occupant has gone out in town, found a terrace, and sat down to enjoy beer & people-watching in the sun. As if this jamboree is not enough, the city organizes free music festivals on July Friday nights, as well as other events: Hapje Tapje (a food festival), Marktrock (a music festival that transforms Leuven for 3 days into a music festival area) and the Jaarmarkt (a livestock market), just to mention a few.

In the summer weekends the entire country migrates to the beach. Cars filled with people, beach balls and sun block all line up on the highway, inching their way, trying to keep up with the over crowded trains. It is a type of pilgrimage. The coastal cities welcome everyone with open arms, offering over crowded beaches, cold and not-so-clean water, over prized food and stores that are open even on Sundays.

As an advocate of culture, as a parent, and perhaps even as a social being, I enjoy the summer and I gladly participate in all that it has to offer. We too go to the music evening, the beach and enjoy beer on the Grote Markt. They may have an uncouth perception regarding appearance, but the Belgians sure know how to make the best of the summer.

By Lovain

Reclaiming our bed

After weeks of sicknesses and disruptions that had led the boys to need the immediate corporal presence of their loving parents around the clock, the husband and I decided to reclaim our territory last night. Big boys sleep in their own beds. The bunny, the doggy, the dragon and two boys all migrated back to their bunk beds: lights out, good night.

I was expecting at least the youngest one to wake up somewhere in the middle of the night and come into our bed, but when I woke up this morning, I was still laying on my back, all my limbs moving freely, unencumbered. The husband looked up and said “they must have died in their sleep”.

By Lovain

Internet as a time portal; long lost friends revisited

According to an article in Aftonbladet, the internet has given our very first love a better chance to reflourish. It’s easier to look people up and regain contact via e-mail and chat. I will tell you about my first love another time, but the article did inspire me to take a few minutes and find out what happened to my husband’s old girlfriend and my old boyfriend. Are they married? What are they doing? Where do they live? Any kids?

When D. the guitar-playing redhead and I went separate ways, he was studying cultural geography at the University of Uppsala in Sweden. 5 minutes search on the internet let me know that he got married in Paris in 2004 (to a former room-mate of ours which he started dating around our break-up), he works as a web-designer for a prestigious PR-company in Stockholm, and he runs marathons. I even found a newly taken picture of him. He has a receeding hairline. Imagine that.

We already knew my husband’s ex J. the writer got married because she sent the Husband her wedding photo. We also knew where she lives and what she is doing because she sent the Husband samples of her work; she is an editor at a publishing house in Cincinnati, Ohio. I found several pictures of her, and on some odd website I read her story about how she met her husband in the Czech Republic in 1998. I read it out loud to my husband who immediately identified his own mentioning in the text (in bold):

“He was a master's student at a Prague university, studying computer science. I myself was a few months' shy of a bachelor's in writing. Our interests were polar opposites, ones and zeroes. [..] At the time, I was looking for a maudlin Continental philosopher who lived in a mostly depressive, reflective state -- not a man with a positive, idealist outlook who spent nights programming, networking and hacking”.

The Husband is not in a depressive state, however perhaps reflective. He is though, most certainly, a Continental philosopher; by the end of this year, if all goes smoothly, he should be a professor of Continental philosophy.

It has been 10 years: things have changed; our former friends have changed. Somehow the internet provides us not only with a search portal, however, but also a time portal, with the ability to reduce the time that passes between the meetings. We are able to reconnect with people we once loved, or at least find out that they are doing well and that they, like we did, moved on. If I were to run into D. the guitar-playing redhead tomorrow, it wouldn’t have been 10 years anymore, because I just saw him last week.

By Lovain

Jip & Janneke vitamin overdose

On Wednesday at work, I got a very stressed and upset e-mail from the Husband. The youngest boy had eaten half a bottle of children’s vitamins, all at once: about 35 tablets. 3 tablets contain 5,3 mg of iron. Our 3-year-old had just ingested about 60 mg of iron. Accidental iron overdose is a leading cause of poisoning deaths in children under 6 in the US. We knew it was dangerous but how much and how soon? My first Google hit made me, to say the least, scared:

“Children who are poisoned with iron face both immediate and long-term problems. Within minutes or hours of swallowing iron tablets, they may suffer nausea, vomiting, diarreha, and gastrointestinal bleeding, which can progress to shock, coma and death. Even if the child appears to recover from these initial problems, severe gastrointestinal bleeding, lethargy, liver damage, heart failure, and coma can occur from 12 hours to two days later. If the victims survive, they can develop other problems, such as gastrointestinal obstruction and more extensive liver damage, three to six weeks after the poisoning”.

The Husband immediately called the number we always have at hand: our doctor’s office. She told him to call a pharmacy. The pharmacy told him it was probably nothing to worry about; this analysis based on the brand of vitamins the Husband had mentioned. I went to a different pharmacy who agreed with the first one, but this pharmacist also gave a number to the poison center, who answered after 8 rings (!). By this time we had already got all the information we needed off the internet. How large of a dose of iron is an overdose (about 10 mg/kg)? How long does it take before your child is affected (about 4 hours)? What can you do as a parent (if it’s an overdose, go to the hospital!)? We already knew that our youngest son would be fine. But I still waited on the phone to hear the poison center give me the reassuring answer: “normally he should be OK”.

When I came home I asked the youngest one “What did you do today?” and he said with pride in his voice “I ate all my Jip & Janneke vitamins ALL up!” Good boy.

By Lovain

Hard Rock Halleluja

On Saturday night my Swedish childhood friend U. and my new Swedish colleague K. and her boyfriend came over to watch the Eurovision Song Contest with me. We had a lovely meal, lots of wine and enjoyed Terry Wogan’s sarcasm for a few hours. When the contest was over, the effect of the wine remained and my new colleague K. started playing CD:s that she had bought that same day. I had already suspected her taste of music would differ from mine (she wears music related clothes, has piercings in her face and large tatoos on her arms), but we had never really had a musical confrontation to confirm it, so even though not unprepared I was at least taken aback.

My younger brother listens to heavy metal, but no matter how many times I’ve heard it, and despite all those times that I’ve sat down to really try and understand its charm, I’ve only just been able to hear “boom-noice-noice-noice-noice-noice-noice-bang” and then maybe a scream.

When my new Swedish colleague K. started playing heavy metal, illustrating in words and bodily movement the fulfilment and pleasure this music would provide her with, I really tried to enjoy it. She looked so cool. I tried to hear the lyrics (perhaps it was the lyrics?) and then I tried to enjoy the complexity of the music or even just the tune.

My Swedish childhood friend U. who grew up in an even more conservative home than I did, inquired “but doesn’t it make you feel stressed and angry?” expressing the very sentiment the music was begetting both of us, to which my new Swedish colleague K. replied “it’s so incredibly great!” Once more I tried to feel it. And there it was! Again. “Boom-noice-noice-noice-noice-noice-noice-bang!” And then maybe a scream.

By Lovain

The current abortion campaign

The Swedish paper Aftonbladet is momentarily busying itself with a series of articles on abortion. Apparently, 34 978 abortions were made last year - every 3rd woman has had one - but even though it has been allowed in Sweden since 1975, it’s still perceived as taboo to talk about it, and now a movement has been created to break the silence and legitimize it.

According to the Swedish law, a woman is free to have an abortion before the 18th week of her pregnancy unless the abortion would pose an immediate threat to her health or life, and she does not need to give any reason or consult anyone. After the 18th week, the social authority can permit an abortion, should there be specific reason, although they do not allow an abortion should the baby have a viable chance of surviving outside the womb – usually around the 22nd week – however, should the mother’s health or life be seriously threatened, the social authority can permit an abortion anytime during the pregnancy.

Abortion was semi-legalized in Belgium in 1990. King Boudewijn I of Belgium refused on moral grounds to sign and execute the ‘abortion law’ (law of partial depenalization of abortion), which caused a constitutional crisis. The government therefore declared the king incompetent to rule for 2 days, which made it possible for an interim ministry council to sign and execute the law.

In Belgium, abortion is allowed until the 14th week should the pregnancy put the woman in an “emergency situation”. Should a woman present herself at a clinic, she has to wait 6 days before she may have the abortion. After the 14th week, the authorities may permit an abortion, should there be an immediate threat to the woman’s or the baby’s health or life.

It’s strange how travelling 1 hour and 20 minutes on an airplane will put you in a niche where the conception of life, physical rights and other fundamental ideas are completely dissimilar. We all drink Coca Cola, watch The Apprentice and wear jeans – in the practical realm, Sweden and Belgium societies seem very similar – however, the unlike abortion law represents a difference that is present in the very fundament of the social ideal. Belgium is simply more conservative.

By Lovain

American treats

Texas-born M. who normally is struggling with his dissertation on Thomas Aquinas, is currently taking a break from his doctoral life to do an internship at the American Embassy. The internship is unpaid, but with the position come a few other privileges, one of them being an access pass to the Armed Forces Base here in Belgium. On the military base there is an American grocery store with American groceries. For an American family who has spent the last 10 years in Belgium, and has not been able to visit the US for a couple of years, this gateway is priceless: it entails an opportunity to get all the things we miss and are unable to buy here.

Texas-born M. and his family went to the grocery store this weekend, and brought back a few goodies for us. Typical things they thought we might be missing: jawbreakers, extra butter-ishious microwave popcorn, pancake syrup, twizzlers and refried beans. The Husband feasted, and said, with his mouth full off burrito “Imagine if we lived in the US, then we could buy these things all the time” and then he added, with a tone of guilt “all these unhealthy things we miss but that we don’t really like anymore”.

