The brain behind politics

With the upcoming elections in the Netherlands, our craving for polls is on the rise again. As Dutch people very well know, we can be very good with polls although the final outcome is usually completely unrelated to the outcomes of the polls. What's more, even if the polls manage to get it right, it doesn't tell us much about who's actually going to lead our country, as the political structure in The Netherlands is such that winning doesn't automatically mean you're in.

As a Dutch voter who lives abroad, I am one of the lucky few who already got to vote before all the debates even got started. This doesn't matter, since the debates don't really add to my knowledge or help in my decision making process anyway. Politicians often go after the easy catch, and put up a great act of being indignant of their opponents choices and ideas, when they might in fact have acted on those very same ideas when they were in charge of our country. That aside, being able to vote for the political party of my choice is a precious right, which I will exercise even if it means having to look my kids' red pencil for half an hour, or trying to figure out how to refold the paper in such a way that my choice doesn't show. Because an absence of red markings or a wrong fold means your vote is out.

But to the point now. While browsing for information on an upcoming column about the advances in Neuroscience as related to psychiatric diagnoses, I found an interesting article related to voting. The research used fMRI to reveal specific brain activity in swing voters upon showing images and video clips of possible presidential candidates for the US elections of 2008. A short recap of some of their noteworthy conclusions:

Hillary Clinton produced mixed emotions in voters who didn't really take a liking to her. Apparently, although they stated they didn't like her, their brain activity showed they had some difficulty making up their mind (or brain in this case). For Mitt Romney, the initial results were more clear cut. Upon being showed a picture of Mitt, subjects showed high levels of activity in the amygdala, a brain structure related to anxiety (as stated in the article). However, after watching a snippet on him performing in public, the activity in the amygdala died out. Apparently, the subjects found Mitt to be harmless after all. As for Barack Obama, he just didn't sparkle much of anything in the subjects' brain...

Knowing the outcome of the 2008 elections, it doesn't take a brainiac to figure out that the described research, although highly entertaining, doesn't really add up. That is because, next to design issues such as sample size and background factors of the subjects, some alternative explanations weren't explored.

For instance, it might have been that people watching Hillary Clinton were simply contemplating the difficult decision between their desire to want to punch the dear woman in the face, or yell profanities. Or, a slightly more feasible hypothesis, that they simply didn't know whether they should cut her some slack because of her husband's little slip-up (remember Monica) or judge her solely on the basis of her political ideas. Concerning the results of Mitt Romney, the researchers kind of left out some of the other functions of the amygdala. Because although involved in anxiety (and anger), the amygdala is also related to, yes, pleasure. Whether it be the consequence of him having five children or simply his good looks, it could be that the subjects actually took a fancy to dear ol'Mitt. The subsequent decline in activity might then be explained as the result of him found lacking when seen in action. And do I even need to go into the results of Barack Obama, who might not have been the cause of any peaks in the brain but who did manage to peak in the election?

So, what can we learn from all this? We simply do not know enough of our brains yet to come to any definite conclusions between specific brain activity and behavior. Neuroscience is interesting and definitely deserves our further attention as a way of understanding our behavior (and behavior problems), however, we do need to be careful as to the conclusions we draw based on fMRI research. After all, if it shows that even dead salmons contemplate the emotions of people..

The Stairmaster: mastering the stairs

I've started training at the YMCA recently. I must say I am close to getting addicted to my workouts. Not in the least because they have absolutely everything there: I can choose an infinite number of interesting workouts, I don't need to take towels or drinks, I can watch television on virtually all the fitness equipment, I can bring the children to their free daycare, and I am met by nice instructors who in no way resemble a soldier, a construction worker, a cowboy or some other sort of Village idiot. And contrary to Dutch standards, the gym here is not full of young men flinching their muscles in an attempt to pick up the unnatural blonde on the elliptical who - next to her perfect body - apparently also suffers from a lack of sweat glands. Instead, the Y is filled with older people, some even quite old. And it is endearing to watch an oldie take up to ten minutes to get up on the treadmill, only to see their walking sticks fall of the minute they start walking. Needless to say, I help out on these occasions.

