I Wish I Had Expat Kids

When I was eight, my family moved to Belgium.  You knew that about me, right?  No?  Well, we did, and we were there for a little over a year (not the three to five it was supposed to be, but that's a different story).  Honestly?  It was my favorite place I ever lived.

In Belgium (at least at the time), non-citizens weren't allowed to own houses, so we rented a 500 year old farmhouse.  We had a huge backyard with apple and pear trees and lived on a one lane cobblestone road - gloriously named Chemin du Bas Ransbeck in the tiny village of Ohain just outside Waterloo.  I remember the stone floors and the root cellar, the chalkboard on the kitchen wall for the daily shopping list, the lack of screen on the windows because there are no bugs, and the lack of closets in the house.

It was eye opening for an eight year old.  Not every country has closets built into the house?  You have to purchase wardrobes instead?  People go shopping on a daily basis instead of stocking up for the week (that was my mom's favorite - and she never made it to school to pick us up with a loaf of bread intact)?  And wait... they eat horse meat?  That one we discovered when my mom cooked a roast that just wouldn't bake.  It stayed pink/red and never turned brown.  After three hours, she finally threw it out, only to discover later that "cheval" means horse in French.  She was really careful about what she bought after that.

My sister an I attended St. John's, an international school not too far from our house.  It was taught in English, but every student learned French.  I don't mean "studied" or "had a half hour class once or twice a week."  We learned it through songs and slideshows and conversations and more.  Apparently I was pretty fluent by the time we left.  And had I stayed into fourth grade, that's when they added a third language aside from English and French.  And a fourth language followed.  Did I mention that they followed the block schedule even in elementary school so that we studied our subjects in big blocks of time to get through the material without having to rush to get to the next subject?  I found that fascinating, and it was a hard adjustment when I moved back to the States.

I would move back in a heartbeat, but my husband's job isn't made for us to be expats, so the wee ones will never have the same experience I did - driving through Europe on weekends to visit Poland and Spain and West Germany (hey, it was the 80s - there was a West Germany) and more.  I saw so many things that were just normal to me that made a lasting impression.

I'm grateful that Little Miss is in a Spanish immersion program and will have the language - and a little culture - that most Americans don't receive in elementary school.  I'm happy that Mister Man takes a Spanish class once a week to at least expose him to the language.  And one day, I hope we'll be able to spend the summer renting an apartment in Europe so that they can have some of that experience.  Regardless, I'll encourage them to do a study abroad program in college if not in high school.

Because this understanding the rest of the world and where we fit into it ? It's kind of important stuff.  Have you ever lived abroad?  Would you want to - with or without kids?

In the interest of full disclosure, this post is part of the From Left to Write book club where we write posts based on books we read as opposed to traditional book reviews.  I received a copy of "The Headmaster's Wager" by Vincent Lam to facilitate my post, but I was not compensated.  All opinions remain my own.

Wait, Is The Sky Falling?

They say that children always know when something's wrong, but ... I didn't. I was one of the kids who was constantly surprised when something bad happened. I was sheltered throughout my childhood, or perhaps I was just oblivious, whether by choice or not. There's also the potential that my mom was a teensy tiny bit dramatic and worried about everything so I simply became inured to the drama and ignored the real drama.

By the time I was in college, I just laughed. My freshman year in college, my mom called me as she arrived home from Parent Weekend. "Michelle, are you sitting down? I have some bad news for you," she intoned seriously.

Silly me, I sat on my bed, awaiting the bad news although honestly without much sense of dread.

My mom took a deep breath. "My car. Is in the pond. It rolled into the pond, and it's going to be totaled."

I blinked. "Ok. Were you in it when it happened? Did anyone get hurt?" I began my inquiry.

"No. No, no one was in it. I had parked the car in the garage and gotten my suitcases out before closing the trunk. I went inside and closed the garage door. When your sister opened the house door, she asked why I hadn't parked in the garage. It wasn't until I turned around then that I realized the car wasn't in the garage anymore! She was almost starting to wail at this point.

I managed to calm her down, ascertaining that the only damage to anything was her pride. And the car that had somehow mysteriously rolled from our garage, down the driveway, and into the pond in front of our house. Personally, I was grateful that the car - which needed the car left in first gear constantly eighteen years into its life, as the parking brake no longer functioned - had rolled into the pond instead of into the street where children might have been playing or a car might have been driving by. I was happy that the large weeping willow trees on one side of the pond were spared. And I was thrilled that as my mom had walked behind the car, it hadn't started rolling then and knocked her down or worse.

