"And though she be but little..."

I've been mulling over this post for quite some time now. It all started several months ago when my mom advised me to think deeply about my approach to parenting in all its various aspects: discipline, media consumption, food, instruction, etc. What did I want my children to love? Know? Believe? How would I cultivate that? How would I discipline and, more importantly, why would I discipline in a certain way? Why teach Mac a certain schedule? Why encourage certain food habits?

I admit that, at the time, I was overwhelmed by the prospect of writing my own personal Parenting Manifesto. I flagged the email and every day, as it sits in my inbox, I vow to sit and write down my thoughts on these Deep Matters of Great Importance.

Time has passed and quickly. Another child on the way, planning to do, meals to cook, husband and child to love. And then one night, in the not too-distant past, I found myself flipping through the latest edition of Restoration Hardware (I say "edition" because it is literally volume-sized). I was eagerly looking for their nursery collections. After I laughed hysterically over their $69 crib sheets (organic, mind you) and marveled that every room was, in fact, the same palette--oatmeal + one other pale hue of your choice--I noticed something that really, really bothered me. 

You see, I had ventured into the children's section of the magazine, complete with meticulously organized, color-coordinated, and basically perfect rooms. (Before I continue, let me be clear: I love the idea of a meticulously organized, color-coordinated, perfect room and half of my disdain over these designer rooms stems from the fact that I will never attain them). I flipped very quickly through the girl rooms and noticed the usual ballerinas, flowers, princesses and butterflies, all in different shades of cream, pink, purple, and sparkle (less of the latter because the mantra of RH is Never Flashy, Always Monochromatic). And then I slowed down, as I saw page after page of really cool boy rooms. Gone were the chandeliers and ethereal angel wings. Instead, these rooms were decorated by maps, constellation charts, sports memorabilia, and vintage airplanes. These were active, imaginative, adventurous rooms. The girl rooms? Passive. Sweet and lovely, but very passive.

Now let me stop you right there. This is not a treatise on gender equality or nature vs. nurture or any of those other issues. And guess what? I'm going to decorate Little Girl's nursery in shades of white and pale pink. There won't be airplanes hanging from the ceiling. There will be flowers, and all sorts of pretty, feminine things, although NO butterflies. They are insects, thank you very much. No, I think what bothered me was that I wanted my Little Girl to be just as adventurous and inquisitive and active as any little boy. And the girl rooms in RH were just plain BORING compared to their boy counterparts. I want to encourage Little Girl to be brave and strong and true and honorable and adventurous and inquisitive and intellectual. And I want her room to be a reflection of that.  I want Mac to be brave and strong and true and honorable and adventurous and inquisitive and intellectual. She is a girl; Mac is a boy. How these traits manifest themselves will be different in each of them because they are different. But I don't want her growing up thinking that adventure and action are Mac's domain. 

As a child, my parents did a wonderful job of cultivating these very things in me. My room decor in junior high (and dare I say, high school--I was not popular) consisted of vintage Yankee pennants, historical memorabilia from the American Revolution, the Felicity American Girl doll (because, guys, she saved the day and helped the Americans against the British!), and books books everywhere. A book about a girl who ran away from her aristocratic family to become a sailor. Books on Molly Pitcher, Florence Nightingale, Clara Barton. Classics such as The Lord of the Rings, Jane Eyre, Anne of Green Gables, The Chronicles of Narnia, Little Women, The Princess and the Goblin. Books by Jane Austen, George MacDonald, William Shakespeare. I read and read and read, and when I took a break from reading, I ran outside with my siblings and played Adventure. I wanted to be a heroine of the tallest order, to Do Something Great. Of course, now I realize that Doing Something Great may look very inconsequential and ordinary indeed. But I digress. 

I think I have Restoration Hardware to thank for spurring me on towards my Parenting Manifesto. I have realized that I want to create a beautiful and feminine room for Little Girl. One with pink and flowers and gold accents. But also one that imbues strength, bravery, adventure, and an inquisitive mind. Just like Mac's room, and yet, so different.

And so, I have come to the point, however convolutedly, where I can start to write down these Deep Matters of Great Importance. But you'll have to wait to read them

'til next time.

