Thursday, February 28, 2013
I would like to thank Jodie at Growing Book by Book for creating such a resourceful, fun blog all about literacy.
I would also like to thank Jodie for featuring me today on Growing Book by Book. In the interview, I share how I encourage literacy in my family and the reading habits I now see in my children. As much as I have appreciated previous interviews with teachers, librarians, parents, writers, authors and author/illustrators who have appeared on Growing Book by Book, I hope you will also get some value from today's feature.
Happy reading to everyone!
 |
| From Main Street America... |
Usually,
expat assignments last under five years. But when we rented our
current house in Belgium, we had to sign a nine-year lease. We did
this because if we were to leave before the end of the lease, the
fees would be much less. I almost laughed out loud as I signed the
paper and thought, "Yeah right, we'll never be here that long."
After
that signature, I was officially an
expat.
Before leaving the US, telling people of our move abroad sparked
great interest because it seemed so out of the ordinary. But in fact,
arriving in Brussels proved just how normal it was. I was excited to
hear stories of other families who had already lived in five
countries or more. Considering we had already lived in three States
in our first four years of marriage, I expected the same
globe-trotting life. My husband's assignment had indeed been
specified as a two to three-year deal...
 |
| ...to Main Street Belgium |
Hoping
to travel a bit through Europe in those couple years, I expected to
be back in the US for my first daughter, then only 1 year old, to
start kindergarten. Instead, we have
had
a second baby
a
sprained neck from falling off a swing
an
appendicitis
traveled
to a dozen countries at least once (excluding the USA)
celebrated
baptisms and communions
started
both daughters in school - local
and international
survived
lay-offs, budget cuts, furloughs
benefitted
from job title changes and promotions
made
a slew of friends
said
good-bye to many of them
learned
about the world through these friends
and
continue to make more...
At
some point between comparing potty-training practices and starting
the children in primary school, I stopped feeling like an expat. I
was just another woman, mother, wife, writer, living somewhere
else.
Nothing
replaces family but when your closest friends are also away from
their families, a natural and strong bond forms. We support each
other no matter the color of the hand being held, how smooth or rough
it may be, or to where that hand waved good-bye. We celebrate our
children's birthdays, help out when they fall ill, and have a good
laugh at our cultural
faux
pas.
I
have been also fortunate to make some very dear Belgian friends.
Speaking French before the move certainly helped. I could comfortably
attend local playgroups, go shopping, explain various ailments to
medical professionals, read the newspaper, pay my speeding tickets
and parking violations (I'm getting off track)... but all that to
say, I did my best to integrate.
After
five years, my husband was rehired under a local contract. We aren't
even technically expats anymore. Regardless, I am still referred to
by the neighbors as l'américaine
qui parle français
(the
American who speaks French).
And
so this “expat life” has slowly taken shape as, simply, “life.”
I just happen to live in Belgium, raise my kids as bilinguals with
two nationalities (neither
one being Belgian),
renew passports on a regular basis, pay taxes in two countries, and
rack up quite a few frequent flyer miles... like so many other
people.
 |
| Oh, the places we go! |
And
what about these Third Culture Kids I'm raising? This life is the
only one they have ever known, except for my eldest daughter's six
months at a YMCA daycare. When we go back to the US, I take my
daughters around to my old neighborhood, to my friends' homes, to
play at my old playground, to have ice cream at the same stand open
only in the summers and still run by the same family. But to them,
that's “Mum's country” (yes, they even call me 'mum' instead of
'mom'). The US is a world of cook-outs, swimming pools, beaches, and amusement
parks.
Visiting
their French mamie
and their English grandad
in
France
doesn't
seem all that different than being in Belgium except that they happen
to live in the Alps and the bread is... well... crustier. Considering
we spend almost every holiday with them (except for the Christmas
during which the above-mentioned appendix was removed from my
daughter), France is the land of skiing, hot chocolate, pain
au raisins,
long meals and late-nights.
But
in Belgium, my children are who they are. They like fries, but also snails, and pâté. They love
bandes
dessinées
(comic
books). They don't even bat an eye when a different language is
spoken. And still, they are influenced by my American side (i.e., I
do accidentally speak louder than the kids like in public places) and
my husband's French and English sides (i.e., we systematically have
to stop for an espresso mid-morning no matter where we are or where
we are going and the same is true at 4pm for a tea). And so, my
children are living their unique hotchpotch of a culture beside all
the other Third Culture Kids running through the Belgian playgrounds.
This is, simply, their life.
I
would be quite happy to move the family to another country, to see
new monuments, to learn another language and about a new culture
first-hand. But at the end of the day, whether we're sitting at the
dinner table around moules
frites
or fish and chips,
couscous or
coq au vin, or
even
mac and cheese (for
which I've spent a small fortune at an American food shop), we're
still here...growing, learning, living...and loving it.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
'Tis the season to travel!
Whether driving across town, taking a train across the country, or flying over an ocean to be with family, what's really important is that we get there.
.jpg "third culture kids, family travel, siblings, cultural differences, patience, grandparents, good night, sleep tight")
I was looking forward to this trip. But, my tummy was feeling mushy too. I hadn't seen my grandparents since I was three years old. Would they remember me? Would they still think I was cute? Sure, we see each other sometimes after lunch on weekends through the computer screen. I don't know how they get there but they can't get out. And I, I can't get in...believe me I tried! “Don't touch the screen!” Mommy's shrill still rings in my head. So, I have been waiting for tomorrow since at least the last page of the kitchen calendar.
Daddy said we had to wake up earlier tomorrow than for school.
Saturdays are usually sleep-in days. Usually the clock rings seven times before my eyes open. Mommy says it will only ring five times. The sun, my brother says, won't even be up yet!
I slip on my pajama bottoms and t-shirt after hanging my bath towel back on its hook. I walk back into my room to see Mom putting out my clothes for the next day: socks, undies, orange kitty t-shirt, purple button-down sweater, green pants and red socks. She sees my surprise face and explains, “I have to be able to see you in a crowd!” and goes to check on my brother.