I was inured to her drama by then. And looking back, I think I was inured to it at an early age, or I simply believed that life was always going to be good to me. Maybe it was just in my personality from the start to take things as they come and let them roll off my back. The day my mom packed my sister and I up and left my dad? Total surprise to me (they did get back together months later and are still together today - coming up on their fiftieth wedding anniversary actually). When my mom sat my sister down and told us my dad was in treatment for alcoholism (there's a long story there, and some day I'll have to share that one)? I shrugged and went on with my life, it was a surprise to me but everything would be fine in the end. I know it drove my mom nuts that my sister and I couldn't figure out where she was leading my sister and I with her questions as she tried to tell us where my dad was, but nothing seemed wrong to me at that time or before then.

In a way, I think my ability to roll with the punches as they come and not focus on the bad that may or may not be coming down the pike serves me well. I don't dwell on what might happen. I don't worry about what's to come. And I don't get nervous or butterflies in my stomach - because it's all going to be ok in the end. On the other hand, there are events in my life that completely blindside me because not only am I not looking for the signs of bad things, I appear to have an ability to ignore some of them.

Looking around at how some people I know live their lives - always looking for trouble and waiting for the other shoe to drop - I think I'm ok being the oddball child and, to a lesser degree now, adult who doesn't sense that something is wrong and is just waiting for it to come. In what camp do you fall?

In the interest of full disclosure, I received a copy of the book "Carry Yourself Back To Me" as part of the From Left to Write book club for purposes of facilitating our discussion. As part of this book club, we write posts inspired by the book, as opposed to traditional book reviews. I received no compensation, and all opinions are my own, as always.

Win a Hallmark card pack as part of their Get Carded campaign
Win a Purse Perfector purse organizer - trust me, you won't know what you did without it
Win a Big G prize pack - cereal and a $25 gift card

Childhood Scars

A quick interruption before the post... I still have three giveaways going on. Enter to win a week of summer day camp for ages 5-12 here, a fun Shrek-tacular prize pack here, or a $25 Wal-Mart gift card here.

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Growing up was always something exciting to me. I remember anxiously awaiting the first day of school when I would get to go to kindergarten, when I got to be a Girl Scout, shaving my legs for the first time - all of them were moments I longed for. Being a grownup was always something full of such mystique for me, and I couldn't wait for it.

I know I'm not alone in this, and the first day of high school, passing the driver's test, going to college, getting married - all those are milestone we look forward to. For most of us, it's only after we've passed these milestones that we look back and realize that maybe the race to grow up didn't need to be quite that much of a focus.

A book I read recently led me to think about this - about how today we're forcing kids to grow up earlier and earlier, and how much they're missing out. I Am Nujood, Age 10 and Divorced by Nujood Ali with Delphinne Minoui really brought it home - a ten year old girl, already married and divorced, forced by her circumstances to grow up faster than any child ever should.

The recent video with the dancing seven year olds is another example, although at least (and it's hard for me to even qualify this) - at least their loss of innocence wasn't nearly so visceral.

For me, I was lucky for the most part. I may have moved around a lot as a kid when my dad was transferred, but I was fine with that. My parents loved me, and they didn't put too much pressure on me to grow up any more than behaving in front of company.

It wasn't all sunshine and roses, though, and there are some things where I can still see the scars - relatively minor as the psychological damage may have been.

When I was eight, my mom left my dad and we moved to a small condo where I remember helping my mom clip coupons. I don't remember a ton about that period, but clipping the coupons has stayed with me, along with my mom searching for work and driving a tiny, used two door Ford Escort - the cheapest car she could find. The fear of not having enough money and even of spending has stayed with me since then.

In some ways, this isn't a bad thing, as I've never had any debt problems and do a great job of saving money (hey, it's how we can afford to have me stay home with my husband as a school teacher). However, my reluctance to spend money is sometimes irrational and causes me to miss out on experiences or things that I really ought to - or could - enjoy.

My parents did get back together after less than a year, and they're still together today. When I was twelve, though, I had another experience that still scars me today. My dad went into rehab for alcoholism (successfully, I might add), but it was traumatic at the time. My parents never really did a great job explaining it to me, although I remember my mom sitting my sister and I down and telling us she had some news and then asking us what the first thing Daddy did when he got home from work each night - that's what stuck with me. After our numerous wrong answers (take off his tie, I remember was one of mine), my mom reminded us that he got a drink ("Johnnie Walker, Red and water" my sister and I chirped in a sing-song voice that looking back tells me we maybe saw far too much).

