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

Wreckless biking

It rained all night and everything was wet this morning, including the cobblestoned streets of Leuven. Old cobble stone is slick and old wet cobblestone is extraordinarily slippery. Going down a steep hill to the left of St. Anthony's chapel on my way to work this morning I should have considered this, but I was late and wanted to get to work fast, so I stayed on my bike. I slid a couple of times but defiantly stayed on my bike until the very end of the hill where the steepness cumulated. Here my descent dramatically turned into an uncontrollable side-slide resulting in my landing flat on my stomach, catching myself with my hands and knees. Billy Joel was brutally silenced (I had my mp3-player around my neck) as the pain registered in my brain.

I limped the rest of the way to work, leading my now chainless bike, and arrived in my torn muddy formerly-white jacket with scraped-up bleeding palms and knees atrociously late.

By Lovain

Theoretical time of departure

On my way to work, I walk under the train station, and I always pass the big board for the bus departures and arrivals. Today it struck me, and I’ve noticed it a million times before but was never struck by it, that each departure time has a little star next to it 09:35* and if you look at the bottom of the board, it says *=theoretical time of departure. It really is quite typical Belgium. Everybody realizes that delays might, from time to time, occur when it comes to busses, but here they feel the need to dodge, in permanent ink, any potential complaint - every day, all the time. I rarely go by bus, but for commuters it must be frustrating to leave your safe arrival at work every morning in the hands of theoretical times of departures. Or perhaps then you also get a little star in your work contract Start of working day: 09:00*? And in a footnote *=theoretical start of working day.

By Lovain

I have bi(tri)lingual children

The Easter bunny broght 2 little Batman dolls for the boys. The older one had just parted with a previous version that after intensive play finally gave in - legs & arms were broken off – and it had to be thrown away. He was very happy to receive a new one, and the younger one was overwhelmed at having received his very own Batman doll. When the boys after 2 weeks of Easter break returned to school yesterday, the older one explained this entire Easter bunny-Batman story in perfect Dutch to the younger one’s teacher, “Tante Isabel” as they call her. It’s not a surprize to me that he speaks Dutch. This is his 2nd year in school and his teacher has told me that he has no trouble keeping up. It’s just that I never really heard him speak Dutch before. To hear my little 4 year old expressing himself flawlessly in a foreign language; a language that took me a couple of years to learn, truly amazed me. The mind of children is indeed fascinating.

By Lovain

Mission impossible: time management

How do normal people manage their lives? I imagine myself to be a fairly well organized and energetic person, but I always feel as if I’m constantly trying to catch up. I’m never quite on top of things and although I’m hanging on I’m not able to keep up. There’s always another load of laundry, or a dirty floor, or a bill that needs to be paid. I never have enough time for the boys or the husband, and I don’t see my friends even remotely as often as I would like to. There’s never an extra hour for a work-out and there’s hardly ever enough food in the house. I’m constantly reminded that I don’t know anything about what’s going on in the world around us, let alone in the literary development or what happened in the last episode of Lost. I always have a party to plan or an event to prepare for, and something constantly seems to come up!

Who lives in a clean house, has all clothes washed, folded and put away and the dishes done? Whose fridge is always full of nutritious food and who keeps children, husband and friends constantly happy? Who manages to work out every other day to stay fit, all the while working full-time and still gets the 7 hours of sleep every night that is needed? Who can prepare for birthday parties and participate in school activities while keeping up with the world news and Lost? Who manages all these things?! (without paid help of course) Please let me know because I would like to find out how this person does it. Is there a trick? An art?

By Lovain

Fever

When I woke up this morning, my youngest son was in our bed, so hot I could barely touch him, wimpering "I need a drink of water". I got him a cup of water and he started drinking like there was no tomorrow. It all came right back up, all over me, all over the bed. Good morning!

It’s very obvious when children are sick. Everything about them tells you they are sick: the way they talk, move, or feel (hot, hot, hot!). They don’t just get a fever, they get a temperature of 39,5°C and you watch over them all night fearing that they will have a seizure any second. But they sleep and sleep and drink water and let you give them fever reducer. And then they get better.

By Lovain

Top manager á la Belgium

Belgian Television station VT4 is broadcasting “De Topmanager” and I can’t help but watching it. It’s the CEO of Capco that is selecting a manager out of originally 16 candidates; 8 men and 8 women. In the pilot, the candidates were divided into 2 teams, men against women, and every broadcast delivers a winner and a looser. The winning team gets a prize; a fancy dinner or an outing, while the loosing team is summoned by Mr. CEO and one of its members dismissed. The first 3 rounds have been won by the women, and 3 men have had to leave.

The show itself is not as interesting as the smashing way it completely confirms my stereotype of Belgian leadership. In my experience, your average Belgian manager will assume a position of authority, not communicate with his team, let the team take charge and hereby create chaos and when things go wrong, blame it on someone completely different. “Yes, we promised to deliver your parking permits upon payment within 3 days, but the printing company did not let us know that they would not be able to make the badges in less than a week, so I’m afraid you are going to have to wait”.