I can see Matt pulling clothes out of his wardrobe.
“That shirt's too tight. You won't be comfortable.” Mom says. “Those pants are too big – get a belt!”
Mom turns to walk out. I see Matt's eyes roll...just like Mom's are.
I grab my stuffed tiger and hold him tight under my comforter, waiting for someone to turn off my light.
I hope I don't forget him in the morning.
“Good night, salty tart. Sleep well.” Daddy kisses my cheek.
“Bonne nuit, Papa.” I reply.
I close my eyes and wait for my thoughts to show up. We used to see Grandma and Grandpa every Friday after school. I mean, after Matt got out of school. Grandma would pick me up from another lady's house, then drive to Matt's school. I remember lots of windows in a row between bricks. I remember eating pizza and watching cartoons. Then, we just didn't anymore. I remember a big airplane, little TV screens, and clouds right outside the window! I remember lots of people in a long hallway and a moving sidewalk. My stroller went ahead all by itself. Then, I remember the noise, lots of voices, lots of words, but I couldn't understand even one. Mom told me we would learn how to speak new words. I have. She hasn't so much.
“Hey, girly. What do you want for breakfast?” I run past Daddy to the guest toilet.
“Ahhh...Cornflakes!” I finally say.
I'm still drinking the milk from my cereal bowl when Mom sits next to me and pours her coffee.
“Why aren't you dressed?” She asks.
“I was hungry.”
“Now, you're not.” She takes my dishes to the sink and shoos me away. “Go upstairs!”
Mom is generally a very calm person unless we are running late, actually late, or could possibly be late for a-ny-thing.
I put on my clothes, make my bed, brush my teeth and hair, grab my book bag and wait by the front door, “shoes on, ready to go,” as we say. I feel like we could be going to school, but my bag has only my favorite books in it, my crayons and a fresh, clean pad of paper – love that. It's for writing down what I do every day on vacation.
“Ready to go?” Dad asks. He pulls down the driveway before she can answer; before she can get out again.
I'm asleep. I'm awake. The car stops, screeching, outside the airport. “Everyone out!” Mom and Dad call. I stretch my arms only half way across the backseat when Matt grabs me and plops me onto the pavement.
Dad has finally realized how crazy we all are. I watch him pull away, fast.
“Come on, we have to get to the check-in line while your father parks the car.”
Oh, good, he hasn't realized it yet.
Walking toward the sliding doors, a teenage girl with long hair and heeled, pointy shoes is walking out towards us. I see Matt looking at her. I see he doesn't notice the doors, the ones sliding shut. I just slow down and watch....Crash! Matt shakes his nose back out of his face as I run up with Mom.
Gosh, are all these people going to America, too?
“Oh no, you'll stay with us, Matt. We'll have plenty of time for coffee, later.” Mom puts her foot down...on mine.
“Sorry, dear. Where is your father? We're almost next!”
Dad slides right behind Mom just as she is deciding which language to greet the ticket agent. “Hallo. Bonjour. Hi, here are our passports.” What to say is often Mom's problem. We live in Belgium. Matt and I speak French at school. Our neighbors speak Dutch. A drive not long enough for a nap takes us to where people speak German. Mom and Dad are always saying to strangers, “We learned Spanish in high school.”
“Let's go little terrors. Off to Security. ” Dad pokes our shoulders and laughs.
“Dad! Don't say that so loud!” Matt looks right and left.
This is the part where we have to take off our shoes, put all our bags in plastic tubs and watch them slide through a scanner tunnel. Mom pushes the juice boxes down under other stuff so no one takes them.
Dad is through. Now me. Beep. I have to go through the door again. Beep. A lady has a long black wand. She calls me to move over. What did I do? I can't keep my arms up this long. I look at Dad to come save me. But... he's taking my picture!
“Oh, how funny! Look, Caroline's being searched.” Mom tries to join him but she beeps in the machine too.
“Madame, take off your belt, please.” Mom takes off her belt.
“Madame, take off your watch, please.” Mom takes off her watch.
“Do you have any loose change?”
She finally makes it through only to find the evil look of one of the inspectors throwing away our drinks.
Matt got through the line in no time, bragging. “No watch. No belt. Let's go.”
“And certainly no money in your pockets!” Dad adds.
We run for the elevator. We run down lots of big hallways, past shops and cafés, down the already moving sidewalk...wheeee!... and jump off right by our gate.
Dad gives our passports and tickets again to the same lady from downstairs (how did she get up here so fast?) standing by the door to another hallway. At the end, is the door to the plane.
“I see we're in row 15,” Mom states and hands out the seat tickets.
“But, this one says I'm in row 21,” Dad points out.
“Yes! I'm in row 10. See ya.” Matt practically sings and walks off.
Where do I sit?
“Relax, I'll tell a steward.” Dad reassures her, but not me.
I hope I don't really cry but... I do.
“It's ok, choux*. We'll change seats with someone.” Mom holds me tight against her thigh. I wish she wouldn't wear corduroy pants.
“Dames en Herren... Monsieurs et Mesdames... Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. The captain is preparing for take-off.”
A stewardess leads Mom, then Dad, then me to our seats. I can hardly breath. Mom looks back at me from her row as if I have fallen off the plane.
I look for Dad. He's rearranging luggage in the overhead compartment. The man next to him looks as if he wants to rearrange him!
As for Matt, I see his foot tapping in the aisle. He already has his earphones in.
“Mais, où es ta maman, ma chérie?” The lady beside me asks where my mom is.
“Là-bas,” I answer pointing up the aisle. She immediately gets up.
“Madame,” a steward calls. She doesn't come back...Mom does!
I almost bounce out of my seat but the belt holds me back. I lie my head on Mom's s arm and watch the clouds come down past the windows.
I don't know how long I slept, but the meal cart has hit my foot. Although I'm wide awake now, Mom whispers, “Two chickens, please.”