Because it's always good to incorporate new routines in your workout program, I make a habit out of trying new equipment. But until recently, I was hesitant to use the Stairmaster, an apparatus that requires you to walk an endless staircase. It is, by all standards, the worst fitness apparatus ever, a fate worse than Hell. But in an attempt to conquer my fears, this week I finally went to Hell and back, taking the stairs to what the apparatus said was the 48th floor in a 15-minute-feels-like-15-hours perish-and-die moment. And to make matters worse, instead of feeling invigorated after my workout, it left me confused. Because did I actually walk up to the 48th floor, or should I take into consideration the fact that the United States usually calls ground level 'first floor'? Because that would mean that I only walked up to the 47th floor. It might seem insignificant to you, but if I ever want to partake in the 'stairs run competition' in the Erasmusgebouw in Nijmegen, I need to know my limits. I guess I have to conquer Hell again in another session of the Stairmaster. Stay tuned for Stairmaster: the sequel.

O, and you must agree with me that there is some irony in the fact that Lucas refers to the daycare at the Y as 'de sportschool'? He'll start his own workout routine soon though, as swimming lessons will commence in spring and he really wants to play soccer there as well.

The presents or presence of a Theory of Mind

During my years as a Ph.D. student I have been reading (and writing) about Theory of Mind, aka the ability to attribute mental states (desires, beliefs and feelings) to oneself and others, an ability which seems to be lacking in many children with autism spectrum disorders. I'm not a huge fan of the Theory of Mind concept, as it is ill defined and ever expanding. In addition, many of the so called Theory of Mind tasks seem to hinge on language abilities as much as a Theory of Mind. And although there have been some successes to test Theory of Mind abilities in apes, Theory of Mind and language seem connected on many levels.

But this week I saw the rudimentary workings of the infamous Theory of Mind in my eldest son Lucas (3 yrs). He knows his birthday is coming up in about two months, and his little brother will have his a mere three days later. But way before that, my husband will turn.... well, that isn't really important for this story. So, I asked Lucas what he thought his dad would like to get as a present. He came up with.... a frog. Yes, a frog. No, no clue. My husband is not particularly interested in frogs, we don't keep any frogs or plan to do so in the near future, and Lucas has never displayed an avid interest in them either. So, to understand his trail of thought, I asked whether he could come up with another present. Some serious thinking happened, after which he was absolutely sure of the complete and utter bliss of his dad  if he got some bones. But not just any bones, T-rex bones. No question marks about the nature of that idea, since Lucas is very interested into that himself. But he didn't take another round of questioning as his final resolve was a bunch of flowers. Typical male instinct kicking in there, probably.

So how does this prove his developing Theory of Mind? It doesn't. But you know what, even I am unable to come up with a decent idea for my husband. So, instead we contemplated presents for his baby brother Kwint. And it didn't take Lucas long to come up with two ideas: penguins and cars. Spot on, and to his credit, Lucas does like penguins, but it's Kwint who's seriously obsessed with them. So, there you have it, Lucas has a Theory of Mind, and a diagnosis of autism is getting more unlikely every day. 

Kwint, on the other hand, is a different story. At a regular visit to the pediatrician (the American consultatiebureau), some eyebrows were raised on the subject of him not using the pronouns 'I' or 'me'. Never mind the pediatrician used a schedule for children aged 2, or the fact that Kwint is having to cope with the challenge of being raised bilingual, or even the fact that he does say words as 'mine' and doesn't meet any other criteria that would merit concerns for a possible developmental disorder. She offered us the opportunity to fill out a huge questionnaire which would be checked by specialists to see if there would be any reason for further checkups. We respectfully declined and went home only to find that the Dutch Van Wiechenschema (used at the Dutch consultatiebureau) considers it a skill for 2,5 year-olds. There still is time...

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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)

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.

USAccident

So, I forgot to mention that Kwint managed to hit his head against a shelf at daycare yesterday. Now, I would say that that is nothing out of the ordinary, and wouldn't think about it twice. Back home, we would maybe hear why our son had a throbbing red light on his forehead when we'd come to pick him up. But no, in the USA you get an actual accident report. With the time, an actual report of the accident and the way they handled the situation. Should I now sue them? I don't know the rules of this country yet, so I'm just asking.

So, I proudly present: Kwint's first accident report! May there be lots to follow.