I’ve had ten of them.
Friday was the tenth ‘Koninginnedag’ I’ve had the dubious pleasure of experiencing.
Ten times I’ve seen the Dutch national holiday come and go in its usual sea of orange clothing, odd songs, and untimely downpours. Yet not once have I ever particularly enjoyed it, other than as an excuse to imbibe that little bit extra. Not a surprise I suppose, being a foreigner.
I wonder about Mango though, technically she is Irish, despite her birthplace, but for all intents and purposes she’s going to have her early years surrounded by the same things that every other little Dutch girl has.
Her Irish passport is winging its way to us as we speak, albeit probably via the hands of an Israeli assassin, or first being used as an incentive for an Arab billionaire to invest in some Galway based businesses. Should it eventually arrive in one piece it will be the only thing to set her aside from all her peers at school or daycare.
She will be sung Dutch songs, will be told Dutch fairy tales, and will play Dutch games with her little Dutch friends.
She’ll be cycling before she can walk, having cheese for breakfast, and talking with a funny accent.
We’re raising a foreigner.
A cute one though.