Last time we went to the Hague, the Princess was sick, she vomitted on all of our friends’ sheets. All night. This time there were no sick children. There was one sick mother, but it wasn’t me. And she was recovering from the vomitting bug. And, so far, none of my children appears to have caught it. So all in all, city of vomit is an unfair appellation but give a city a bad name and all that.
We had a lovely time in the Hague over the weekend and the problem with having a lovely time is that it gives you no bloggable material. Everything was lovely (except for the Dutch Mama’s illness and she struggled womanfully to conceal it, so it didn’t overly affect us). Mr. Dutch Mama spent part of the weekend building a bike shed in the front garden and all of the time being tall therefore effectively reinforcing all my stereotypes about Dutch people which was deeply gratifying. The Princess was charmed by the toys available for her delectation and, in a high point for her, got to have a bath with her little hiberno-dutch hosts. The Dutch Mama, illness nothwithstanding, spent all of the weekend with one or other of our babies in her arms thereby freeing us up to read, eat, stop our daughter from savaging our hosts etc.
I was struck by what very good little children our hosts were and though their Mama said that it was really down to them and nothing to do with her parenting, I can’t help wondering whether this is actually the case. And they eat everything. The Princess consumed an apple and a morsel of chicken over the weekend. Oh, and plenty of biscuits. Why is my child a fussy eater? I blame her father, I enjoy that.
And we left with a supply of cute little boy clothes; please admire Daniel in Dutch jumper:
