Social Seating

Als emigrationatrice (vrouwelijke ambassadeur van de emigratie) vlieg ik geregeld naar Nederland op en neer. En natuurlijk is het telkens weer spannend, want je weet nooit of de piloot halverwege de Atlantische Oceaan besluit om 'eruit te stappen', en of er vervolgens niet toch iemand in het vliegtuig zit die met haar hakjes de noodglijbaan afgaat en deze penetreert, waarna een glijdende aftocht niet meer tot de mogelijkheden behoort. Ook is het altijd maar afwachten of de leden van de mile high-group niet per ongeluk vast komen te zitten in het toilet waarna je tien uur lang met samengeknepen billen zit. In dat kader is samenwerking tussen de KLM en de NS wellicht een goed idee.

Maar de echte crux zit 'm in de passagier naast je. En precies daarom heeft KLM het geweldige idee opgevat om bij het reserveren van je stoel de Facebook of Linkedin pagina's van medepassagiers te tonen. Op die manier kun je ervoor kiezen naast iemand plaats te nemen met eenzelfde voorliefde voor voetbalplaatjes, iemand die op zaterdag ook het liefst dronken in de gracht lazert, of iemand die net als jij fan is van het oude kapsel van Justin Bieber. 

Met recht een geweldig idee om de volgende redenen. Zo kan ik, indien één van de passagiers lid is van een terroristische zelfmoordclub, mijn voorkeur kenbaar maken voor een stoel naast de nooduitgang. Of ik kan mijn vlucht cancellen wanneer de ganse fanclub van Ajax (niets persoonlijks) een leuk uitje heeft. En als Justin Bieber zelf ook zijn Facebook pagina linkt aan de KLM, kan ik verdorie nog naast 'the boy himself' zitten ook.

Ik ben dan wel een voorstander voor meer persoonlijke informatie op Facebook. Bijvoorbeeld de mate van knoflookgebruik, een eventuele voorliefde voor overmatig parfumgebruik, aard en inhoud van conflicten met buren/huisbaas/familie/vrienden, en blaasvolume. Dat laatste in verband met het aantal bezoekjes aan de toilet. 

Er is slechts één minpuntje. Waar het voorheen een voorrecht was om niemand naast je te hebben, wordt het nu een punt van medelijden. Terug naar de dagen dat je tijdens gym als laatste voor een team werd gekozen...

Frown Baby Frown

Every now and again I get invited to a full-blown stick-it-in-and-have-some-cake Botox party. I try not to take it personally, which isn't that hard when the invitations arrive via email and are send out to virtually every mom in the Bay area. But it helps that I actually know I don't need any Botox injections. Why would I, when people look shocked when I tell them I have two children. I usually add 'but they're still very small', as if I that would justify it, but maybe I should start every conversation by stating that I am not a teenage mom. Because I'm not, you know. But jokes aside, even if my face would warrant Botox injections to rejuvenate myself (because I'm worth it), I'd decline. And now I have scientific proof that the use of Botox should be frowned upon. 

As you probably know, Botox paralyzes facial muscles. It is especially popular to deactivate those pesky frown muscles that show up when we're angry or sad. But a recent study shows that being able to frown is a necessary evil to understand said emotions. Patients scheduled for a first Botox injection were subjected to a reading task involving sentences with an angry, sad or happy component. After the patients had their treatment, reading time increased for the angry and sad sentences, but not for the happy sentences. Apparently, we need to be able to activate our frown muscles to be able to get in to the feeling and thus understand the sentences.

The moral of this study can be summarized by a quote from the Bible (or an African proverb, depending where you look):

'Sorrow is better than laughter; it may sadden your face, but it sharpens your understanding.'

But personally, I like this one better:

'The frowning face of a goat doesn't prevent it being taken to market.' Unfortunately, I am in the dark as to the meaning of this proverb.

Writings and ramblings...

I know I've been dreadfully absent. It's because of all the projects I am involved in and a couple of new writings I've been working on... but to make it up to you, I'll post a column I've been working on. It's in Dutch, sorry for those of you unable to read it. And after this week I'll be up and running again.

Uit eten in Amerika

Zes uur. Lekker uit eten met een vriendin. Come in, just follow me and I’ll get you guys seated! Te kort jurkje, benen tot aan d’r hoofd en hoge naaldhakken. Dank je. Ze gaat even een menu halen. Exit serveerster. Twee seconden later, enter serveerster. Vlak voor de tafel begint de fake smile met het over de top huppeltje. Hello, I’m Jenny, I’ll be your waitress for the evening. Here are your menus. Can I get you anything to drink? Hè, je had ons toch net al naar onze tafel gebracht? Had je toen niet kunnen zeggen wat je naam was? Maar goed. Uhm. Doe maar een cola. Sorry? O ja, een Coke. Diet or regular? Nou, doe maar een regular, hoor. En zij wil een Diet Coke, kan niet missen, hè. Ice? Ja, lekker, het is hier 34 graden en ik ben zwaar oververhit van de wandeling van de parkeerplaats naar het restaurant, dus wat verfrissing kan geen kwaad. Exit Jenny. Tien seconden later, enter Jenny met twee Cokes met ijs, één Diet, één regular. So, are you ready to order, yet? Nou, eigenlijk niet nee, we zitten nog maar net, en ik heb het menu van vijf pagina’s, het dagmenu, het kaartje met de specials en de restaurant-week special nog niet kunnen lezen. Zouden we nog even op de kaart mogen kijken? Sure you guys, let me know when you’re ready, ok? Tuurlijk, doen we, we zijn per slot van rekening hier gekomen om wat te eten, nietwaar? Exit Jenny. Tien seconden later, enter Jenny. Just checking in. Would you like to know about our specials? Die staan hier netjes op dit kaartje, toch? En we kunnen lezen dus het komt helemaal goed. Would you like a refill? Nou, als je het niet erg vindt, drink ik eerst even deze op. More ice? Nee hoor, er zit nog genoeg ijs in. Exit Jenny, huppelend op die verrekte naaldhakken. Wel twee minuten later, enter Jenny. How are you doing? Are you finding everything ok? Ja hoor, prima. We hebben toch zeker één hele pagina van het menu kunnen bekijken, maar doe maar het dagmenu. Sorry? BBQ-saus. O nee, wacht, doe maar ketchup. Exit Jenny.

Zo. Kunnen we even bijpraten. Hoe is het met jou? Hoe gaat het met je ve.... Nee, de soep was voor mij, zij had de salade. Zie ik eruit als een salade-persoon? Sjezus, kan het nog sneller. Nou goed, we slurpen wel wat langzamer. Wat? Nee, geen refill dank je, mijn maaginhoud is voorlopig dichtgevroren dankzij de hoeveelheid ijs in de vorige cola, dus tenzij je thee in de aanbieding hebt laat ik het hier even bij. Nee, grapje. Ik hoef geen thee. Nee, echt niet. Exit Jenny.

Echt waar? Moet hij veel overwerken, dan? Nou dat is ook... Hè? Nee, het gaat echt prima. Ja, het eten is heerlijk, hoor. Wel een beetje veel ketchup in de soep. Neehee, ik hoef geen refill. Nou goed dan, omdat je zo aandringt. Het is toch gratis, hè, en we blijven Nederlanders, ook al wonen we hier. Exit Jenny.

Wat zei je nou? Dat is ook wat. En wat zegt zijn baas er dan... Wat is er nu weer? O, dank je. Nee, je mag het bord meenemen. En hier is de lepel. Ik had hem nog in mijn hand. Ja gek he, ik had mijn laatste hap nog niet op. Maar goed. Neem maar mee. Hebben we eindelijk even een momentje rust.

Zijn baas dus. Nou, vervelend hoor. Ik zou als ik hem was... Wat? Nee, ik had de pasta, zij heeft de maaltijdsalade. Ja, bedankt. Nee, ik hoef geen refill meer, de bubbels van die twee cola’s beginnen me naar het hoofd te stijgen. Ook niets anders. Ja, doe maar wat Parmezaanse kaas. Nee, dat is wel genoeg, ik kan de pasta eronder niet meer zien, en mijn bord ziet eruit als een net uitgebarste Vesuvius. Lekker hoor.