Yeah, we kind of are, I think to myself even though I know she's talking about lunch.
Mom says I can watch TV while I eat. Wow! I never get to do that at home. She shows me which buttons to push to find all the cartoons. Mom's not watching cartoons on her screen. It must be funny anyway because she keeps trying not to laugh. Her cheeks have puffed up past her hands, trying to keep to her mouth closed. I know this won't last long...
“BAAAHAAAHAAAA!”
Yep, everyone from two rows in front of us to two rows back have turned their heads towards Mom. She picks up her fork again like nothing's happened. I try to keep my giggle quiet, too.
Dad steps out of his row backwards and turns to come back to us. That's nice. But, the steward hasn't gotten to his seat yet with lunch. He's stuck in the aisle. He tries to go back up the aisle and through the hall with the bathrooms, but another lady is already coming towards him. By this time, the steward is blocking his row and he can't get back. He tucks himself into one woman's seat. She looks up in disbelief...so does Mom. I can hardly see her eyes anymore, so far back in her head they have rolled!
“So, how are you all doing back here?”
“Fine,” I say.
“You've missed your lunch, you know,” says Mom.
“What?” Dad turns to see that the meal cart is already in the front section, rows ahead of his seat. “Oh, no. They're going to run out of chicken.”
A stewardess comes up behind me. “I'm sorry. We forgot to give you our special meal for little travelers. Here you are.”
I smile and hand Dad my chicken lunch I hardly touched. Dad grins as wide as I do and returns to his seat.
My lunch, another cartoon, and half a colouring book later, I ask, “Can I go see Matt?”
“Are you ok walking up there by yourself?”
“Sure.” I unbuckle myself. I take a skip up the aisle but the floor feels as if it is skipping up from beneath me.
Matt turns his his eyes up just enough to see I'm watching his movie. He unsnaps his belt, takes me on his lap and snaps it back. “I don't want you to bounce away if we hit any air bumps,” he says.
I wrap my arms around his chest and fall back to sleep.
“What's wrong?” I ask Matt, rubbing my eyes on his arm.
“Don't you feel the plane going down?”
Before I could question anything, Mom was right beside me.
“Come now. We're landing. The 'fasten seat belt' sign is back on.”
Is that all? I take Mom' s hand.
Mom hands me a lollipop. Yeah, I only get these at birthday parties! And it's cherry!
My tongue and lips are just about all red and sticky when the wheels pop out from underneath the plane.
Bang. Screeeech.
“Dank U... Merci d'avoir choisi... Thank you for choosing our airline,” a voice says from the loudspeaker.
“Are Grandma and Grandpa here? Are we far from their house?” I ask trying to stay still until the plane comes to a complete stop.
“They're probably on their way. We still need to clear Customs.”
“What's that?”
“It's like Security again and we have to show that we don't have anything we're not supposed to have.”
“Like what?”
"Umm, like cheese, sausage, plants.”
The seat belt light goes off and everyone stands up. The overhead compartments fall open. Everyone is grabbing and passing bags around. A brown duffel bag seems to float right over my head. Louis must not want to lose his bag. His name is all over it.
Now that everyone has a hand on a bag, we stand still in the aisle. We ...stand ...still. I try to step forward but Mom tells me to stay still. Then why aren't we sitting?
Instantly, the girl in front of me moves ahead. We all start to march forward.
“Have a nice stay.” “Have a nice day.” “Enjoy your visit.” “Watch your step.” “Have a nice stay.” “Have a nice day.” “Enjoy your visit.” “Watch your step.”
“Bonne journée,” I answer when I get to the door. The stewards and stewardesses smile back.
Hallways and hallways later, moving floors and real walking later...
“There's our baggage carousel!” Dad points out. But, it has nothing to do with horses. It's more like a huge checkout counter at the grocery store. The suitcases come out and down a slide and continue around a big circle. And, if no one grabs them quick enough, they go right around again.
“That's mine!” My favorite pink superwoman flies slowly right past us. At least three pairs of legs are now between the carousel and me. Dad nicks my heel with the luggage cart.
“We're at a suitcase superstore!” Only Matt laughs at my joke.
Mom tells us to go sit down. All the legs that were blocking my view are now gone. I see the backs of Mom and Dad, her sweater wrapped around her waist, Dad's jacket on top of the cart with the pink,green, and blue suitcases.
“Now what?!” Mom asks. I don't hear Dad' s answer because, unlike Mom, he's talking in a normal voice.
He starts to walk off pushing the cart. Mom follows. Matt nudges my shoulder to follow him.
“No, we don't have anything to claim. We are missing one of our bags, though” Dad says.
“Is that right? Step over here folks.”
“Oh good,” Mom smiles, “This nice man will help us find our luggage. It feels good to be back, doesn't it?”
Matt and Dad nod.
“You'll have to wait here until we find your bag.”
“Why can't we just come back for it tomorrow?” Mom asks.
“It's regulation, M'am. It should just be a couple of minutes.”
“No problem, then,” Dad adds.
We wait. We sit. We stand. We pace back and forth.
“Are Grandma and Grandpa here yet?” I finally ask.
“Oh, they've been here for a couple of hours now,” Mom answers in her very serious voice.
A different man in the same blue uniform walks over to Dad.
“It didn't get on the flight? Will it get on the next one?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can we at least go now?” Mom sounds just like my teacher the time she found me lost in the museum.
“Well, I'll have to write in an exception in our log book. My colleague will do it 'cause my shift is about over.” I grab Mom's hand because I think she may run after the guy.
We wait. We sit. We stand. We pace back and forth.
A woman in the same uniform hands Dad our passports. “Have a nice night, folks.”
“Bye,” I say.
No one else talks. The silence holds my mouth shut again until...
“Are you ok? How was the flight?!”
Grandpa spins me around fast. I hear Mom's voice come in and out. I think she said,
“We're all great. It went really well.”