Dating through and after college, that fear stuck with me. I'm not a big drinker, and I never have been (hey - couple a fear of spending money with a fear of becoming alcoholic, and you have someone who doesn't drink much). I never understood the joys of going out to get drunk, and I probably never will.

And I was, and maybe still am, paranoid about that regular drink, like that's the proof that whoever I'm dating is on their way to becoming an alcoholic and recreating the situation my mom faced. Granted, there were a couple guys I dated who probably did achieve that, but most of them? They had no issues - I was the one who had an issue, and inevitably it became an issue in the relationship.

What "happened" to me - or rather, the events of my childhood? Minor. Completely off the radar compared to what it could be. And yet, I can see the impact they had on the person I am today.

Now I try to picture the person I would be today if I were married and divorced by eight years old. And I can't. I can't imagine the scars I'd have, the fear I'd have, the issues I'd face. And it breaks my heart to know that Nujood has yet to grow up to realize the scars she bears - and to know that she is far from alone, that childhood marriage is a regular occurence yet in certain parts of the world.

And if you'll excuse me, I have two children I need to go hug. And some childhoods I need to preserve.

I received the book "I Am Nujood, Age 10 and Divorced" as a member of the Silicon Valley Moms Book Club. There was no compensation involved. Be sure to check out what other SV Moms had on their minds while reading about Nujood.

Everything Pudding

Ok, so how many of you read the Betsy, Tacy and Tibb books growing up? (And how many of you plan to find the books for your daughters to read?) They were some of my favorite books in late elementary school. And yes, the inspired me.

How, you might ask?

Wellll if you haven't noticed, I sorta like to cook. And I may or may not have mentioned that my mom's idea of cooking meant boiling to death an entire box of pasta then putting it in the fridge in a Ziploc for us to pick at as we were hungry. (No, I'm not joking).

I certainly didn't get my enjoyment of food from her (cottage cheese with canned peaches is her standard breakfast because it's easy but ewwww!), nor my love of cooking. She still dosn't get it, but she will at least eat some of the food, generally whateve is left that no one else wants to eat.

So back to Betsy, Tacy, and Tibb. In one of the books, Betsy comes up with a great idea to cook. They decided to learn how to cook by making "everything pudding" which essentially consisted of everything but the kitchen sink.

I thought that was a pretty cool idea, but my mom pretty quickly laid down the law that if I made it, I ate it. Or maybe it was my friend's mom, and my mom simply copied.

Regardless, we made everything... cookies and cakes and muffins and bread and pancakes. And using no recipes, putting in some sometimes odd ingredients, we occasionally came up with some pretty good stuff.

We also quickly learned to make very small batches of things to avoid having to eat a whole lot of something nasty.

I look back on that now, and oh the fun we had! It was a great way to spend a sleepover, and generally a pretty inexpensive proposition. We were always safe, and it was a great way to exert some independence safely. I only wish that we'd taken photos of our work and written down some of our better recipes.

In fact, I think I might have to try this with the wee ones one of these day wen we have some free time. I have a feeling they might enjoy continuing this little tradition.

So what did you love to do as a child that was - maybe - a little more unique?

It's Back To Childhood

Remember when you were a kid? What was the first thing you asked your mom when you woke up each day? For me, I had to ask what day is was. I never knew. And really, I only asked some days when I had a pressing need to know or something was coming up that I was excited about.

Granted, I generally knew if it was a weekday or weekend -- although sometimes I'd forget and start to get ready for school on a Saturday. In summer though... all we did was wile away the hours hanging out and playing. There was no schedule we cared about and no structure. I'm sure I knew what month it was, but day of the week? No clue.

As I got older, this happened less often. I remember being in junior high and trying to forget the days of the week during the summer. I didn't really succeed, although I was able to forget for a day or so at a time.

Once I reached high school and had more responsibilities, I always knew what day it was. I knew what I was supposed to do that day and the next. I knew what preparation I had to do to get ready for the upcoming days.

And I knew that my childhood was truly coming to an end.

They always say that your dotage is a second childhood. Apparently I'm older than I thought.