Waar waren we? Hebben zijn collega’s er iets van gezegd? Dat is misschien wel... Pardon? Nee, je hebt me een minuut geleden toch al een refill aangeboden? Nou, weet je wat, kom maar gewoon door met die refills, kan mij het schelen. Ja, lekker. Ook ijs ja. En een citroentje? O, dat heb je dan weer niet. Nou, dan niet hoor. Ja, we roepen echt wel als we wat nodig hebben. Ga ik op de tafel staan schreeuwen en tapdansen, wees maar niet bang. Dahaggg.

Zijn collega’s zeggen er ook niets van? Dat is ook gek...Nee, geen refill had ik gezegd! O. Oké. Nee, dat wisten we niet. Fijn dat je het even meldt. We zullen de w.c. niet gebruiken. Wordt lastig met al die refills, maar goed.

Hoe voel jij je eronder? Nee, dat snap ik, dat is natuurlijk...Wat nu weer? Ja, neem maar mee. Ik heb geen honger meer na al die refills. Bedankt hoor. Sorry? Of ik er een bakje voor wil? Wat bedoel je daar nou weer mee? O. Nee, het is niet alsof ik die pasta morgen weer ga opwarmen. Die is morgen zo verlept dat ik ‘m zelfs niet opgestijfd krijg met die hoeveelheid ijsblokjes die je in mijn cola heb gedaan. Of ik dat zeker weet? Ja natuurlijk, ik weet toch zeker zelf wel wat ik wil. Een dessert? Nou, daar heb ik wel zin in. Ik kan wel een bak chocolade gebruiken om het beeld van je blikkerende nepglimlach van mijn netvlies af te vlakken. Prima, doe me die maar.

Jeetje zeg, wat naar dat jullie zo in een dip zi...Ja! Natuurlijk is die chocoladetaart voor mij. Denk je nou echt dat zij met haar graatmagere zandloperfiguur überhaupt durft te denken aan chocoladetaart? Ze ziet de grammen er al aankomen. Ja, ga maar weg. Hallo? Hallo? HALLO? Ik sta hier nu al vijf minuten met mijn handeren te wapperen, ik heb er geen vork bij gekregen. Beetje moeilijk eten zo, hè? Ja, bedankt. O, krijgen we direct de rekening? Goed hoor, ik wilde toch geen koffie. Doos. Die fooi kan ze ook op d’r buik schrijven.

Hoe laat is het eigenlijk? Half zeven. Jee, als ik me haast kan ik net de kinderen nog op bed leggen. Was gezellig, hè? Hebben we fijn even bij kunnen praten. Doen we snel nog een keer. En de groeten aan je vent!

Search Engine Optimization

Ok, I didn't want to throw around computer terms, but I am seriously considering a course of SEO basics (Search Engine Optimization). And no, this idea did not spring from the mind of my tech hub, it's all mine. I even managed to find the term SEO on my own. Thank you.

The reason that a gamma person such as me would even consider dabbling in scary beta things such as SEO courses is the stats page of my website, which I like to check every now and again. After all, who wants to write for nobody, right? Admittedly, I may not write about world shocking news items, but for some reason the Russians seem to think I have something desirable, so why not you? But don't worry, I can't see who you are, I just know you're there. No, don't go yet, stay a little longer...

My stats page has this fun option of reading how people find my site. And did you know that I am a big hit for people who are looking for answers on their cockroach dreams? Also, I am very wanted by people who poop butterflies. Then there is this small group of you - you know who you are - who find my website hoping to find answers to your 'bad at networking' issues. But alas. To those of you I say, I hear you! Let me know when you find a useful website. 

But most people who end up on my site want to know all about cats eating rats, rats eating cats, cats eating food, or something similar. I wonder if my 'cat eat rat' post actually answered any of their questions. Probably not...Now, in favor of my very person, I do have to mention that there actually are people who search on my name. They are probably the only ones who get what they were after. To those of you: congratulations. You found me.

But seriously, when you think about it, I might be on to something here. All kinds of totally unrelated people with unrelated issues (although I can imagine that people who poop butterflies must have problems in any socially related field) end up on my website. So maybe I should just throw around random terms that are hot. Britney Spears. You didn't see that one coming? Cat videos (I probably covered many of those searches already).  Justin Bieber. Scared you there, right? I'm probably all over the world wide web right now, except on searches related to terrorism. But I'll stay away from those, just in case the FBI and CIA are monitoring my website as well.

So, if you're reading this and care to tell me how you found my website, and more importantly, whether you actually found what you were looking for, you can always leave a message. But if you don't, I will still know you're there.

Feel free to leave now.

Follow up Meet the Flintstones

Some of you suggested the Flintstone house of the previous post looked a lot like the place of residence of Barbapapa, and whether I might have gotten my facts wrong. But no, this is not the case. To prove it, I contacted the FBI and CIA and got the Barbapapa address. Underneath a picture of the Barbapapa residence (curtosy of palaisbulles.com)

Strangely enough, the Barbapapa family does not live in California. As to why they chose France over California, I am not sure. Maybe they got tired of people ringing their door in order to meet the Flintstones, or perhaps their first home just kind of shriveled up in a mysterious way. Who knows.

Hopefully, this will put an ending to your doubts, and to posts dedicated to strange houses. May they rest in...well, an inflated state.

Meet the Flintstones

As you might have noticed, most of the fictitious people I know reside in California. Let's not dwell on that.  Apparently this interesting finding also goes for the Flintstones, as I stumbled on their place of residence. I've seen the 'house' time and again driving on highway 280 on my way to San Francisco International Airport. Finally, after several rides during which I was able to see the darn thing long enough to question my sanity, but never long enough to take a snapshot, I smartened up and remembered the closest exit number. Thank you Google Maps (satellite version), thank you Wikipedia and thank you Beatrice Murch, who did manage to take the picture. From the highway nonetheless. Amazing lady.

Oh, and by the way, if you love architecture (and even if you don't) you absolutely have to check out the ridiculous way the building was created. Balloons? Sounds a lot like papier-mâché to me. I wonder whether the thing shriveled up, like my papier-mâché projects always did.

Excommunication

When you are expecting your first child, everything is exciting and extraordinary. You're totally exhilarated, don't know what to expect (except the obvious) and in case you're me, you tend to examine all kinds of tables with examples of age-related milestones. Now, when you're expecting your second born, things are a little different. Because, of course, you know what to expect, right? But that's just what you think. You are better off not expecting to know what to expect and you should definitely refrain from extrapolating from your previous experiences. Because the existence of 50% gene-overlap counts for exactly nothing. Zero that is.

For example, my first born exceeded my expectations concerning his expressive language development. At 19 months his vocabulary consisted of an exceptionally well pronounced 300-something words, some words more exclusive than others (can anybody explain why a child this age would need the word 'label'?). Now, I honestly did not expect my second born to be exactly the same. And it is not that he is at the other extreme with no words to express himself. But his pronunciation is extraordinary, exquisite and very exclusive (or in this case, I should say very INclusive), with most words falling into either one of three categories: auto, tuttel and behh.

Within the category 'auto':

ootoo (auto/car)

tatooh (tractor/tractor)

otoonn (open/open)

ootehh (oma/grandma)

tootehh (broodje/bread)

tooteh (vogel/bird)

The category 'tuttel' (cuddly blanket):

tuttehh (tuttel/cuddly blanket)

titteh (zitten/sit)

tietuh (vliegtuig, airplane)

ditteh (drinken/drink)

ditteh/dit (dicht/shut)

tietteh (fiets/bike)

tuiteh (buiten/outside)

tuttah (Lucas/Lucas) (who - by the way - does not appreciate being called a cuddly blanket)

thitheh (visje/fish)

tijteh (kijken/look)

And the category 'behh':

bah (bah/bwegh)

boo (boom/tree)

ba (bal/ball)

bui (buik/tummy)

The less exclusive, 'other' category:

nee (no), o-o!, kaaa! (klaar/done), koe (cow), jaaa! (lamp/lamp), kaa! (kaas/cheese), papa (daddy), mama (mommy, toettoet (sound of car), aai (hug), kie-ke-boe (peekaboo), haa (haar/hair), tnnn (teen/toe), neu (neus/nose), pepehh (piemel/private parts), wawa (hond/dog)

And last, and also least category 'English':

car, go, eaja (ear), choochoo, hi

Think I'm exaggerating? You'll just have to excuse me.

Where's Waldo...

Yep. Found him too. And I wasn't even looking for him. I must admit he was a bit of a disappointment in real life.

Given the choice, I'd opt for the books rather than meeting him in situ. Much more of a challenge if you ask me.

Santa's village

I found him. The bugger was hiding right under our very noses. The whole idea that he would choose to live at the North pole was crazy to begin with. Who wouldn't choose warm an' sunny California over the toe freezing, cold catching, teeth clattering North pole? But enough of this. I found him, and even though I did not visit the place, my imagination of it makes it an unnecessary and possibly even insensible journey. After all: Santa's got better things to do.

I imagine elves flying around, tinkering with flowers and playing hopscotch on lily pads, until Grumpy (having enough of this merry scene) manages to trip one smack-bang in the middle of the pond. I imagine Rudolph frolicking about, playing hide and seek, which seems silly because his nose can be spotted from miles away. But that doesn't matter, cause he's playing with Dopey, who wouldn't be able to find his own ears lest he was standing on them. 

Meanwhile, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Dunder, and Blixem attend to more serious matters, cleaning the sleigh karate-style - wax on, wax off - . Mrs. Claus, the real housewife of California, wholeheartedly engages in her task of reading the daily letters composed of endless, crooked written wish lists written by all the children in the world, filing them not only alphabetically, but also based on area of interest, price range, and presence of dyslexia. In what little time remains - though she never minds this, secretly even loves her time consuming, indispensable role - she applies calligraphy to write the names of said children in Santa's big and dusty book 'Naughty 'n Nice'. Occasionally, she glances out of the kitchen window, and catches a glimpse of chipmunks Chip and Dale (Knabbel en Babbel voor de Nederlandse lezertjes) who are having a private pool party in Santa's spray ground. Whereas some of the more serious villagers frown upon this questionable behavior, among which the above mentioned Grumpy, Mrs. Claus knows that Santa actually loves their exuberant demeanor. Chip and Dale took on their share of the work, planting the seeds of the Christmas trees earlier in the year, and it is only fair to let them steam off some of their excess energy. This does not mean that Santa overlooked the fact that Chip munched on some of the seeds whilst planting them, and that Dale keeps a secret stash of them in his tree, causing the orchard to have a slightly haphazard feel to it. Santa did not need Snoopy to rat on them, although Snoopy, being Santa's eyes, ears, and nose especially, showed his true colors and zealous nature upon hearing about this from Sleepy, who is not at all what he seems to be, sleepy that is. But, as one may have gathered by now, Santa has a little soft spot for Chip and Dale.

If you listen carefully, you can probably hear his hearty, boisterous bursts of laughter when Chip and Dale, employing Super Soakers as sprinklers for the orchard, turn against Santa, after which the whole village engages in a merry water fight. HO HO HO.

Crafty Warcraft

World War II. Definitely a nasty war by all standards. A war requiring brilliant minds and creative ideas as one can read from this news item. Welcome to the mind of some of history's most important war strategists. Putting female hormones into Hitler's food in an attempt to make him less aggressive? Drop glue on German troops? I figure if these suggestions are considered valid and smart, I may as well throw some ideas of my own. So here are some alternative suggestions that just sprang from my wandering mind. A bit late to bring about Hitler's demise, but they might come in handy for other bad-ass world leaders during wartime:

Frankincense bombing:
Guaranteed mellowness for an entire country.
Warcraft games:
Virtual reality to replace or deflect the need for complete annihilation.
Planking attacks:
Because a stiff enemy just ain't no fun.
Hallmark cards:
Nothing speaks as much as a Hallmark card.
Glamour makeover:
Because looking good equals feeling good.
Free lottery tickets:
Winning price, a ticket to the moon. One-way, non-refundable. No correspondence possible concerning the outcome.
Broadcasting Reggae music:
'Don't worry be happy', 'simmer down', and 'judge not' to induce the feeling of love. Admittedly, the songs 'no woman, no cry' and 'stir it up' might not be suitable in this case, stringent selection is imperative.
Feathers and tar:
It has been known to work throughout history. Worst thing that can happen is that it makes the enemy more fluffy.
Pet presents:
After all, pets help to reduce stress and loneliness, as well as enhance socialization and attitudes.
Vuvuzela precision bombarding:
If it drove people insane at the 2010 World Cup matches, it just might do the trick for an army.

And should all these methods fail, we can always rely on the classical time-out. Hey, I figure if it works for my son, it might work for the Hitlers of the world too.

The truth is out there, so lie to me

While conducting a literature search on the development of cohesion in children I stumbled upon an interesting paper on lying and the use of 'um'. Even though it didn't have any relation whatsoever to the things I was looking for, I couldn't resist the urge to read the paper. But who wouldn't be interested in a paper with the title: 'Use of "um" in the deceptive speech of a convicted murderer', or  'Lies, lies and more lies' for that matter (both by Villar and colleagues). I have always thought that the use of um was a filler, used in order to organize one's thoughts. With this idea in mind, you would expect 'umming' all over the place in case of a lie. But the research by Villar and colleagues shows that umming is actually reduced when people lie compared to when they tell the truth. Their results are based on an experiment in which they told subjects to either lie or tell the truth about an opinion they held, but also based on a comprehensive analysis of truths and lies in police transcripts of a convicted murderer. How's that for a subject? In view of their results, Villar and colleagues argue that the use of um should be regarded as part of authentic, natural communication, which is lacking when one is lying.

Now, when we just moved to the United States we found an interesting television series 'Lie to me' in which Dr. Cal Lightman uses microexpressions (involuntary facial expressions of emotions that last about 1/25 to 1/15 of a second) and body gestures to investigate criminal cases. Wouldn't he be thrilled to be able to use umming as a lie detector?

Suspect: Well, ummm...
Dr. Cal: That's a LIE!
Suspect: but, ummm...
Dr. Cal: Another lie!
Suspect: could you at least let me finish it?

In addition, it also reminded me of a game often played on radio shows in which a person has to talk for one minute without saying 'um'. Apparently, the solution for winning the game is lying.

While on the subject of bad behavior, today I had to reprimand Lucas for refusing to get into the car which was followed by a screaming fit. Once I managed to get him into his car seat: "Sorry mommy. I won't scream anymore, mommy, and I won't yell anymore. And I won't... I won't... Mommy, what else did I do?"

Zen gardening

Do you know the little Japanese Zen-gardens you always get as a gift from a soon-to-be-ex-oh-so-funny-friend or family member? The gift always comes with some bogus line on how you have everything you need except for peace and harmony. Oh come-on... You've been there. Or worse, you got somebody a gift like that. In which case I say to you: May sand grains (g)rain upon you, and let there be no peace or harmony until you handpicked them from between your long pine carpet. There. See how Zen you'll be after that.

But there is some truth to this Zen gardening thing. I know because I made myself a personal Zen garden. Not with sand grains that need raking in some kind of intricate Tangram or Haiku design. But a garden with actual fruit and veggies. A mini-Eden with a few plants here and there of this and that, because I get embarrassed when I need to go on weekly coffee visits to friends in order distribute broccoli, zucchini, and turnip (which I used to hand over while whispering something about peace and harmony). I'm ready to get Zenish.

So in celebration of the Harvesting of Zendarins, Zenatoes and Zencchinis:

Can you feel it?
Now excuse me, I have to go yell at Paint for not doing what I want it to do.

Journalistic irony

I do love science. And the media. And the combination is simply hilarious:

On Nu.nl I read about a study on the quality and impartiality of journalistic pieces on science as reported by the BBC. Apparently, BBC journalists have a tendency to want to voice alternative theories or ideas when it comes to reporting on scientific results. So, if some researchers are unable to establish a link between let's say autism and vaccination, BBC journalists tend to overreport on studies and ideas that voice the opposite regardless of the lack of scientific proof of these counter ideas. As Knights of the Principle of Impartiality, I think this is a noble effort that might be applauded if it would not have been so entirely backwards.

You fail to see the humor in this? I understand. But it gets better. The proof is in the pudding, because after reporting on the study on the quality and impartiality of journalistic pieces on science, the journalist of Nu.nl (Mr. A. Nonymous) states: 'At least, this is the conclusion of .....' (dit is althans de conclusie van...) So, in reporting on this study, Mr. Nonymous shows himself to be a minor Knight of the Principe of Impartiality by casting some doubt on the results of the reported study. If only he would have gone all the way...