Whether driving across town, taking a train across the country, or flying over an ocean to be with family, what's really important is that we get there.
.jpg "third culture kids, family travel, siblings, cultural differences, patience, grandparents, good night, sleep tight")
I was looking forward to this trip. But, my tummy was feeling mushy too. I hadn't seen my grandparents since I was three years old. Would they remember me? Would they still think I was cute? Sure, we see each other sometimes after lunch on weekends through the computer screen. I don't know how they get there but they can't get out. And I, I can't get in...believe me I tried! “Don't touch the screen!” Mommy's shrill still rings in my head. So, I have been waiting for tomorrow since at least the last page of the kitchen calendar.
Daddy said we had to wake up earlier tomorrow than for school.
Saturdays are usually sleep-in days. Usually the clock rings seven times before my eyes open. Mommy says it will only ring five times. The sun, my brother says, won't even be up yet!
I slip on my pajama bottoms and t-shirt after hanging my bath towel back on its hook. I walk back into my room to see Mom putting out my clothes for the next day: socks, undies, orange kitty t-shirt, purple button-down sweater, green pants and red socks. She sees my surprise face and explains, “I have to be able to see you in a crowd!” and goes to check on my brother.
I can see Matt pulling clothes out of his wardrobe.
“That shirt's too tight. You won't be comfortable.” Mom says. “Those pants are too big – get a belt!”
Mom turns to walk out. I see Matt's eyes roll...just like Mom's are.
I grab my stuffed tiger and hold him tight under my comforter, waiting for someone to turn off my light.
I hope I don't forget him in the morning.
“Good night, salty tart. Sleep well.” Daddy kisses my cheek.
“Bonne nuit, Papa.” I reply.
I close my eyes and wait for my thoughts to show up. We used to see Grandma and Grandpa every Friday after school. I mean, after Matt got out of school. Grandma would pick me up from another lady's house, then drive to Matt's school. I remember lots of windows in a row between bricks. I remember eating pizza and watching cartoons. Then, we just didn't anymore. I remember a big airplane, little TV screens, and clouds right outside the window! I remember lots of people in a long hallway and a moving sidewalk. My stroller went ahead all by itself. Then, I remember the noise, lots of voices, lots of words, but I couldn't understand even one. Mom told me we would learn how to speak new words. I have. She hasn't so much.
Beebeebeebeep. Beebeebeebeep.
“Get
up! Time to go! The plane is going to take off,” Mom slams the shower
door. Dad starts the coffee pot. Matt just sits in the WC* for a really,
really long time. I run downstairs!
“Hey, girly. What do you want for breakfast?” I run past Daddy to the guest toilet.
“Ahhh...Cornflakes!” I finally say.
I'm still drinking the milk from my cereal bowl when Mom sits next to me and pours her coffee.
“Why aren't you dressed?” She asks.
“I was hungry.”
“Now, you're not.” She takes my dishes to the sink and shoos me away. “Go upstairs!”
Mom is generally a very calm person unless we are running late, actually late, or could possibly be late for a-ny-thing.
I put on my clothes, make my bed, brush my teeth and hair, grab my book bag and wait by the front door, “shoes on, ready to go,” as we say. I feel like we could be going to school, but my bag has only my favorite books in it, my crayons and a fresh, clean pad of paper – love that. It's for writing down what I do every day on vacation.
* WC (water closet)- pronounced [vay say] is a room the size of a closet where just a toilet sits.
What do you think?
- Do you have family or friends who live far away? How do you keep in touch with them?
- Do you like going on trips? What makes you excited? What makes you nervous?
Part 2
We
climb into Dad's car and... wait. Mom runs back into the house to go to
the bathroom. She runs back to check the stove (we all had cereal for
breakfast). She runs in to close the curtains. She runs back to open
the curtains. Dad leans for a long time on the horn. Mom runs out with
her arms above her head. “You're going to wake the neighbors!” She
whispers really loudly.
“Ready to go?” Dad asks. He pulls down the driveway before she can answer; before she can get out again.
I'm asleep. I'm awake. The car stops, screeching, outside the airport. “Everyone out!” Mom and Dad call. I stretch my arms only half way across the backseat when Matt grabs me and plops me onto the pavement.
Dad has finally realized how crazy we all are. I watch him pull away, fast.
“Come on, we have to get to the check-in line while your father parks the car.”
Oh, good, he hasn't realized it yet.
Walking toward the sliding doors, a teenage girl with long hair and heeled, pointy shoes is walking out towards us. I see Matt looking at her. I see he doesn't notice the doors, the ones sliding shut. I just slow down and watch....Crash! Matt shakes his nose back out of his face as I run up with Mom.
Gosh, are all these people going to America, too?
“Oh no, you'll stay with us, Matt. We'll have plenty of time for coffee, later.” Mom puts her foot down...on mine.
“Sorry, dear. Where is your father? We're almost next!”
Dad slides right behind Mom just as she is deciding which language to greet the ticket agent. “Hallo. Bonjour. Hi, here are our passports.” What to say is often Mom's problem. We live in Belgium. Matt and I speak French at school. Our neighbors speak Dutch. A drive not long enough for a nap takes us to where people speak German. Mom and Dad are always saying to strangers, “We learned Spanish in high school.”
“Let's go little terrors. Off to Security. ” Dad pokes our shoulders and laughs.
“Dad! Don't say that so loud!” Matt looks right and left.
This is the part where we have to take off our shoes, put all our bags in plastic tubs and watch them slide through a scanner tunnel. Mom pushes the juice boxes down under other stuff so no one takes them.
Dad is through. Now me. Beep. I have to go through the door again. Beep. A lady has a long black wand. She calls me to move over. What did I do? I can't keep my arms up this long. I look at Dad to come save me. But... he's taking my picture!
“Oh, how funny! Look, Caroline's being searched.” Mom tries to join him but she beeps in the machine too.