Going Dutch

The Daxon Clan headed to the Netherlands over the July 4th weekend and a) we had an absolutely wonderful time and b) we literally almost melted in the heat. A heat wave hit Europe over the weekend of the 4th, reaching triple digits and nearly killing every expat used to turning on the A/C for temps higher than 75°F. Newsflash: what makes a normally semi-sane toddler stop sleeping and cry incessantly? Unmitigated, sweltering, sweat-pool inducing heat. In our genius, however, we decided to visit friends of ours in Rotterdam, who had the brilliant and generous idea of getting out of the urban sauna and escaping to their family's beach house on the North Sea. It. Was. Glorious. And for more reasons than the constant, cool breeze.

Eat your heart out, Don Quixote.

Mac n' cheese

But let's go back to the beginning of our trip. Our first night was spent in Delft, which is so quintessentially Dutch I'm not sure I need to describe it. A few words will do: 17th century architecture. Canals. Boats on canals. People in boats eating food on canals. Bikes. People on bikes. Tall, beautiful, blond people on bikes. Bikes and beautiful people everywhere. The End. I highly recommend Delft, but only if you can get over the fact that you will never be intrepid enough to bike at high speeds in narrow lanes and will never look impossibly attractive while doing so. If you can get over the fact that you'll never be Dutch, you'll love Delft. And the Netherlands, for that matter.

Blond people. Eating. Boat. Canal.

Sugar-dusted perfection 

Visiting William of Orange

On Friday, we headed to Rotterdam, where we met up with the Vissers (impossibly Dutch; see above). We met the Vissers about three years ago when they were visiting D.C. and attended our Dutch Reformed church. They were generous enough to invite us for the weekend and it was honestly the most refreshing weekend of fellowship we've had in a long time. Jan Jaap and Christine have three young boys and they took to Mac instantly (and vice versa). I'm not sure what was more fun--watching Mac play his little heart out with his new besties or having stimulating and meaningful conversations with friends. As mentioned above, the Brilliant Vissers led the way to the beach on Saturday (where we stopped sweating after 48 hours of nonstop moisture), and we had the privilege of meeting their entire extended family. Mac was in heaven, specifically owing to a tot-sized, fully automated Audi and loads of kids right around his age. We went to the beach for a bit and Mac had his first ocean experience! I felt like we had somehow managed to end up at a resort with good friends. The whole weekend was a deep, restful sigh.

Mac has exquisite taste.

Heading to the beach.

Christine and I

Melt-in-your-mouth stroopwafels

Besties

On Sunday, we attended church with the Vissers. A few observations: everyone goes to church, at least in the town we were in. On the drive to church, we saw people everywhere biking to church. All the women wore hats, much to my delight. Older women wore any variety of hat, while the younger girls wore white, knit berets. We loved singing Psalms with our brothers and sisters even if we had no idea what we were saying and were most definitely butchering the Dutch language. I will say, Ben and I were deeply confused when, right before the sermon, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, opened a small sweet or mint. The sanctuary was overtaken by a distinct rustling noise as everyone reached for their treat. Ben and I were obviously not in the know and were the only two in the large congregation to remain mint-less. 

Mac was thrilled by wooden shoes.

The town of Marken displayed an excellent sense of humor.

That afternoon, we said goodbye to our friends and headed north to Waterland. We spent the next day exploring Marken, a traditional fishing village frozen in time; Edam, where cheese reigns supreme; and the Zuiderzee Museum, an open-air museum where traditional Dutch ways of life from the turn of the 20th century are recreated. The day was accented by long drives through polders (did you know that nearly 17% of the land mass of the Netherlands is reclaimed from the sea?), old windmills (historically, they controlled water levels in the polders by way of an Archimedes' screw), peaceful canals, and dairy cows galore.  The towns are reminiscent of Holland's economic and maritime supremacy during the Dutch Golden Age in the 17th century, with most boasting harbors and architectural remnants of vibrant trading centers. Now, however, the towns are quiet if beautiful, and the overwhelming sense is one of peace and a relaxed quality of life.