Double duties: patriotism

You might assume that moving abroad would have all kinds of benefits. And it does. But you should not dismiss the double duties we are also faced with. Or did you think that the Tax Authorities would just forget about us? No no, we are among the lucky few who get to fill out both the USA tax forms and the Dutch tax forms. And the Dutch forms need to be filled out on paper. Not just Any paper, Many paper(s). But in all fairness I need to admit that the Dutch Tax Authorities' slogan 'we can't make it any more fun, but we can make it easier' can be applied internationally. The USA tax forms are not an improvement of any kind.

But so far for taxes. The real hardships of our life here are the patriotic problems we encounter on a daily basis. The latest of our double Ds or double Ps was the 4th of July. We decided to pay tribute to the USA with a Dutch zest, so to speak.

So, it is with great pride that I present to you:

4th of July, the Dutch way*:

*of course, since helmets are mandatory for kids in California, there was just a hint of USA in our Dutch way. I say mix 'n match, let there be peace between our countries.

Talk about...

Lucas' talk.

Lately, I haven't given you any updates on the progress in English (and Dutch too) he's been making, so this blog is dedicated to him. In Dutch his favorite words include 'denk ik' (I think) and 'eigenlijk' (actually). Also, he's been working on his subordinate clauses with 'omdat' (because), which I think is actually a big coincidence, because I'm currently working on a project to get normative data on the Dutch RTNA (Renfrew Taalsschalen Nederlandse Aanpassing; Renfrew Language Scales) and get to see all kinds of data on subordinate clauses of children aged 4 to 8.

But... back to Lucas' talk:

If you can count it, you can have it:
all the numbers from one to 14, but mostly the following sequence: 'een, twee, drie, vier, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven'
Apparently, this is precisely what should happen according to second language acquisition theories as a friend who just finished his PhD thesis on code switching told me. But for those of you who are interested in the code-switching thing, you'll have to wait for my column in the Tijdschrift voor Orthopedagogiek.

Do's and don'ts:
jumpen, flyen, sit, march, have, want, drink, look, sleep, come, run

The more the merrier: add 'm ons:

little, big, more, blue, red, yellow (pronounced lello), purple, up, down, fast

Under my bed:
butterfly, bumblebee, ladybug, monkey, elephant, doggie, cat, dinosaur, dragon, rabbit (no, it ain't a bunny, it's a frog)

I want to ride on a..:
firetruck

But also in a:
bus, car, bike, airplane, choochoo train (AKA choochoo, AKA train, AKA Thomas)

Say it nicely:
thank you, please, good morning, hi, bye bye, my name is...,

But if you don't:
no (pronounced with an exclamation mark at the end), yes, come on, stop it, high five, everybody sit down, hands up, let's go, go away, ready, set, go! who's that? I want

Own up:
mine (accompanied by hitting if necessary), my, I, you (the last one only in combination with the aforementioned other own ups)

Grown up:
daddy, mommy, miss, doctor


And then some:
shoe, hat, crackers, ball (pronounced bow), moon, star, rain


Not quite there yet:
rainboog, sandbax

Music to my ears:
the wheels of the bus-song, twinkle twinkle little star, abc-song (although the double u is sung as hebbayou and results in a indefinite loop involving hebbeayous unless we manage to save him), five little monkeys are jumping on the bed, happy birthday to you, jingle bells, itsy bitsy spider, the ants go marching in, caring hearts song

First home-made sentence: I have cars (uttered on 1 july, 2011)

And I know I forgot a lot of things, so I'll post another blog soon.

I had a dream...

USA, the land of opportunity. At first, I might have been a bit skeptical, but I soon fell in love with its nature and culture. Admittedly, the American folk are a tad peculiar. What to think of people who go crazy about the thought of baby wipes warmers? But I learned to look past these peculiarities and enjoyed the life-altering experience of living abroad. I lived days of daintiness, and bounced around in bliss. Weekends of wondrous weather were bestowed on me on more than one occasion and nifty novelties made my life that much easier. But even in the midst of my joyous, fruitful, lighthearted living, I knew that my days were numbered and that my number would soon be up. I just didn't know what the ending would look like.

But alas, now I do. Apparently it looks like a giant shield on legs. A cockroach. Of all the mildly annoying creatures that co-inhabit the USA, think killer bees, think termites, think giant centipedes or even snakes, I just had to meet the mother of all yuck-bugs (yes, I do happen to know that snakes are not considered to be a bug, but since they bug the hell out of me, categorizing them under bugs does not seem illogical).

So now I'm left with my shattered dreams at my feet. Those and a dead cockroach.

A vacation is what you take when you can no longer take what you've been taking

(Quote from Earl Wilson)

Yes, we are officially back in the USA. With all the visa forms filled out, suitcases unpacked and back in rhythm (well, sort of anyway), our vacation is officially over. I won't bother you with the details of our holiday but will provide some highlights, lowlights and interesting ins(l)ights as a foreigner in Holland.

"Come fly with me..." (Frank Sinatra)
I always wondered what crazy people would take young children on a long air trip. Now I know. I want to pay tribute to the cabin crew of KLM (Royal Dutch Airlines), who made our lives much easier. They walked by just I little more often, gave small presents and extra foods, and were always open to a little chitchat with the kids. In our case, after arriving at Schiphol, eight flight attendants greeted us on our way out. Each one of them knew the names of our children as well as the names of Grandma and Grandpa. Although, admittedly, this might also be because of the perseverance of our son who asked virtually everyone on the flight if they were also going to visit grandma and grandpa.

"One small step for man..." (Neil Armstrong)
Now, I think I am stating the bloody obvious when I say that Schiphol is not a good place for children to take their first steps. But of course, my youngest - as stubborn and extraordinary as he is - considered the airport an excellent place, possibly due to the obvious connection with transportation as well as the public that would be part of his personal enactment of 'small step for man'.

"...and a giant leap for mankind." (Neil Armstrong)
Related to the previous entry: jet lags and a trip to the Emergency Room do appear to go together. Obviously, balance is a tricky thing when you've just started walking. This would be the enactment of 'giant leap for mankind', I guess. Note to other first-time-walkers: Do NOT attempt to walk with a giant stuffed animal when you are close to the rim of the bed. No, wait. Make that: Do NOT attempt to walk with a giant stuffed animal, period.

"All I want is my freedom!" (Mel Gibson in Braveheart)
Apparently, personal space is an issue in Holland. Or at least, it's my issue. I've lived in Holland for about thirty years and I've never felt deprived of my personal space. But now I've experienced the vastness of the USA, I tend to feel somewhat cramped in Holland. I do have to admit that these feelings happened to pop up in Amsterdam and Utrecht. At the railway station.

"You may delay, but time will not, and lost time is never found again." (Benjamin Franklin)
No offence to the NS (Dutch Railways), but why is it that EVERY TIME I take the train I seem to get stuck somewhere. I do not even live in Holland, and I still manage to get myself into trouble when travelling with the NS. Of the three train trips I was supposed to take, two were delayed. That would be a 67 percent delay. I wonder what price tag would be connected to that percentage. In addition, since I got stuck in Rotterdam due to some kind of accident somewhere else, which magically led to complete shut down of most train trajectories without any knowledge of when the problems would disappear again, I had to take an additional three train trips to get to where I was supposed to go. And pay an additional fee. I take it back. N.S. please do take offence. AND DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.

"Show me the money!" (Tom Cruise in Jerry Maguire)
How can you take the car rental industry serious when they offer you a car and car insurance for about 1600 euros, after which you kindly tell them you saw other prices on the Internet. Next thing you know, they magically come up with a price of 900 euros. Seriously...

"Hier aan de kust, de Zeeuwse kust." (Blof)
In the USA, it is not uncommon to know only a small part of the country. However, you would expect that Dutch people would have seen most of their country since you could travel from upper north to the utmost south of the country in about four hours. Apparently, this is not the case. It's always more interesting to go 'abroad' when you go on a holiday. Even I didn't know much about Zeeland before my parents moved there. And what a shame, because I would argue that Zeeland is one of the most beautiful parts of Holland. My advice: go there. Enjoy. And for book lovers: visit De Drukkerij in Middelburg. On second thought, this advice would go against my personal space issues. By all means, stay away from Zeeland. Nothing there.

"Beautiful people, you live in the same world as I do." (Melanie)
Although we live about as far away from Holland as is possible on this planet, I am grateful that friends and family did not forget about us, and were willing to come over to see us. We'll definitely come back and do this again. But of course you're always welcome to come visit us.