“Madame, take off your belt, please.” Mom takes off her belt.
“Madame, take off your watch, please.” Mom takes off her watch.
“Do you have any loose change?”
She finally makes it through only to find the evil look of one of the inspectors throwing away our drinks.
Matt got through the line in no time, bragging. “No watch. No belt. Let's go.”
“And certainly no money in your pockets!” Dad adds.
We run for the elevator. We run down lots of big hallways, past shops and cafés, down the already moving sidewalk...wheeee!... and jump off right by our gate.
Dad gives our passports and tickets again to the same lady from downstairs (how did she get up here so fast?) standing by the door to another hallway. At the end, is the door to the plane.
“I see we're in row 15,” Mom states and hands out the seat tickets.
“But, this one says I'm in row 21,” Dad points out.
“Yes! I'm in row 10. See ya.” Matt practically sings and walks off.
Where do I sit?
What do you think?
- Why is the family in such a rush?
- Have you ever been to an airport? What was it like? (big, noisy, crowded, empty, quiet, small)
- If you were to go on an airplane, would you like to sit by the window, by the aisle or in the middle? Why?
Part 3
Now,
Mom's whispering to Dad as if I can't hear her. “We can't let her sit
by herself! What if no one will switch places? The plane is taking off
soon.”
“Relax, I'll tell a steward.” Dad reassures her, but not me.
I hope I don't really cry but... I do.
“It's ok, choux*. We'll change seats with someone.” Mom holds me tight against her thigh. I wish she wouldn't wear corduroy pants.
“Dames en Herren... Monsieurs et Mesdames... Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. The captain is preparing for take-off.”
A stewardess leads Mom, then Dad, then me to our seats. I can hardly breath. Mom looks back at me from her row as if I have fallen off the plane.
I look for Dad. He's rearranging luggage in the overhead compartment. The man next to him looks as if he wants to rearrange him!
As for Matt, I see his foot tapping in the aisle. He already has his earphones in.
“Mais, où es ta maman, ma chérie?” The lady beside me asks where my mom is.
“Là-bas,” I answer pointing up the aisle. She immediately gets up.
“Madame,” a steward calls. She doesn't come back...Mom does!
I almost bounce out of my seat but the belt holds me back. I lie my head on Mom's s arm and watch the clouds come down past the windows.
I don't know how long I slept, but the meal cart has hit my foot. Although I'm wide awake now, Mom whispers, “Two chickens, please.”
Yeah, we kind of are, I think to myself even though I know she's talking about lunch.
Mom says I can watch TV while I eat. Wow! I never get to do that at home. She shows me which buttons to push to find all the cartoons. Mom's not watching cartoons on her screen. It must be funny anyway because she keeps trying not to laugh. Her cheeks have puffed up past her hands, trying to keep to her mouth closed. I know this won't last long...
“BAAAHAAAHAAAA!”
Yep, everyone from two rows in front of us to two rows back have turned their heads towards Mom. She picks up her fork again like nothing's happened. I try to keep my giggle quiet, too.
Dad steps out of his row backwards and turns to come back to us. That's nice. But, the steward hasn't gotten to his seat yet with lunch. He's stuck in the aisle. He tries to go back up the aisle and through the hall with the bathrooms, but another lady is already coming towards him. By this time, the steward is blocking his row and he can't get back. He tucks himself into one woman's seat. She looks up in disbelief...so does Mom. I can hardly see her eyes anymore, so far back in her head they have rolled!
Dad and his very red face finally reach us.
“So, how are you all doing back here?”
“Fine,” I say.
“You've missed your lunch, you know,” says Mom.
“What?” Dad turns to see that the meal cart is already in the front section, rows ahead of his seat. “Oh, no. They're going to run out of chicken.”
A stewardess comes up behind me. “I'm sorry. We forgot to give you our special meal for little travelers. Here you are.”
I smile and hand Dad my chicken lunch I hardly touched. Dad grins as wide as I do and returns to his seat.
My lunch, another cartoon, and half a colouring book later, I ask, “Can I go see Matt?”
“Are you ok walking up there by yourself?”
“Sure.” I unbuckle myself. I take a skip up the aisle but the floor feels as if it is skipping up from beneath me.
Matt turns his his eyes up just enough to see I'm watching his movie. He unsnaps his belt, takes me on his lap and snaps it back. “I don't want you to bounce away if we hit any air bumps,” he says.
I wrap my arms around his chest and fall back to sleep.
*choux – pronounced [shoe], is an affectionate term in French meaning cabbage!
What do you think?
- Have you ever had to sit by yourself somewhere? How did you feel?
- Have your parents ever done something so funny that you laughed at them? What was it?
- Do you have a big (or little) brother (or sister)? If so, how do you comfort each other when you are lonely?
Part 4
“Go on. Get back to your seat!”
“What's wrong?” I ask Matt, rubbing my eyes on his arm.
“Don't you feel the plane going down?”
Before I could question anything, Mom was right beside me.
“Come now. We're landing. The 'fasten seat belt' sign is back on.”
Is that all? I take Mom' s hand.
I
buckle up and then ooooh owwww! My ears feel like heavy cotton is
clogging them up. I grab the sides of my head and bend down to my knees.
Mom hands me a lollipop. Yeah, I only get these at birthday parties! And it's cherry!
My tongue and lips are just about all red and sticky when the wheels pop out from underneath the plane.
Bang. Screeeech.
“Dank U... Merci d'avoir choisi... Thank you for choosing our airline,” a voice says from the loudspeaker.
“Are Grandma and Grandpa here? Are we far from their house?” I ask trying to stay still until the plane comes to a complete stop.
“They're probably on their way. We still need to clear Customs.”
“What's that?”
“It's like Security again and we have to show that we don't have anything we're not supposed to have.”
“Like what?”
"Umm, like cheese, sausage, plants.”
The seat belt light goes off and everyone stands up. The overhead compartments fall open. Everyone is grabbing and passing bags around. A brown duffel bag seems to float right over my head. Louis must not want to lose his bag. His name is all over it.