Last time, the mission was to buy low and sell high. The groups got 1000€ each, 2 days, and the group to make the highest profit would win. The men selected a project manager, spent most of the first day not agreeing on what to buy, none of the members cooperating, everybody pushing for their own ideas and eventually they lost, making nearly no profit at all. The whole time, the Project manager was trying to act like a manager but could direct the group in no way. When confronted, he blamed a 3rd party for the loss, and he was, of course, not dismissed.

By Lovain

Doctor, I'm sick.

I have a cold again; sore throat, runny congested nose, headache and a slight fever. I feel sick but not sick enough to go to the doctor.

If you work, and you get sick here in Belgium, you have to go to the doctor within 24 hours to get a doctor’s note. You give this note to your employer to verify that you are sick. This way you also get financial compensation. Even if it’s just a cold and all you need is a day’s rest, you have to go to the doctor for the note.

Of course the doctor can’t just write you a note. You are paying her 20€. She has to act as if you are there for an exam and a diagnose; She’ll give you a thorough check-up and then say “You have a viral infection. A cold, that is. Normally you should feel better within a couple of days.” I KNOW! It’s a cold, yes. I came for the note! Just give me 2 days in bed.

She will always suggest treatment. “I will proscribe you Aspirin and nose spray. Try to rest and drink water”. Well, thank you very much. I'll take the note.

by Lovain

A Desperate Househusband

I was at work when I got an email from the husband yesterday afternoon. We were going to have a small dinner party in the evening, and the e-mail was of the anxious kind, reading something like “the pesto turned out too bitter (too much basil), the house is a mess, the boys have destroyed their room, and I don’t know how to get the meringues the way you need them! Please hurry home”. The husband sounded like a desperate housewife.

By Lovain

No smoking, please

T. the Dane is going back to work in the shipping industry. After a few years of rest, he is ready to resume the busy life he once led. His stories from his past life are like those of sailors. Like the time when he and his team were invited by Philip Morris to a weekend in Amsterdam. After checking in to the hotel, they went up to their floor, only to find that there were ‘no smoking’ signs in all the rooms. On the beds, Philip Morris had left complimentary cigarette packages.

By Lovain

A catholic priest and two Rabbis once conducted a wedding ceremony...

Our friends W. and A. got married last year. W. was studying to be a catholic priest when he met A. and decided to leave the priesthood for a less celibate relationship. A. is Jewish. It was an interesting wedding, to say the least. Between “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, AMEN” we shouted “MAZEL TOV” as W. crushed a glass, and the ceremony was conducted by a Catholic Priest and two Rabbis under a Chuppa in a catholic church. I’m sure God has seen stranger things, although I don't know if I have. They are now a very happy couple.

At the party on Saturday, just as A. & W. were leaving, A. brought me over to our bookshelf and whispered “To what I am about to ask, you are not allowed to react or respond in any way. Do not say a word and do not make a sound”.

Then she pointed to my What to expect when you’re expecting and asked “Could I borrow this?”

My whole body must have reacted because she immediately went “Shhhhhh!!!! Not a word! Not a word!” And I said “But…?!” and she said “Sssssshhhhhhh!” again but I insisted “How many weeks?” and she told me she was 2 weeks over due but she seemed not to have taken a test yet to confirm, so it’s in no way official. Of course, everybody has been asking them, since they got married, when they were going to have their first baby, but so far they’ve said that they are waiting because W. is not ready to become a father (something about fear of not living up to the ideal). I guess he got ready.

I just wanted to say CONGRATULATIONS, but I will have to wait a bit.

By Lovain

Friends forever!

On Saturday night, I threw a birthday party for the husband. Friends came and lots of food & drink was consumed. The husband seemed to enjoy himself. However, on Sunday he started on a rant that has been heard before: “I don’t have any real friends” or “they all just came because you invited them” or “I don’t think anybody really likes me or finds me interesting – they all think I’m weird”. The husband does this every now and then and there is no reason to. Some of our friends are good friends with the husband: there’s Dr. J., the Canadian baseball player, who wrote his doctorate dissertation on Feuerbach, Texas-born M. who is struggling with his dissertation on Thomas Aquinas, and newly-wed R. who is a Kant scholar just like the husband – in short; there are good friends.

I know what’s bothering the husband: The friends might be good friends but they are not Affleck-T. who was here a few years ago. Affleck-T. and the husband were inseparable. Constantly arguing, never agreeing, hours, days and nights on end. They talked about everything and nothing. They still do. They can have a 4 hour conversation over the phone, and when they hang up I ask the husband “How is Affleck-T.’s wife?” or “How is the baby?” and the husband answers “I don’t know” because they talked about Barry Bonds the whole time.

Affleck-T. went back to the USA and lives with his wife and children in the Boston area.

Living abroad, you do loose some of your investment in friendships, because you’ll make friends with other expats, and they seem to move more than other friends. After you move, you remain friends (most of the time) but it’s the everyday friendship that you miss.

By Lovain

Enjoying spring break in the winter...

This week is spring break here in Belgium. In Swedish it’s called sport break and in Dutch it’s crocus break.

I took 2 days off work to spend some extra time with the boys. On Sunday we went to the market in Brussels but there was no sign of spring: the fruit was still expensive and it was too cold to enjoy the ethnic food. Then yesterday it snowed all day so we went to the swimming pool.

I think perhaps the Swedes were right this year: this week has neither spring nor crocus; just sport.

By Lovain