I almost sent Manic Mommy a note yesterday evening to ask her where her blood drive contest winners were. They were to be posted on Thursday (today) after all. Fortunately, I realized what day it was before sending.

Of course, the reason I remembered in time is because of an earlier incident.

I went to the grocery store with a list of items to pick up. Eggs were $0.97 for eighteen with a $10 purchase. I needed applesauce to make two dairy free recipes for Little Miss. And they had chicken on sale for $2/pound, which you don't see too often anymore. And I can always use more yogurt... which was on sale 32 oz for $1.49.

I picked up the eggs and headed towards the meat section. I saw whole chicken on sale. And drumsticks for $1.49 per pound, but I couldn't find the $2 chicken breasts. The yogurt was no problem, and I picked up my applesauce.

I then headed to the front of the store to find a flyer so I could complain to the store and ask them to get the right price up. Looking at the flyer, I could see that it was still last week's flyer. I sighed at their incompetance and headed to the other entrance, hoping I could find a flyer there. Nope, still the same stupid flyer from last week.

Irritated now, I decided to go to the front desk and inquire about the chicken. The woman looked at me funny and asked if it was the flyer I'd gotten in the mail. Umm, duhhh! Then she reminded me that the sale items don't start until Thursday. Of course they don't start until Thursday. I know that, but my issue is that. Oh. Yeah. Today's not Thursday yet, is it?

The woman gave me a sympathetic look, as I explained my confusion. And may I point out that this is further proof that being rude to people is never called for. I wasn't mean to her but just inquiring about the sale chicken. And since I was totally wrong, she was nice to me and only a single snort of laughter escaped rather than having her patronizingly correct me and treat me like the moron I am.

Uhhh yeah, I put back the eggs and the yogurt. It's the grocery store version of the walk of shame. I still bought my applesauce though. And made some yummy goodies today -- granola, chocolate applesauce cake, and whole wheat carrot cranberry muffins.

And yes, even after this very memorable incident, I still thought it was Thursday later that evening.

Anyone know of any good nursing homes in the Chicago area?

Ahhhh, To Be Five Again!

I remember learning my first joke when I was a kid. To this day, I remember what that joke was. It absolutely cracked me up. I don't think it amused others quite as much. Maybe the first time, but not the twentieth.

Allow me to demonstrate.

Me: What time is it when the elephant sits on the fence?
My Dad: I don't know. What time?
Me: Time to get a new fence!
My Dad: Oh, that's funny. Good joke, Michelle!
Me: What time is it when the elephant sits on the fence?
My Dad: Time to get a new fence?
Me: Nope. Three o'clock.
My Dad: Ummm, ok.
Me: What time is it when the elephant sits on the fence?
My Dad: Uhh, three o'clock?
Me: Nope! Eight thirty!

And it went on and on. While I got that it was a joke, I didn't quite get jokes.

Mister Man is of the age when he loves jokes and loves telling jokes. At the chiropractor yesterday, I heard this one.

Mister Man: Knock knock.
Me: Who's there?
Mister Man: Pirate!
Me: Pirate who?
Mister Man: Pirate in the face?
Me: Uhhh, ok.

To the physical therapist....

Mister Man: Knock knock.
PT: Who's there?
Mister Man: Pirate!
PT: Pirate who?
Mister Man: Pirate in the face. Pschhh! I just threw a pie at you!
Me: Ohhhhh! Pie right in the face!
Mister Man: Yeah, that's what I said.

I suppose it was.... Now it's kind of funny. The PT had a joke of her own.

PT: What's Beethoven's favorite fruit?
Mister Man: Strawberries!
PT: Nope. Want to guess again?
Mister Man: Kiwi!
PT: Nope, it's bah-nah-nah-nahhhhhh!
Mister Man: Are you sure it isn't strawberries?

He wasn't impressed. I thought it was pretty good. At least we know the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Mister Man: What time is it when the elephant sits on the fence?
My Dad: (heh, sucker!) I don't know. What time?
Mister Man: Time to get a new fence!
My Dad: Good one, Mister Man.
Mister Man: What time is it when the dinosaur sits on the fence?
My Dad: What time?
Mister Man: Time to get a new fence!
My Dad: Ahhh....
Mister Man: What time is it when the crocodile sits on the watch?
My Dad: I don't know. What time?
Mister Man: Time to get a new watch!

And it went on and on and on.... On the plus side, he seems to have a tiny bit better idea of how jokes work than I did at his age!