Now that everyone has a hand on a bag, we stand still in the aisle. We ...stand ...still. I try to step forward but Mom tells me to stay still. Then why aren't we sitting?
Instantly, the girl in front of me moves ahead. We all start to march forward.
“Have a nice stay.” “Have a nice day.” “Enjoy your visit.” “Watch your step.” “Have a nice stay.” “Have a nice day.” “Enjoy your visit.” “Watch your step.”
“Bonne journée,” I answer when I get to the door. The stewards and stewardesses smile back.
Hallways and hallways later, moving floors and real walking later...
“There's our baggage carousel!” Dad points out. But, it has nothing to do with horses. It's more like a huge checkout counter at the grocery store. The suitcases come out and down a slide and continue around a big circle. And, if no one grabs them quick enough, they go right around again.
“That's mine!” My favorite pink superwoman flies slowly right past us. At least three pairs of legs are now between the carousel and me. Dad nicks my heel with the luggage cart.
“We're at a suitcase superstore!” Only Matt laughs at my joke.
Mom tells us to go sit down. All the legs that were blocking my view are now gone. I see the backs of Mom and Dad, her sweater wrapped around her waist, Dad's jacket on top of the cart with the pink,green, and blue suitcases.
“Now what?!” Mom asks. I don't hear Dad' s answer because, unlike Mom, he's talking in a normal voice.
He starts to walk off pushing the cart. Mom follows. Matt nudges my shoulder to follow him.
No one talks. I want to ask if Grandma and Grandpa are here yet. The silence holds my mouth shut.
We
arrive in the Customs line very quietly. Men and women in blue uniforms
look at everyone's passports. Our turn. Dad hands over our little blue
books. The man scans them. We have already bought them, I think.
“No, we don't have anything to claim. We are missing one of our bags, though” Dad says.
“Is that right? Step over here folks.”
“Oh good,” Mom smiles, “This nice man will help us find our luggage. It feels good to be back, doesn't it?”
Matt and Dad nod.
“You'll have to wait here until we find your bag.”
“Why can't we just come back for it tomorrow?” Mom asks.
“It's regulation, M'am. It should just be a couple of minutes.”
“No problem, then,” Dad adds.
We wait. We sit. We stand. We pace back and forth.
“Are Grandma and Grandpa here yet?” I finally ask.
“Oh, they've been here for a couple of hours now,” Mom answers in her very serious voice.
A different man in the same blue uniform walks over to Dad.
“It didn't get on the flight? Will it get on the next one?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can we at least go now?” Mom sounds just like my teacher the time she found me lost in the museum.
“Well, I'll have to write in an exception in our log book. My colleague will do it 'cause my shift is about over.” I grab Mom's hand because I think she may run after the guy.
We wait. We sit. We stand. We pace back and forth.
A woman in the same uniform hands Dad our passports. “Have a nice night, folks.”
“Bye,” I say.
No one else talks. The silence holds my mouth shut again until...
“There they are!” Grandma and Grandpa holler running. She might just lose her handbag at that speed.
“Are you ok? How was the flight?!”
Grandpa spins me around fast. I hear Mom's voice come in and out. I think she said,
“We're all great. It went really well.”
What do you think?
- Have your ears ever popped when you were on a plane, an amusement ride, or in an elevator?
- Have you ever seen your parent(s) get frustrated or impatient? How
does it make you feel? What could you do to make them feel better?
- Even after all the hassles of
air travel, the family was just happy to finally see the grandparents.
Can you think back about a moment that felt horrible at the time, but
now doesn't seem like such a big problem?
Thursday, October 11, 2012
 |
| My first small European car |
I had to finally buy my very own car so
I could drive four states away to my first job out of college. My dad
and I walked into one dealership, looked at a few models, chose one,
signed some papers, walked out. I drove my new car home in time for
lunch. I could literally pack my entire life, including four seasons
of clothes, a box full of wine (I had recently gotten back from my
“nannyship” in France), and my teddy bear. That same car drove me
up and down I-75 countless times. It carried my wedding dress and
flowers. It held my first baby to and from her pediatric
appointments.
Then, our family arrived
in Belgium. I adjusted from driving my small yet spacious
American-model car to a simply small European car. It was alright
because I had just one small 11-month old child. I could tote her
around in a fold-up city stroller which fit perfectly in the trunk,
even with groceries.
Soon came small-model child
number two. The car seats fit side by side, although they both sat at
window seats. The one-child fold-up stroller was soon replaced by the
practically double-decker two-child push cart (“chair” just
doesn't tell it right), which snuggled into the trunk if I took off
the front wheel. Once the extra-curricular transportation was on
board, I could take them all around town, to parks, to playgrounds,
to anywhere but the grocery story or to anywhere possible purchases
would need to be delivered home. Once I forgot to take the double
stroller out before food shopping and had to drive home with paper
bags (when they still gave out bags) stacked in between the toddler
and her baby sister, under their feet, and seated beside me like a
passenger. Sharp turns threw vegetables onto my lap. Once home and
the car emptied of its contents, including my daughters, I made a
mental note to insist on a new, bigger car with adequate trunk space.
That was over eight years ago.
As the girls grew, the
double stroller was replaced by its predecessor, the fold-up city
stroller, and parked in the garage. A relief fell over me as I never had to relive
the moments of frustration after opening the back of the car after a
big shopping day only to see the stroller forgotten in the back, or
getting out to a beautiful chateau only to discover I had forgotten
to put the double stroller back in. Never mind the stress of having
to dismantle the stroller quick enough after paying my parking
ticket. I never did find out just how much time one has in between
paying and driving out of the gates...phew!
But the girls grew big
enough to ride bikes. If I tilted each tricycle just right, they both
fit. Even when my oldest could ride her first “big bike”
(two-plus-training wheels), I could manoeuvre one bike and one tricycle in if I first took the
top flap out of the hatch-backed trunk. Wanting to be just like big
sis, my youngest was soon riding her first big bike. We were bond to the paths in our
town.
