A Day in the Life...

         

      Loud, staticky voices erupt from my radio alarm clock and startle me out of my deep sleep. I briefly eavesdrop on the conversation that is taking place, but truly understand nothing because both the radio talk show host and his interviewee are speaking Dutch.

I crack one eye and peek at the green, blocky numbers on the clock screen: 8:00 AM. I hit the snooze button, close my eyes and fall back into slumber. It feels like a minute later and the voices are back, waking me again. 8:10. Snooze. Sleep ten minutes. 8:20. Snooze. 8:30. And the pattern continues… until it’s crunch time and I literally have five minutes to get ready for work. I had planned to take a shower that morning, but that will have to wait. I throw on an outfit. I brush my teeth, wash my face and walk down three flights of stairs and I’m at work. It’s quite a commute: it takes about thirty seconds to get there.

            As soon as I open the door there’s almost always some sort of commotion going on. Toy cars strewn across the floor. A half-eaten peanut butter sandwich on the table.  Dutch Dora the Explorer on TV. Coffee brewing. A fire in the fireplace. A naked three-year-old boy runs back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, dodging tables, chairs and toys. He’s quite the nudist—this is normal behavior for him when it comes time to put clothes on. Finally, I catch him and with a bit of force, am able to dress him. Being an au pair is always exciting. 

            Then Dad, Jim, goes to work and Mom, Susan, takes a shower or goes back to sleep—being a mom is exhausting and she’s usually up all night taking care of the five week old baby girl, Olivia. So, now I’m alone with Stijn and Olivia. Stijn does a lot of ‘auto spelen’ and ‘boterham eten’, in English, ‘playing with cars’ and ‘sandwich eating’. These are our main activities unless we go to the ‘speeltuin’ or ‘playground’. Life is easy when you’re three.

           

 Then it’s time for school. Outside, it’s sunny, but crisp and chilly—a perfect fall day. Orange and yellow leaves coat the busy streets. I walk and Stijn rides his small bike. It has no pedals, so he pushes his feet against the ground to propel himself forward. It’s like walking with the aid of wheels, so as you can imagine he has a significant advantage over me in terms of speed. He zips ahead and screams wildly “HUP STIJN, HUP! HUP, STIJN HUP!” which literally translates to “GO, STIJN, GO! GO, STIJN, GO!” and I am forced to sprint in order to keep up.

            Once I’ve dropped him off at school, I am normally granted some free time. In these moments I will usually go to a hot, sweaty bikram yoga class, jog around beautiful Wester Park, play guitar, take some photographs, cook a fantastic meal, ponder the meaning of life, write, have a chat with family and friends back home, or bike around the city. 

            My bike is a classic old road bike. I bought her for thirty Euros and she’s a beaut—she’s shiny gold in color and her name is Cleopatra. She’s on her last legs, old Cleopatra, but she’s a trooper. Her gears are broken so I am perpetually cycling in a very low gear, but it is tolerable because there are no hills in Amsterdam. There is a recurring squeaking sound that happens every time her wheels make a full rotation… lets just say you can always hear Cleo and I coming. Regardless, she is a reliable old girl and we get around together.

                   I pick up Stijn from school. He bikes. I run. Once we get home, I make him a ‘boterham met pindakaas’ or ‘sandwich with peanut butter’. Then I’ll look after baby Olivia while Stijn plays with his massive collection of toy cars. 

         Night rolls around, Jim comes back from work. Then, the magic happens in the ‘keuken’ or 'kitchen'. Stijn frolics around, protesting bedtime as Susan cooks up wonderful typically Dutch meals. I wouldn’t say they are healthy, but they are most definitely delicious: the top ingredients are cheese and potatoes. We have a nice family meal together followed by tea, coffee and stroopwafels—Dutch sugar-filled waffle cookies. (Somehow, I haven’t gained weight yet and I think it’s due to what I like to call the “European Balance”—I’m constantly biking and walking everywhere, so it cancels out all of the cheese and butter I’m consuming.)

After dinner, I’ll call it a day and scale the three extremely steep flights of stairs that lead to my apartment.  Out of breath, I’ll open the front door to find my lovely roommate, Fleur, sprawled out on our ever-so-comfortable couch watching The Hills. I’ll join her briefly and we’ll share stories of our days and then we’ll retire to our beds. I love writing at night, so I’ll usually try to find some inspiration and crank out some words. Sleep, then repeat.

        This is a day in my weekly life.