The birds here must
be exhausted. I’ve never lived north of
well, Highway 121 in Texas until
now. Currently, the sunrises at 5:23 a.m. and sets at 10:00 p.m. , and we haven’t even hit the equinox. Desperate to understand where in the United
States Leiden, The Netherlands is similar to as far as latitude goes, I googled
latitude of major North American cities. I found that there is nowhere in the United
States that is equivalent to where I am now. Nowhere.
At 52 degrees north, the nearest North American city is Moose
Jaw , Canada Moose
Jaw , Canada 3:30 a.m. , and our bedroom is not equipped with the black-out
curtains which are found in the bedrooms in the front of the house. This was the driving force behind moving our
baby from our room into his own room. After
he started taking cues to start his day from the sun and birds, without
ceremonial ado or a lot of heart-wrenching reflections, he started sleeping in
his crib out of practicality. He’s still not sleeping through the night,
while disheartening, is completely expected.
Actually, considering I’m the mother of two sweet babies 18 months
apart, I have rarely slept through the night since 2009.
While I still reminisce periodically about
8-hours uninterrupted sleep, in all honesty, like any mother, doctor, or finals-cramming
college student, my body has proven to run pretty efficiently by now on broken
hours of sleep. The biggest challenge
and surprise I’ve been overcoming for the past few months, is the total physical
exhaustion I encounter on a daily
basis. Most people recognize the
feeling. You’re lying in bed the morning
after a difficult workout. You pushed
your limits at the gym or ran a few miles too many before your body was
ready. Maybe you’ve just started a new
routine with an intense trainer, picked up a new (or old sport), or perhaps it’s
January 2nd and this is the result of a hopeful new resolution. Your eyes open wide and you stare at the
ceiling. Your eyelids are the only part
of your body which can move without pain at this particular moment. The cause and effect is clear. You knew it was coming, perhaps, not quite as
severe, but you take a day or two off and start to feel great. You’re stronger, happier, and proud of
yourself for accomplishing a small goal.
I remember talking with my co-workers, just a few months ago, about how
I’d hope to put the kids in daycare at least once a week to give me a
break. We discussed the possibilities -
perhaps I’d ‘work out’ or run errands. I
laugh at this now. “Work out.” I would agree - my ideal day to myself in the
U.S. included a
fantastic run through the neighborhood and a bubble bath at home. That’s what Americans do. We schedule time for such events, whereas in Europe
just everyday life is a workout.
Our first few
weekend here, we ventured outside our home to explore our new town. The double stroller hadn’t arrived from America
yet, so with confidence, we loaded the baby in his stroller so he could sleep, and
strapped our toddler to my husband’s back.
We grabbed a steamy cup of coffee from the walk-up service, crossed over
picturesque canals, and weaved our way throughout the cobblestone streets. As we navigated through the market vendors,
our eyes feasting on wheels of cheese, endless bouquets of tulips, and loaves
of freshly baked bread, I prided myself on our resourcefulness of carrying one
child. I smiled at the ladies pushing
their love-seat sized double strollers down the bricked sidewalks. I marveled as to why no one else had a
sling. It seemed pretty handy as we
weaved among the stalls and people. It
wasn’t until we returned home and had repeated the act a couple more times
before I realized the truth of all this.
Pushing two kids around town (which, inevitably results in at least a
2-mile round trip) is hard
work. Carrying one while pushing another
is making a difficult task even more unreasonably exhausting and therefore,
ridiculous.
So. To expedite the trip around town, we invested
in a bike. This is what the Dutch
do. We’re going to try it. Ah, biking.
It still amazes me. As I’ve
mentioned before, everyone here rides a bike.
It’s no wonder that Americans are overweight, but to the same tone, it’s
no wonder that Europeans are not. It’s
not a conscious effort on their part or an unconscious effort our part I don’t
believe to be healthy or fit - it’s just a result of the system. Cycling and walking is built into European
society, whereas, in America
it’s not. Between the enticing bike
lanes, the lack of parking, the fact that you will never drive over 10 miles
per hour through town, etc. – it’s just not the efficient way to go. With that said, cycling myself plus two kids
all over town is more challenging than I had expected. For months I had watched mothers zoom by me
in their bakfiets as I pushed my strollers.
They looked happy and healthy, no trace of strain or exhaustion on their
faces. I’ve never seen a Dutch person
gasping for breath. They make biking
around town look like an effortless, even pleasurable experience. Of course they do. They’ve developed and maintained the muscles
to do such things since they were 4. I’m
not afraid of physical exertion – I was in marching band throughout high school
and college (insert funny comment here), and ran a ½ marathon 7 months after my
daughter was born, but this is a whole
new ballgame. It seemed like such a
simple answer – of course I’d bike my kids around town! – We only have one car
and I can’t get that American-made 2-ton double stroller with the 6 cup holders
on the train. But yeah, here I am,
winded after every time I take my daughter to school on the other side of town. I’m sure the neighbors have noticed. On the last turn onto our street, with my
two precious babies snug and peacefully asleep inside the neon green carrier, I
just stop pedaling. I am gasping for
breath, my shoulders collapse, and hang my head. I’m happy and tired and thankful that we made
it back home again. Jiggity Jig. I can only hope that I will gain the
endurance after a few months to prevent the laying-in-bed-eyelids-thing from
happening every time.
 |
| Stairs without railing...eek! |
After walking,
pushing, and/or biking the kids around town, I’m at home at last. It’s time to relax and unwind, right? Not quite so.
From what I’ve seen, it appears that the Dutch don’t build out, they
build up. Truth be told, I have 35
stairs inside my house, which
basically equates to having a Stairmaster workout, all day long. Don’t get me wrong, I love my house with all
its charms. But as I explored the Dutch
version of Realtor.com last fall, eyeing each home, all of them with at least
two or three floors, the consequences of living life in a tri-level home
never entered my realm of consideration.
The first floor is the living and kitchen areas. The second is the bedrooms and main
bath. The third is the guest bedroom,
office, bath and laundry area. It’s a
nice set-up, to be able to separate the three areas of your life with the
floors. There are 17 stairs from the
first to the 2nd and 18 stairs from the 2nd to the 3rd
floors. (Believe me, I know - I use them to practice counting with my 2-year
old everyday). The stairs are the width
of a dollar bill, so even my petite 5 ½ foot shoe, barely fits. The height is almost the same size, so if
you’re not careful (especially on the stairs to the third floor) your knees can
easily hit the stairs above. After my
buns were starting to not-so-much feel like steel, I put a pad of paper and pen
at the top of each flight for a week, just to calculate my exertion and I
discovered that I averaged climbing and descending the stairs at least 20-25
times a day. Laundry days are even more
(which, due to the largish-size of my family and the smallish-size of the
washer, results in an every-other day washing event). As if that wasn’t enough, while I felt
comfortable letting my daughter climb our lovely carpeted, completely railed
stairs at home in Texas, there was no way I’d let her ascend the stairs here
unattended – as beautiful as they are, there is no railing on the left side of
the first flight and there would be nothing to stop her from falling to the
tiled floor 8-feet below. So, I’ve been
carrying my two children up and down the stairs for months. “Hold on honey, I’m going to take your
brother up first, and then I’ll come back and get you.” I know it sounds a little ridiculous, but it
took me about 3 months to do this effortlessly.
I’m not sure which I’m more proud of – the ½ marathon in a little over 2
hours, or being able to carry my kids without gasping for breath. I think it might be a toss up.
 |
| Dash doesn't seem to mind the steep stairs |
This all said, as
with everything, it gets better and easier everyday. I finally had enough of carrying my daughter
up the stairs and have started to let her “hold Mama’s hand!” and climb up (but
not down) the stairs. I smiled and began
to doubt my first attempt at letting her ascend the stairs as I had a
death-grip on her precious hand. I
steadied her as her tiny legs climbed the intensely steep staircase. We counted - “Fiiifteeen, Siiiixxteeeeen, and
SEVVEEENTEEN! Steps” We cheered her accomplishment and then I had to giggle as
she collapsed on the 2nd floor landing out of pure exhaustion. I’m glad it’s not just me. At least it made nap time easier for
her.
oh so true. How do they do it, really?! I am consistently passed by elderly looking people on bikes while I am huffing and puffing up a "hill". And this is without a bakfiets;-)
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