Then, the school had the
nerve to plan a bicycle safety day for both of their classes on the
same day. I just stared at my car, my inner engineer straining not to
let me down. Yet, there was no way. My husband finally offered to buy
me the solution...a bike rack (yes, I was hoping for a new car, too).
So, I wouldn't have the
panic of strapping the apparatus on the back of the car the morning
of the much awaited/dreaded bicycle safety day, my husband diligently
strapped it on the night before his business trip. I was set. I
practiced taking the bikes on and off, strapping and unstrapping.
Once at school, I took the
bikes down and opened the trunk to get the school bags. Then I
ignorantly slammed the door down as usual, hitting myself on the head
with the bars of the %^&# bike rack. A little dizzy, I drove
home.
Last year, the children
could choose to bring bikes or scooters. We bought my youngest a new
scooter outside of any birthday or holiday festivity. She was
thrilled, so was I.
Now that my first European
car is almost nine years old, my husband (“Mr.
I-get-a-new-company-car-every-three-years”) finally agrees I should
get a new car. Happy dance all around. Let's go to the dealer...
I should backtrack slightly
to the day I bought first little European car. We had gone to the garage where my
parents-in-law had always bought their cars. (As mentioned in a
previous post, they were also living in Belgium at the time, by
chance). On my way, I had flashbacks of high school days when friends
tried to teach me to drive a stick-shift. Then, the son of a friend of my
mother's tried to teach me before I moved to France as a nanny. The
result of these attempts, I walked my three young charges to and
from school, rain or shine. So, when the dealer said straight away
that there happened to be an automatic car sitting in the lot in
Waterloo (a couple hours away), I said I'd take it. “But, Madame,
you don't mind you don't choose the color?” “Nope!” I had heard
there was always quite a wait for a new car, so I was excited to get
it as soon as possible...5 weeks later I picked it up. Frankly, I
could have walked to Waterloo faster.
So, fast-forward to the last
several weekends. It must be known that buying a car in America is
nothing like buying a car in
Belgium. No one is running up to your car in the parking lot throwing
out trade-in prices. There is no music. There are no balloons. We
actually walked out of numerous dealerships because not one
salesperson even said Bonjour! I'm guessing the sales team doesn't work
on commission.
In
the upteenth dealership, after approaching what looked like a
salesperson (ok, the only guy there on a Saturday, really), we
obtained some information in the form of a catalog. The car in which
we were interested was not in the showroom. Next...
Finally,
we found a dealer with the car we wanted parked in front of me. A
good ol' station wagon model. That day's salesperson gave us all the
details, possible price based on the options we would probably want -
apparently anything after requiring a steering wheel is considered an
option.
When
we went back a later weekend, said car was no where to be found.
Evidently, it was only there because someone had already bought it,
and it was waiting for its owner. The first guy we spoke to wasn't
there (maybe there's a Saturday rotation), so his colleague went
through all the options again with us. I picked out my color (that
was fun). And, he said he would call us Monday with a final price
including a trade-in price.
Three weeks
and many phone calls and e-mails later, my husband and I get back in
touch with him (definitely not on a commission-based salary system).
We do the bank transfer from the comfort of our own home as I have
realised there really is no reason to step foot in the dealership at
all.
And
so, where I learned not to expect the loud, party atmosphere of an
American car dealership on a Saturday afternoon, I was somewhat
expecting a car in the near future. I'll have to tell you all about
it at the end of January...yes, five months
from now.
In
the meantime, I could describe how to fit two backpacks, two swim
bags, a guitar, a laundry basket, dry-cleaning, unexpected groceries (including a
box of wine), oh and
two kids (including the same teddy bear) into my current car...but
it's not pretty.
Monday, June 11, 2012
The
School Project
Evie
stayed seated until the bell stopped ringing. She hugged a glass jar
to her chest. Then, she stood up. A long vine swayed with each step.
She lifted the jar higher above her head. A leaf the size of her palm
covered one eye. Her nose twitched, but she didn't scratch it. Her
fingers squeezed the jar tighter.
“What
do you have?” Mom asked in the parking lot.
“We
planted a bean and mine grew!”
“It's
long,” Mom said.
“This
is my second bean. The first one rotted.”
Mother
picked up the vine sliding over Evie's ear.
“Be
careful!” Evie warned.
As soon
as she walked in the front door, Evie put her beanstalk on the
kitchen counter and climbed onto the stool. She picked up the jar and
placed it onto the window sill.
“Keep
growing,” she whispered.
The
beanstalk did grow. Each day, Evie climbed up on the stool and poured
a few drops of water into the jar until one morning...
Evie's
dad walked into the kitchen.
“What
is this under my...EVIE!” he shouted.
He
flicked the switch and found the floor covered in greenish vines and
leaves.
Feet
pit-patted down the stairs. “What's wrong?” Evie asked.
The
answer stuck in between her toes.
Her mom
came in and directly out to the garage for the gardening sheers.
“NO!
Please, let me ask my teacher what to do. Maybe we could save it
somehow,” Evie begged.
Her
little brother, Jack, crawled over and laughed as he rolled in and
out of the loose greenery.
“Fine.”
Dad looked at his watch and grabbed his briefcase.
“But,
what about the kitchen?” Mom asked.
The
Home Garden
Evie
walked slowly across the playground. Would her teacher agree with her
mom and say to cut the beanstalk down to size? At the end of recess,
she tugged on his shirtsleeve.
“Mr.
Harrycott, my beanstalk is still growing.”
“Good
for you, Evie!,” he said.
“I
mean, it's growing ...” she continued.
But, the
bell rang before she could explain how long.
“Let's
go, Evie. It's math time,” interrupted Mr. Harrycot.
That
evening, Evie, Jack and their mother peeked in the front door. They
saw only green leaves, like new carpet, spread throughout the living
room.