Oh, and don't take the title too literally. It's great to be back!

*Vacationing in Holland. I´ll be back*

Queen's day in the USA

Contrary to our personal tradition in The Netherlands, we did actually celebrate Queen's day last week. In San Francisco. Is there a celebration, I hear you say. Yes! Is it any good, I hear you say. No, but is it ever? Were there any people, I hear you say? Yes, of course there were. But were they actually Dutch? Yes, even that happened to be the case. As it so happens, the place was packed with Dutch people. And also with San Franciscanians, San Franciscosians, San Francisthigamees, who wanted to see what all the fuss was about. "Those crazy Dutchmen again. Why didn't they stay home in Denmark? Go back to where you came from. But leave the Hågelsläg." So what does Queen's day in San Francisco entail? Well, I could make this a very long and dreary story, but I won't. Similarly to Queen's day in Holland, people tend to dress up in orange, make a lot of fuss about nothing, play really loud, nasty Dutch tear jerkers, drink a lot of beer, have a flea market and bike decoration challenge, eat cheese and herring, and be proud of their Dutch heritage. But to add just a zest of American flavor to Queen's day, there were at least two minor alterations:

1.
Designated beer drinking areas. Designated as in design or something, because the designated area was fenced off with a cute white garden fence about knee high. Just high enough to stumble over after a couple of beers probably. The result of this: a lot of Dutchies huddling together with beer spilling everywhere, and some really adventurous Dutchies succumbing to the craving to find out how far they could cross the fence frontier until they really pissed off the policeman standing there. Which apparently was not far at all. Mind you, I did not succumb to the craving myself. Although I did find out that you are allowed to drink your beer standing inside the designated drinking area, while your hand that actually holds the alcoholic poison (and thus the actual poison itself) is not inside the drinking area. Bad, bad me.

2.
Having to sign in order for your kid to participate in the Dutch sack race (zaklopen). Because beware the day one of the participating children actually trips over the sack and falls. I actually though that was part of the game, and that you are disqualified if tripping does not happen. But hey, at least they did not make parents sign their name in blood. Or in the blood of their children.

But to be fair, it was a lot of fun to see a whole lot of Dutch people over here. And another advantage to this whole Queen's day in the USA is that we might get Lucas to recognize orange as orange instead of brown, which he insists it is.

USAccident part II

Hurray, finally! We've got ourselves another accident report (or as a friend suggested, a 'gewondheidsverklaring'). I thought we'd never get another. Is it just me, or are you wondering how Kwint managed to hit his foot against his forehead too. Limber dude right?




Related to accident issues, my eldest son is an avid insect hugger, which can be potentially harmful both for insects and Lucas. Yesterday we were playing outside when he found a fly.

Lucas: "Look mom, a fly."
Me: (basking in the sun with my eyes closed) "Good for you, hon!"
Lucas: "Look mom, I put in on my hand."
Me: (still eyes closed) "That's nice."
Lucas: (more insistent) "Look!"
Me: (ok, this cannot be ignored). "Ah, cool"
Me: (upon closer look) "Uhm, hon, I don't think that's a fly." "It's a wasp."
Me: (definitely trying not to panic). "It's not such a good idea to put wasps on your hand, Lucas. They can sting. Anyway, I think the wasp is tired, we should put it in the bush here."

Lucas: "Yes, the wasp is tired. It needs to go to sleep." "And after he wakes, he can watch some television, right mom?"

And on a completely different note: I got invited to attend a private Botox party. Dubious honor I know. But if they manage to get 15 people to attend, we all get a discount AND free appetizers. Now, who can refuse that?

Pardon the pun(ishment)

I know I have been notoriously absent these days. But I've got excuses, many of them even legal. First of all, we had some friends over. This meant a lot of nice evenings and road trips to Yosemite and San Francisco. I won't bother you with the details, you'll just get jealous. Secondly, I've attended a very interesting brain workshop in Berkeley. But perhaps my most legal excuse is the fact that I've started to write a column in a monthly magazine on pedagogical issues (Tijdschrift voor Orthopedagogiek). That also means I won't be writing about all my interesting new ideas and experiences on this blog anymore. You will have to make do with discards.

But do not fear. There are so many things to write about that my cup floweth over. Today's highly controversial subject is capital punishment. Always a drop-dead party topic. As it so happens, I live in a state which has the death penalty. To make matters even more interesting, we're also the proud owners of the 'three strikes and you're out' law. So I've taken some precautions: I don't cross any speed limits, I do not jaywalk, and I most certainly do not walk my elephant down Market Street (SF) unless I have him on a leash. Imagine the stress when Ellie (pet name for our elephant) did a Houdini on me. But luckily the curious incident of the elephant in the nighttime went unnoticed by the police. I'm sorry, I am digressing yet again.

Capital punishment. Highly controversial. The brain-workshop enlightened me on the subject of lethal injections. Apparently, the current system involves three injections which are in fact all lethal in and of itself. Talk about overkill. The first injection consists of sodium thiopental, which causes unconsciousness and eventually death in 30 to 40 minutes. The second injection consists of pancuronium, which is a muscle relaxant, causing paralysis of all muscles (including the ones you use to breathe with). The last and most lethal injection consists of potassium chloride which stops the heart in a matter of minutes.

I won't hide the fact that I am dead set against capital punishment. But this aside, I was mildly amused to hear about the issues surrounding lethal injections. For instance, they were produced by one company only, an Italian pharmaceutical company who eventually declined this dubious honor. Allegedly, this has led to shortage of supply for some states, as well as problems regarding approaching expiration dates.

So far for the general stuff. On to the psychological stuff, my area of expertise. I was shocked to hear about a recent incident concerning Texan psychologist Denkowski who conducted assessments on inmates facing death penalty. These assessments were conducted as a result of a 2002 ruling of the Supreme Court that states that mentally handicapped persons can not be executed, although they failed to formulate criteria for a mental handicap. I guess the notion is based on the idea that mentally handicapped people are unaccountable for their actions. In the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), mental retardation is diagnosed based on three criteria:

1. Significantly sub average intellectual functioning (IQ of 70 or below), AND
2. Concurrent deficits or impairments in present adaptive functioning, AND
3. Onset before the age of 18.

Although Denkowski used the formal criteria of the DSM, he inflated scores of inmates based on his personal encounters with them. Concerning intellectual functioning (the first criterion), try to follow his reasoning:

Apparently, Denkowski feels that traditional IQ tests do not compensate for social and cultural factors. Can you follow? No? I'll make it easier: people from impoverished backgrounds may not be able to answer questions correctly, because their community did not give them access to this knowledge. Now, do you follow? No? What about this: some people do not know how to use a thermometer, because their community does not value using a thermometer. But that does not mean that these people are mentally handicapped.

Now, it gets better (or worse). Consider his reasoning on the criterion of adaptive functioning. Usually, this is done by administering questionnaires and interviews with family and friends of the person under assessment. But no, according to Denkowski, this would lead to an underestimation of the skills since family and friends would want to evade execution of their friend or family member.

Why was Denkowski able to get away with a settlement with the Board of Psychologists? His penalty consists of a fine of 5500 dollar and an agreement that he will not conduct intellectual disability tests in criminal cases ever again. I'd say that definitely beats the penalty his victims got, even though their crimes might have been terrible.

In my world, everyone's a pony and they all eat rainbows and poop butterflies!

(title comes from Dr. Seuss of course)

While I was attending a journalism class during my Ph.D. years, we had these assignments in which we had to translate scientific research into articles for magazines. It was one of the only classes I actually wanted to take, although the choice is made much easier when you have to choose between journalism and 'ethical questions in your research'.

I had fun, although I doubt my teacher approved of the subjects of my writings. One of the most interesting subjects I chose to write about was a study on the relationship between a parasitic infection (Toxoplasmosis Gondii; TG) and schizophrenia*. To summarize, rats are prone to TG. When infected, they become these kamikaze-creatures with a craving for hugging cats. This is great news for TG, because they can only reproduce in the bowels of cats. To make a long story short, rat eat TG, cat eat rat, cat scratch man or man eats cat (depending on the country you live in), man becomes schizophrenic.You still with me?

