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I always looked forward to flying into Schipol in the springtime when the entire countryside seems filled with brilliant tulips of all colors.
And I could write a book about traveling with infants and toddlers, with a special gratitude in my heart for the Dutch love of children, including on long KLM flights, and for finding the same love of children from the much maligned Dutch cousins, the Africaans folk in South Africa.
We would stop at a restaurant in some little farming dorp, always managed by an ample oumah who would greet us, take our order, automatically pick up our two toddlers, and take them back into the kitchen where they were doted over and spoiled rotten by the oumah and her black oumah kitchen staff.
Once, on a KLM flight from Lilongwe, Malawi, to Amsterdam, with a newborn son and a terrible twos toddler, we were given a three seat exit row where my wife and I shared holding our 12 pound infant until I finally drifted off to sleep.
Eventually my arms buckled under the weight of the baby and I awoke to find Zovuta (Trouble), as everyone who knew our daughter called her. I searched everywhere in the darkened 747 to find her, until a flight attendant asked me if I was looking for my daughter. “She’s in the rear galley. She was trying to call someone on the flight attendant phone across from her seat, so I decided to let you sleep and I would babysit her.”
I walked to the rear gallery and found my daughter entertaining most of the cabin crew. They seemed almost disappointed when I retrieved her.
And it was always the same in Holland. We stop at a tourist attraction or a cafe or a store, and there was always a young Dutch woman ready to entertain our kids so we could enjoy a meal or whatever.
It wasn’t until we moved to the US that we discovered what horrible, careless parents we were when we mentioned to people our experiences.
If I am ever blessed with grandchildren, I’m going to take them on a trip to Holland. I want to enjoy being with children in a place where they are cherished and beloved.
What a wonderful metaphor: riding the tulip train to delight and joy! Thank you for being rushed and messy and real along the way, and for practicing terraphilia by taking your kids and Jose to see the tulip fields. Many blessings to you!
I always looked forward to flying into Schipol in the springtime when the entire countryside seems filled with brilliant tulips of all colors.
And I could write a book about traveling with infants and toddlers, with a special gratitude in my heart for the Dutch love of children, including on long KLM flights, and for finding the same love of children from the much maligned Dutch cousins, the Africaans folk in South Africa.
We would stop at a restaurant in some little farming dorp, always managed by an ample oumah who would greet us, take our order, automatically pick up our two toddlers, and take them back into the kitchen where they were doted over and spoiled rotten by the oumah and her black oumah kitchen staff.
Once, on a KLM flight from Lilongwe, Malawi, to Amsterdam, with a newborn son and a terrible twos toddler, we were given a three seat exit row where my wife and I shared holding our 12 pound infant until I finally drifted off to sleep.
Eventually my arms buckled under the weight of the baby and I awoke to find Zovuta (Trouble), as everyone who knew our daughter called her. I searched everywhere in the darkened 747 to find her, until a flight attendant asked me if I was looking for my daughter. “She’s in the rear galley. She was trying to call someone on the flight attendant phone across from her seat, so I decided to let you sleep and I would babysit her.”
I walked to the rear gallery and found my daughter entertaining most of the cabin crew. They seemed almost disappointed when I retrieved her.
And it was always the same in Holland. We stop at a tourist attraction or a cafe or a store, and there was always a young Dutch woman ready to entertain our kids so we could enjoy a meal or whatever.
It wasn’t until we moved to the US that we discovered what horrible, careless parents we were when we mentioned to people our experiences.
If I am ever blessed with grandchildren, I’m going to take them on a trip to Holland. I want to enjoy being with children in a place where they are cherished and beloved.
What a wonderful metaphor: riding the tulip train to delight and joy! Thank you for being rushed and messy and real along the way, and for practicing terraphilia by taking your kids and Jose to see the tulip fields. Many blessings to you!