It’s true. I was so excited about the jawbreakers, but really, they’re only cool because they’re American jawbreakers. If I could buy jawbreakers in the local grocery store, then I probably wouldn’t. In the beginning when I lived here, it was difficult to cook because I didn’t have the exact ingredients I was accustomed to use for my meals, but now, when I go to the US or Sweden, I have problems cooking for our families there because I can’t find all the ingredients I need. It’s a matter of adjustment, obviously, but it sneaks up on you and you don’t notice it, until suddenly, one day, you find yourself downing the one twizzler after the other - not because you enjoy it, but because you can.

As soon as we get a chance, of course, we're going back to the military base for more. When the internship is over we won't be able to get in any more, so we might just as well stock up. Because we can.

By Lovain

Hail in May - I can't believe it!

Yesterday when I left work, the sky was dark and I saw lightning in the horizon. The air was filled with that wonderful before-the storm warmth and smell. As I came upon our house heavy drops of rain started hitting my face, and by the time the boys opened the front door for me, it was pouring. The Husband met me with a smile, the kind of smile you have when you’ve just spend several hours with 2 energetic boys and your relieve has arrived, but as I leaned in to give him a kiss, his smile suddenly turned into a look of terror, and he screamed out “My paprika!” as he turned around and leapt though the house, grabbing an umbrella and a blanket on his way. Hail large as golf balls was bouncing off the ground outside. By the time the boys & I got to the back of the house, the Husband was fervently bringing plants back into the house, while trying to cover the ones already in the ground. He leaned over the paprika like a father protecting his children during a sniper assault in Baghdad. Unfortunately, by the time the hail stopped, there were several casualties. Some of the radishes and paprika were broken in half, and time will have to show whether the roses survived or not. Hail in May - I can’t believe it!

By Lovain

Dreaming of Turkey

The husband has been invited to a philosophy conference in Turkey in August. I’ve never been to Turkey but I’ve heard so many remarkable things about it and I would love to go. The history and culture alone is amazing.
Founded by Constantine the Great to be the new capital of the Roman Empire in 330 C.E., Constantinople sits at the point where Europe and Asia meet, as the very personification of cultural diversity. The capital of a vast empire for more than 1,000 years, the city finally fell to the Ottomans on 29 May 1453, after which it was transformed into Istanbul, capital of the Ottoman Empire. It remained the residence of the sultans until earlier this century.

Add to this introduction the beautiful beaches and water, fantastic food and interesting scenery, and I am sold. I am, alas, also dreaming, of course. We barely have enough money for groceries every month, let alone plane tickets and travel costs. But it would be so awesome to show the boys the Temple of Artemis and teach them all about Greek Mythology, buy them kebabs at the Grand Bazaar and teach them how to swim in the blue lagoon in Fethiye-Muğla.

By Lovain

IKEA for kids

In the younger one's birthday package, mormor included Sweden t-shirts for the boys, which they wore when we went to IKEA on Saturday morning. At IKEA there is a supervised play area “Småland” where you can leave your children aged 3-12 for up to 1 hour. The younger one would always ask to go in, but not being of sufficient age, we would have to bring him and his brother upstairs to the mini-play area in the restaurant, bribing them with meatballs to curtail the disappointment. On Saturday, however, the day had finally come when they would be allowed into the IKEA children’s shrine. The younger one had turned 3 and we were early enough that there was still room for 2 boys. The lady stamped my hand and the boys’ hands with a number (when you pick up your child, they compare the stamps to make sure you take your own child), put name tags on the boys’ chests, and put their shoes in a box. Then she asked me for my cell phone number and told me she would send me an sms should there be a problem (if you don’t have a cell phone they give you a pager). The boys seemed excited when we left; however, I suspect because of the novelty they were a bit insecure and didn’t end up staying the whole hour. In the check-out I got an sms telling me my boys were waiting for me in Småland, so I went to pick them up. “Did you have fun?” I asked. “Yes, but we wanted meatballs.” they said.

By Lovain

Friday trio of smells

Spring came late but now it’s finally here, and it’s warm again. I had almost missed it, that Friday scent safari I go through every last day of my working week. As we ascent on the other side of the train station, entering town, we are immediately greeted by the smell of roast chicken. Friday is market day in Leuven, and the Belgians sell – and buy – among other things, roast chicken. As I pass the market and enter the square with all the bars, I am met by the odour of yesterday’s partying. Thursday night is party night in Leuven, and the next morning some of the students linger, along with the smell of sour beer, trash, broken beer bottles, and a strong stench of urine. As I leave this nauseating day-after site, I enter the residential alleys behind the square, where I’m brutally reminded of the fact that Friday morning is green trash bag day (see my blog from Wednesday, February 22, 2006). Garbage bags lined up waiting for the garbage truck, releasing a strong disgusting smell.

This trio of smells has been repressed by the cold winds of winter but with the warmth of spring they’ve now returned, reminding us of this one wonderful thing: it’s Friday!

by Lovain