Now this is all fine and dandy, but we want scientific proof, right? So enter Professor Jaroslav Flegr, who found significant behavioral changes in humans as a consequence of infection with TG. Apparently, women become polygamous with a craving to spend money, whereas an infection in men leads to an increase in aggressive, jealous behavior. Great combination, which would fit neatly in the kamikaze theory I think. How this would be connected to schizophrenia is not clear though.

More 'clear cut' evidence for a link is the finding that schizophrenic people more often hug with cats compared to non schizophrenic people (54 to 42 percent). Although you could argue that the fondness for cat-hugging resulted in schizophrenia for the cat-hugging people, I could easily counter that by claiming that schizophrenic people might feel a fondness for cats precisely because they can relate to the whimsical (schizophrenic) behavior of their pet-of-choice. It's the ancient question of chicken and egg, converted to cat-hugging and schizophrenia.

A final piece of evidence comes from Dr. Torrey, an American psychiatrist and great supporter of the TG-schizophrenia link. He treated infected rats with two types of medicine: medicine against TG, and anti-schizophrenic medicine. Both treatments seemed to cure the rats from their kamikaze-behavior, but the anti-schizophrenic medicine was more effective.


So although your next step might be to dump your cat, you might want to consider the fact that infection with TG is much more likely when eating rare meat.


To end in style with another quote from Dr. Seuss:
"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."
(And I am sure you did get the pun of Dr. Seuss? No? The Cat in the Hat? No? Well, then you are beyond my help)

*It maybe of interest to mention that a similar relationship has been claimed between TG and autism.

It's my way or the highway

Kwint:"Grrrrr."
Me: "O really, is that so?"
Kwint: "Dadadadaa."
Me: "Well whaddaya know"
Kwint: "Tata. Bwww."
Just a sample of the conversations I have with my youngest (11 months). But I suspect he's hiding the truth from me: that he can actually say real words. I know it, because of these little amused smiles he gives me when I try to coax the word mama out of him. "Mama! Say ma-ma! You can do it, ma-ma!" But instead, he winks, curls his nose and proudly pronounces me 'Bwwwww'. And when you think you've heard it all, then let me tell you what he does next. He turns his head ever so slightly, clacks his tongue and looks me in the eye expectantly. And what else can I do but clack back?

Although I can't keep up with Lucas' developing language, here are some samples:

"kijk mama, een doggie!"
"I love youuu"
"Dat is mine he?"
"Who's dit?"
"Ik wil jou een hug geven"
"Everybody SIT DOWN." (Now where would that come from?)

And of course, all the words from 'Happy birthday to you'. Although, really, there aren't that many different words in that song.

When we're on the subject of stubborn minds, I might as well talk about a conversation I had with Lucas, aka mister Negotiator. He still has these afternoon naps (of three hours!), and I recently started waking him before the three hours are up. But the little man does not like that. So following a careful wake-up procedure involving hugs, kisses, tickles and whatnot, I have to lure him out of bed.
"Maybe you want to watch a little television?"
Lucas: "Welllllll, no, I don't think so."
"Hmmm." Feverishly looking for alternative bait... "Some crackers?"
Lucas: "Wellllll, no. I don't think so." (a moment of silence). "But I want some cookies."

Mirror mirror...

At only two years of age (ok, technically he turns three in about two weeks), my son is like the enchanted mirror from Snow White. Unfortunately, he doesn't say what you want to hear, but uses your own words against you. Thus, today while he used a reflex hammer to hit his father on the head, he triumphantly stated: "Doesn't hurt!" I wonder what hurt his father more: the reflex hammer or his own words being thrown into his face? Of course my son was a doctor and was in the process of healing daddy. And the fact that that required the use of force was a necessary evil.  But my guess is that the words hurt more. Because my son is an absolute master in using your own words against you, which turns out to be lethal in combination with his ability to sense it when you're lying. But no worries, the lethal moments are nothing compared to the hilarious scenarios it also produces. For instance, just a second ago, he saw me writing on his dad's laptop. His first question was aimed to get his facts checked: "Is dat papa's joeter?" (Is that dad' s computer?") After confirming his suspicions, he swiftly knocked me out with the following statement: "MAG jij op papa's joeter?" (Are you allowed to go on dad's computer?) with emphasis on the word 'mag'. Because he is perfectly aware that he is not allowed to go on dad's computer. Ergo, nobody is allowed to do that. So, apparently, it's not only looking at your mirror image when you see your child. It's like listening to your mirror image as well. Sounds schizophrenic, doesn't it?

Gotta go now...my mirror image is calling me.

Parenting, problems and plumbers

You might think I have all the answers concerning parenting issues, me being a child psychologist (orthopedagoog) and all. At least that's what I hear sometimes. Well... you thought wrong. I wrestle with parenting issues just as much as my plumber does. I think. I'm actually not sure if I have a plumber. And should I have one, I don't know if he has children. But let's say I do and he does, for the sake of argument.
Although my education may have provided me with the theoretical answers to every parenting question in the book -and I sincerely doubt that-, putting the theory to practice is something else altogether. You could argue I got to turn theory into practice during my internship. But they never gave me my kids while I was an intern. It's easy to know what you are supposed to do when it isn't your own child you're talking about. Sleep issues with your baby? Page 25. Eating problems? Page, 30, 56, 89, 110 (a returning issue). Potty training for toddlers? Page 112. Terrible two's? Page 304-506 (a long, long chapter). But there isn't anything in the book about the sleep issues of my little one, potty training my toddler, not to mention the rules and regulations of managing my son's terrible two's. My children don't live by the book, they write the book. With colorful crayons.

Isn't it strange that people tend to think that you're such a great parent based on the notion that you are a child psychologist? You never hear people mention the same thing to surgeons, right? "Oh, isn't that handy being a surgeon. That way, when your child brakes his knee jumping from the swing, you can always operate on him". No, cause they are not allowed to operate on members of their own family, on account of their emotions interfering with their skills. But they don't say anything like that when you get your child psychology degree. So, I would argue that parenting is actually more difficult for me than for my hypothetical plumber. Firstly, he's not bothered by all the theoretical baggage and just tinkers about. Secondly, even if he wouldn't know how to raise his children, he can always rely on his plumbing skills being useful around the house. And last...he doesn't have my children. But I love my children, all their problems and issues included. Because at the end of the day I always get that overwhelming feeling of love when they lie in bed, snuggle up to me and say "mommy, I love you". That or "I did a little fart". Either way, my heart melts.

*disclaimer:
My children are actually not that difficult. They eat reasonably well, they sleep a lot, tantrums consists of mild screaming fits with an occasional foot pounding and potty training was a one-week struggle although we're still working on number 2. That doesn't mean it's easy peasy though.
**disclaimer:

It has to be mentioned that my area of expertise is not in parenting issues, but developmental disorders. So, the point is moot.

A day in L.A.

As I might have mentioned before, I have been planning a trip to L.A. in order to attend a workshop on the Autism Diagnostic Observation Schedule (ADOS). And I have been there! And came back! The summary of my trip? I met a lot of interesting people, I learned a lot, I saw a lot, and waited even more.

For those of you more interested in a more in-depth analysis here it comes:

Interesting people:

There were people from all around, including Japan. This turned out to be very unfortunate since the news of the earthquake and subsequent tsunami hit us on the second day of the workshop. Although definitely not comparable to the disaster in Japan, the coastal area of California (where we live) also got a warning sign because of the tsunami. But fortunately the effect of the tsunami was negligible in the Bay area.

At the workshop, I've talked to several people, all of whom had interesting stories. Of course most people were working in the field of autism, so it was not difficult to find some common ground. In addition I sorta 'met' two children, who were part of the live demonstration of the ADOS. Isn't it amazing that the kids got up on stage in order to be assessed with the ADOS in front of a hundred people? Even more so when you think that there were quite a few people in the audience who declined the opportunity to talk into the microphone.  Really! I'm not kidding. They were afraid to talk into the microphone to discuss their ideas and passed it to someone next to them who did not show microphonebia.