The fishing village of Marken 

Hand-knotted fishing nets

Traditional Dutch clothing

Tuesday marked the last day of our trip. I managed to pick up what will doubtless be one of my most prized possessions--a Dutch oven with a Royal Delftware lid. Cooking has never been more beautiful. And with that, we sped home. Actually, I lie. Our demon-possessed GPS took us through the heart of Utrecht for some ungodly reason, adding an hour to our journey. Mac decided that road trips are for the birds and screamed approximately 75% of the five-hour trip home. I started crying because Mac was crying and because that is what I do when pregnant. Ahhh the restful family vacation. All ended well and we (I)  have been busy every since planning our next adventure (starting in t-minus 13 days). 

Stay tuned.

'til next time.

Get To It

I think Travel is a lot like Style. It is a personal reflection of who you are as an individual. And each person has a unique Style. A unique approach to Travel.

I see this and I get the travel bug every time.

Let's take Ben for instance. This guy is 100% action from the time he wakes up until the minute his head hits the pillow (and of course he falls asleep immediately...how?!). A typical conversation with my husband goes something like this: 

Him: "Hey babe! I've got a three-day weekend next week. Where are we going?" 
Me: "Ummm, well, I'd thought that it would be nice to stay at home and sort of relax. You know, since we got back from our previous trip yesterday."

As our date of (another) departure approaches, my nerves slowly coil themselves into tense springs, ready to explode at any moment. I obsess over the lightest possible packing method, plan our route to the last detail, and fall asleep thinking about how much I hate packing for three in one suitcase. I worry about leaving the house clean, do last minute loads of laundry, and, the night before we leave, I usually have a teensy weensy panic attack because Ben just wants me to sit down, relax, and watch an episode of The Wire instead of worrying or packing. His response to my fretting? "You've got plenty of time!"

Ben is the Energizer Bunny of travel. And I'm not so bad myself. I just need a good recharge, where Ben just keeps on going. We make a good team, actually, because I balance out the insanity in him and he pushes me to relax and enjoy life moment by moment. We've developed our own travel style...types of places we prefer to stay (apartments via Airbnb), what we like to see (historical sites or food-related attractions), our own pace (walk walk walk explore explore explore eat eat eat), and things we really have no interest in (guided tours for instance).

The look Mac will give you if you suggest staying home this weekend.

Here's the thing, though. That's just us! My good friend, Leah, and I were talking the other day. We have different travel styles and we both know it. And she made the excellent point that people just travel differently and that that is just fine! She is right. When I read travel blogs or articles, I am often really intimidated by that person's Travel Approach. The person that intimidates me the most is the laid-back-yet-effortlessly-chic traveler. Gah. One, I'm not laid back. Two, although I dream of looking super fashionable when I travel, often I'm rocking whatever I have that is mildly in fashion (that I own) and some shoes that are comfortable (if unfashionable). But I always feel like I should look a certain way, relax a little bit more, and be more savvy at this because, after all, we do this a lot!

There's no right or wrong way to travel. As long as you are respectful of the host culture, avoid being rude to locals, and leave flora, fauna, and national treasures the way you found them, you're good to go. Granted, a desire to blend in and experience the true culture of the place never hurt anyone.

By plane, train, or automobile - it doesn't matter where you go, just that you do.

If some of my friends traveled with us, they would not like the way we travel. They would never choose to prioritize the things we do, stay where we do, eat what we do. And guess what?! That's great! The point is, just travel. Just get out there and do it, wherever you are, no matter how small the day trip or how grand the destination. It doesn't matter if you're visiting Tishomingo, Oklahoma or Paris, France. It doesn't have to be expensive or exotic. It doesn't matter if you have children or not (granted, they make the process infinitely more complicated...but still worth it). It doesn't matter if you are the super laid back crunchy traveler with the cool yet annoyingly massive backpack (there should probably be commas and hyphens somewhere in there, but oh well). It doesn't matter if you want to lay on the deck of a cruise ship and not move for seven days. It doesn't matter if you couldn't care less about history (well, maybe we should have a chat). Who cares if you're not effortlessly chic in Paris (trust me, I agonized over this one...how do they do it?!). You're traveling. You're getting out into the world and experiencing part of it you haven't before. Well done. Now get to it.

'til next time.