Things I've learned:

I am now familiar with the ADOS. It has to be said that it is an amazing instrument with a lot of potential. But it is also very difficult to score it in a reliable fashion. The ADOS consists of semi-structured tasks that try to provoke a certain type of social or communicative behavior in a semi-natural way. Although it has specific tasks, you don't actually score the actual performance on these tasks, but score the overall behavior you saw during the session. This has many advantages, but it means it's also difficult to asses whether some type of behavior was good enough to give full credit. Since the main difficulty of the instrument lies in its scoring, most of the workshop was dedicated to discussion on the scoring of the live demonstrations. As stated, we had to discuss our findings within the group. Yes, with the microphone. In addition to my new DSM classification of microphonebia, I also found out that people see very different things even when they are looking at the same thing. It wasn't just differences in opinion concerning the label of 'slightly unusual behavior' and 'normal behavior', scoring went from 'normal behavior' to 'downright off-the-wall behavior'. Especially when we got to talking about stereotyped behavior and specific interests, people differed in their observations and interpretations. The interesting thing was, once somebody saw one particular behavior that was considered to be stereotyped, other people joined with other examples and so the list got longer and longer. So the main thing I've learned concerning the ADOS, it requires a lot of practice. Not to administer it, but to score it.

Another important thing I've learned: remember your room number when you stay in a hotel.

Things I saw:

(not uncommon) psychologists playing a game on their iPhone or Smart phone during the workshop. Makes you wonder whether they do the same during a psychological assessment or interview with parents...

L.A. by night on a tour bus. This was a lot of fun, especially since some other people from the workshop also got on the same tour. We've seen it all. Well, ok, technically we mainly saw Hollywood. But that was amazing. Film sets, Universal City, the Chinese theatre (with the hand prints), the place where the Oscars are being held, the walk of fame (with the stars), you name it. Oh and we've seen 'tha ghetto' although that was not in the original itinerary. During our ride back to the hotel, we found ourselves in the midst of a huge traffic accident and we had to find an exit. This exit consisted of our tour bus going from the far left lane to the outer right lane in the midst of all the confusion (yes we had close calls), and exiting straight into the ghetto. Not that we saw scary things or anything.

Things I waited for:

Not for the food. Boy, they serve things quickly around here. But I did wait for airplanes, checks, lectures, breaks, toilet visits (there were about a hundred people visiting a social oriented workshop, you guess which line was longest, the boy's or the girl's...).

Featuring Lucas' talk. He's getting the hang of this English thing, and the translation of it:

Dad (to Kwint): "Nee, dat mag niet."

Lucas: "nee is no he? NO!"

Lucas: "Flyyyyyyy!"

Lucas: "wiels of de bus go wound en wound... up en down"

Lucas: "Mama, kijk! Mommy, look!"

Lucas (hoort een slaapmuziekje op de radio): "Sleep, sleep!"

Mama: "Kijk Lucas, dat zijn twee auto's. Two cars."

Lucas: "Dat is een twocar he?"

And funny Dutch things:

Lucas: "Mama, waar is de radido?"

Lucas: "Ik wil graag naar papa toe."

No biggie

This week's theme of 'no biggie' is brought to you by childhood diseases, cars, flying over to L.A. and tummies. Maybe I should explain myself.
1. Childhood diseases.
After almost three years without any serious childhood diseases, we've finally been struck by one. We found out that Lucas has a certain type of whooping cough. Since the likelihood of us all getting infected was big (and we are in fact ill, just don't know whether this is whooping cough), it was advised that we should all take antibiotics. So we're officially all on antibiotics. By the way, I love this 24-hour economy thing they've got going on. I actually called the advice nurse on Thursday evening (11 pm), who was nice enough to give us advice (probably in her job description, hence the name advice nurse). She also set us up with an appointment for the next morning. I could pick up the meds for Lucas straight after the appointment. Then I actually got a call from the doctor herself on SUNDAY with the results of the lab test and was able to pick up the meds for Kwint and ourselves on Sunday as well. No biggie.
2. Cars.
How come I always find myself in between cars like the one in the picture? And it's not that our car is tiny, it's just that those other cars are huge. No biggie.
3. Flying over to L.A.
Tomorrow I will just happen to catch a flight to L.A. for a couple of days for my ADOS workshop. Pop in and out of the airplane, pop in and out of the Hilton hotel I'll stay in. No biggie.
4. Tummies.
Lucas is having some trouble with his tummy. He is kind of potty trained, but does not want to do a number 2 on the toilet or in his diaper for that matter. He's keeping it all in, which results in huge bellies until he can no longer hold it. Poor little dude. We now started on prunes, since that helped him when he was still a baby. No biggie.

Featuring Lucas' developing English:
"Mommy's coming" (Yes, we're on to sentences now)

Featuring humoristic language by Lucas:
"Wat is dat nou voor onzin?" (This was said when Lucas was reading a book about a little man called onzin. Lucas is currently in a habit to ask 'wat is dat nou voor...' when he sees or hears anything. I guess it's something to do with the why phase, although he doesn't quite grasp the concept of why yet.)

Today was the day...

I learned what Lucas really means when he sings: "Friar Chuck, Friar Chuck". Anyone want to hazard a guess?

Tales from behind the wheel

Last week I read about 'share day' at preschool, when children get to bring some of their toys. Well, last wednesday I got to have share day at the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles), and I brought my car for my behind-the-wheel-driving-test. As a bonus of our move abroad I got to do my driver's exam all over again. Only this time, I was surrounded by 16-year-olds. 16-YEAR-OLDS! Who would - if they aced their test - take their share of the road I'd be driving on. Now, I think I am not the only Dutch person who thinks it somewhat strange that 16-year-olds get to drive behind the wheel, but are not allowed to drink (which does not mean I am pro drinking at this age, and I do think the combination of driving and not drinking is a very good one). Many studies show that the bulk of road accidents happen to adolescents. This might have something to do with the way our brain develops. Our frontal lobe (where all the major smart decision making processes happen) is the last to develop and is by no means done at age 16.

The Californian driving test consists of a 20 minute drive (of which at least 5 minutes is taken up by showing your instructor you can honk your horn). Special manoeuvres are limited to backing in a straight line. That's it. No parking (front or backwards), no stopping on a hill (which is not really a difficult thing when you don't have a stick), no back turns, nothing, just backing in a straight line. And you get to make 15 mistakes on the test before you fail, although serious mistakes count as an immediate fail. A bit different from the Dutch driving test. The result for me? 7 mistakes and a pass. The young girl in the Mini before me made 10 mistakes, got some extra pointers, and also passed. She was very happy that she didn't have to enter the freeway or highway during the test. Although her mom mentioned the fact that she would have to drive on the freeway daily on her way to school. I admit I was also glad I didn't have to enter any freeway during my exam: the on ramps are very short, the amount of traffic is huge, and it is often unclear whether the ramp will end or not or whether the ramp is also an off ramp. Confusion galore. But still, I do think it should be part of the exam.

But hey, all this aside: I am now the proud owner of a Californian driver's license and a Dutch driver's license.

To end this blog in style, some interesting license plates my hubby and me saw on the road:

TKCHRG
TNK GRL (which was actually a little SUV driven by a dude)
KIDSM♥M
♥MYHBD (on a Prius)
DRVSMRT (not on a Smart)
TRNRCHK
MAUIFUN
TRVL SZ
IDNTITI
MINK OAT (not sure about the spelling capabilities of this driver)


and my favorite:
IMAWEE1 (on a Smart)

Weapons of mass-paranoia

Many people still believe there is some truth to the 'vaccination leads to autism' idea. Why? Because some researchers claim to have found evidence supporting such a link. Enter Mr. Wakefield, who conducted one of the major studies into this area, and who published an important paper on a direct link between MMR vaccination (against measles, mumps, and rubella) and autism. However, whereas he was famous for his scientific results, he's now famous for something else altogether. His paper on the link between MMR vaccination and autism has been retracted, and Mr. Wakefield has been stripped of his medical license. Apparently, he had failed to disclose the fact that he was being paid by a law firm seeking to sue vaccine manufacturers. Moreover, he has not been able to reproduce the results. The most recent news in this whole ugly mess is being published by the British medical journal BMJ, who claim that Wakefield has falsified the actual data of the original study. Disclaimer: no proof there yet.

I know for a fact that the stories around vaccination have given rise to concern in parents of children with developmental disorders. Both during my time as a researcher and during my job as a psychologist, parents have questioned me about the possibility of vaccination as the cause of their child's problems. In addition, I also heard parents mentioning that their child's autistic symptoms started around the time of the vaccination (which also happens to be around the time that major milestones in the area of language, motor skills and cognition take place). Now, IF there is clear evidence that vaccination can result in autistic symptoms, I agree that we would have to think about our vaccination program. However, we should also be aware that the consequences of non-vaccination could result in higher rates of complications or even child-morbidity.

The idea of a link seems to stick in our heads, regardless of scientific evidence to the contrary. While googling I found that 48 percent of American people participating in the Harris interactive/health day poll either believes that there is truth in a link between vaccination and autism, or is not sure. What's more staggering is that this poll has been conducted AFTER the Wakefield paper had been retracted. Only half of the people participating in the poll actually heard about the paper being retracted, while almost everyone knew about the initial results. The combination between the unlimited access we have to all kinds of information (without necessarily being able to appreciate the value and truth of it) and the preference of the media to pick up on spectacular results proves to be a dangerous one.

As far as I know, there is no convincing evidence supporting a claim between vaccination and autism. In fact, the prevalence of autism in Japan seems to increase, in spite of the fact that they discontinued their MMR vaccinations. There is also counter-evidence against a link between autism and Thimerosal (a mercury based preservative often added to vaccines). Children who were exposed to Thimerosal, either in infancy or intrauterine did not show a higher prevalence of autism compared to children who were not exposed to Thimerosal.

So yes, I give my children their shots. Although I must admit there is a flicker of doubt when our doctor wants to give my eldest son extra shots for diseases that are common in the USA. That does not make me a bad researcher, a paranoid or a gullible person. It just makes me a mom who loves her children more than anything in the world.

The word of the day...

...recondite. Yes. I found it in Terry Pratchett's book 'The last continent'. And I didn't have the faintest idea what it meant. So I looked it up. And the first entry in the online dictionary was: abstruse. Well whaddaya know. Who would have thought that? Not me. Because I didn't have the slightest idea what abstruse meant either. So, I read a little more. And what irony, because the definition of recondite turns out to be:

"difficult or impossible for one of ordinary understanding or knowledge to comprehend"

Well, I guess they got that right when they invented that word. I imagine the conversation went something like this:

 J: "Oi George, how are we doing in the word-department? Earth is all created, and there's no sense for the people of ordinary understanding to wait much longer now is there?"
G: "Well Jeff, we're just about finished. But we still have to invent a word for un-understandable."
J:  "Yes. Un-understandable just won't do. It would be way too understandable for one of ordinary understanding."
G: "How does abstruse sound?"
J:  "Well George, I think you're on to something. Still a tongue-twister, but no one of ordinary understanding will grasp the meaning of that."
G: "I don't think one word is enough though."
J:  "You're right, there should be another word. That will boggle the minds of ones of ordinary understanding all right."
J:  "Do you think recondite will do?"
G: "Well, it has a familiar ring to it. But it will do perfectly."
J:  "Great. Well, I guess we're all done then. Let's get the people of ordinary understanding out there and have ourselves a good laugh."

Social Networking: the good, the bad, and the ugly

I am on Facebook. And on Linkedin. On Orkut. Hyves. Schoolbank... and on a couple of other social networking sites that I don't even remember myself. And of course I have my personal blog, after all you are reading it. I'd like to say that I'm also on Twitter, but I am too old to understand the terminology on that. But I am digressing.

Except for my blog, I'm not really active on these sites. But I do like to follow my 'friends', 'colleagues', 'classmates', 'friends of friends' or even 'complete strangers'. Reading their posts gives me a sense of snooping in their lives, since they don't actually know I'm reading their posts. But I do have permission of course, nothing illegal there. Now, reading the posts of other people I can't help but wonder what the effects are of these networking sites. I'm not thinking about the obvious repercussions of time spent in a virtual world instead of a real world. I'm also not thinking about the new people you can meet, old people you can re-meet, the career advancing opportunities or the upgrade in your 'cool' factor when you reach 1000+ friends.

No, I'm thinking more in lines of the effect specific remarks can have on existing friendships with those you are writing about. We all know that the absence of face-to-face contact in the virtual world makes it easier for people to be direct (open, frank, honest or downright blunt and nasty). What happens when you write something about somebody, which is in turn read by many others, including the very person you wrote about? Does that affect your friendship? Does that affect the friendship you have with other social networkers that read your posts and think about the possibility of a(n) unwanted guest appearance on your wall? How do you react to these posts when you read them? You can't just 'like' it, right? Or do you just ignore the post?

If you expected to find an answer to these questions, I have to disappoint you. I didn't have time yet to find whether it has been researched, which I will be doing as soon as I can stop reading the posts on all the networking sites I'm connected to. And if I don't find an answer in existing research, I'm thinking about conducting my very own research. Will you participate? I will put up a 'like button' for you if you like. Making my very own social networking site as it were.

Crouching tiger, hidden dragon

Remember my blog about crouching tiger? Meet hidden dragon. He is crouching tiger's big brother.

Featuring Lucas' talk (both Dutch and English):

In the aquarium:
Lucas: "Waar is papa?"
Ik: "Papa geeft Kwint even een schone luier, hij is even met Kwint naar de w.c."
Lucas: (met een hele hoge stem) "Een hele kleine w.c., he, voor Kwint?"


At home:
Ik: "Lucas, give me high five!"
Lucas: (gives me high five) "Ten! Dat is ten, he?"

Ik: "Lucas, je mag nog heel even spelen, daarna ga je naar bed."
Lucas: "Mag ik nog een heleboel spelen?"

Lucas: "Wil jij ook neus peuteren?"

Top 10 Californian rules

Today´s blog is going to be a bit of a jumble of thoughts and experiences about California/USA. Since I'm big on structure, I made them into a set of top 10 Californian rules.

1. I write (my licence plate), therefore I am: Personalized license plates.
I don't know what the deal is with these things, but they are hot around here. Today I saw this one: C BLSNGS. Other ones: PRGRMMR. USEDATA. GRNPEAS (bright green car). I'll try to remember more of those.

2. A clean slate is a good state: Hygiene.
Wipes, tissues, handkerchiefs, antibacterial fluids, toilet seat cleaners, you name it, they got it and use it. Even on kids, which I think is completely useless.

3. See it, like it, mention it: Ask away.

Ok, this might need more explanation I guess. As I mentioned in another blog, my creative outbursts have been getting worse. It now comes to the point that I´m actually sewing clothes for my children AND let them out in public in them. I made Lucas a dragon vest. He's into dinosaurs and dragons right now (to the point he's been having these nightmares and is thus not allowed to watch Discovery's dinosaur programs anymore). I found a nice blog about sewing fun stuff for children, and the dragon vest looked just right for him. The result: lots of smiles and laughter and questions. But no, it's not what you think. Everybody loves it. And apparently everybody feels free enough to mention that, or ask me where I got the vest from.

4. Know thy neighbour. And thy neighbour's neighbour. And thy neighbour's neighbour's hair stylist. And of course thy own hair stylist: Networking
Big deal too. Even at the local hair dresser. Mention your personal history, they take your name and number and try to set you up with another client to help you out. Oh, and apparently the boy who packs my groceries  thinks it's useful to know me. But I suspect he has alterior motives.

5. The hills are alive with the sound of your car, UNLESS you forgot to go to the gas station: driving.
Driving is fun. Driving is good. You need to drive! Far. Because USA is big. And you need to remember to have gas in your tank. No gas, no drive. And this is even more true when you are driving in the hills.We actually ran out of gas in the hills. Well, according to our car who notified us that we had zero miles left. But we managed to go 6 more miles to the closest gas station.

6. Forewarned is forearmed, and they are after you: warning signs.
Yes, American people love those signs. There are so many, I can hardly see where I am going. But Bart already wrote about this in his blog, so I won't.

7. A day without discount is a day 'well spent': discounts.
'Well spent' as in expensive. But that's fine, because you always get discount. Always. And they always mention that, and put a nice circle around the money you saved. Ain't that grand?

8. Recycling makes the world go round: recycling.
Apparently living 'green' is getting to be more important these days. And they're really trying here. That is if you forget about two things: plastic bags and leaflets. But that's ok, because I've got myself a special bag to put all the plastic bags in, and I can put the leaflets in our paper-only container and then it will grow back on the trees.

9. Ok. Truth be told? I'm running out of ideas. I will have to live here for a little bit longer to come up with a longer list. Until then, number nine on my list will stay open. Because the next one needs to be the last one.

This one's for you guys back home:

10. Always wear sunscreen: summertime.
Yes, we have it and you want it.

FYI: about the picture. No hidden meaning there. We went to the Monterey aquarium again, and I just loved the complementary colors of the jellyfish and the water.