Mom
dropped the car keys onto the hall table, but they slid onto the
floor – without a clank. “Evie, I'm sorry. We can't live like
this. Did you talk to your teacher?”
“I
tried.” Evie cleared her throat. “I think we should push the
stalk out the window. That way, the garden will look really green!”
“Right,
it hasn't rained in ages. The grass is rather brown.”
Once
Jack was in bed, Evie and her mother got to work. Mother stood
outside the kitchen window while Evie sat on the counter, feet in the
sink, lifting the vines out to her mother. The patio disappeared as
the beanstalk spread out and into the yard.
Evie
crawled up to her bedroom exhausted. Her eyes were already closed
when her mom bent down to kiss her goodnight.
When the
alarm clock sang, “Morning time,” Evie stretched her arms
and rolled off her bed. She stumbled right, and then left, to her
closet. Her clothes slid off the hangers.
“Evie,
we really shouldn't stay up so late,” her mother called. “I am so
tired I can hardly walk straight.”
Jack
giggled and rolled, back and forth down the hallway. Evie picked him
up. She and her mom held the bannister downstairs as if it would
wiggle away.
“In
any case, it's nice to have the kitchen back in order,” Mom sighed.
“Evie, careful, you're spilling the milk from your cereal bowl.”
“Mom,
Jack is sliding out of his highchair,” Evie remarked.
“Oh,
my head is spinning... Let's go. The fresh air will do us good,”
Mom said.
“MAH-OM,”
Evie sat in the front doorway, her legs dangling in front of her. “I
think we need a ladder.”
Rubbing
her eyes, Mom pulled Jack closer. She dragged Evie into the the
living room. She plopped herself onto the couch, “What's
happening?”
“Mom,
maybe you should lie down,” Evie said.
“You're
right. This must be a dream. Let me close my eyes for a moment.”
Evie's
mother was asleep in seconds.
“Broder
an I wil be bak sooon”
Evie wrote at the bottom
of the grocery list. She stuck the paper to her mom's cheek. Then,
Evie sat down in the doorway and held Jack in her arms.
They
scooted out and along a vine that led to a nearby cloud. Evie put her
toes down. They sank into the fluff. She put both feet down. With
stiff ankles, she clenched a vine and stood up. Jack hugged her
shoulders.
“Wheee!”
Jack laughed.
Evie
stepped, floated, drifted.
In
the distance sat a house a lot bigger than their house.
“Maybe
a giant lives there,” she said. “A nice one, I mean,” she added
looking at Jack.
Evie
breathed in. Her chest puffed out. Did she dare continue?
Meeting
the Neighbors
Evie
held her brother tightly. She had to continue. Their mother could
wake up at anytime.
Evie and
Jack came to an immense wooden door. The doorknob was as high as the
largest tree in their backyard. She knocked, then banged, at least
twenty times. Evie sat Jack down and picked up an acorn the size of a
gym ball. She thumped it against the door, then dropped it.
At that
moment, a gush of air pushed Evie against the cold stone of the
house. Jack fell to his hands. The front door clicked open.
Evie
took Jack's hand and squeezed inside.
A bright
light hung above a kitchen table down the hallway. Evie picked up
Jack and took a first big step onto the front hall rug. She marched
through this field of woven colors.
“Owww.
What's that groan?” Evie covered Jack's ears. But, he started to
cry.
“OK,
it's over now.” She spoke too soon...
The
giant noise echoed into a giant voice.
Evie and
Jack knelt down behind a cupboard. It shook. The floor bounced.
“An
earthquake,” feared Evie.
At that
moment, a large man with a wide smile skipped around the table. He
grabbed a less large woman with a huge smile and a planet-sized
stomach and swung her around. Thud! She landed.
“At
least they're in a good mood,” Evie said. Jack danced along,
tapping his feet.
Just as
he tripped, a familiar scent drifted behind the cupboard. Their noses
started to twitch. The large man pulled on big oven mitts and opened
an enormous oven door. He pulled out a gigantic chocolate cake.
Evie and
Jack sat, twiddling their thumbs, until... the first crumbs fell.
Jack ran for them.
“NOOOO,”
Evie yelled.
“AN
ANT. I CAN'T STAND ANTS! STEP ON IT. STEP ON IT!”
Evie
ran for Jack. The heel of a boat-size shoe hung above him. Evie
leaped, somersaulted and swiped Jack out of the way. They sprawled
breathless behind the leg of the table.
“I GOT
HIM!” The giant was mistaken,but only for the moment.
Decisions
Jack
broke his crumb in two and handed half to Evie. She gave him a cross
look, then stuffed the cake into her mouth.
She had
no time to swallow. A mass of broom bristles swept up behind Jack.
Evie pulled him close and up they both went, swooshed into the
dustpan.
Cough!
Aaachooom!
“AAAAUUUUGH!”
the children shouted.
Two
large, shiny, round, black pupils looked straight at them. Out of
habit, Evie and Jack smiled and waved up at the giant woman. She
screamed. She threw the dustpan into the air. The two little bodies
flew right into the butter dish and slid out onto the table. Evie
grabbed Jack, but he slipped away. She frantically rolled him across
the tablecloth.
The
chairs trembled.
“Not
again,” worried Evie. A big belly jiggled up and down in front of
her.
“THEY
ARE SO FUNNY,” the giant man remarked.
“THE
BABY WOULD LOVE SUCH TOYS,” said the giant woman.
In a
swoop, Evie and Jack found themselves in the palm of the giant man's
hand.
“CAN I
PET THEM?” asked the woman.
Her
pinky finger gently crushed Evie's head against the giant's dry skin.
“Hey!”
Evie spoke up. “We're not toys. We are children. And, we want to go
home. But, we need your help.”
“NO,” he
said in his giant voice.
The
giant woman touched her husband's shoulder “SPEAK SOFTLY, DEAR.
MAYBE THEY'LL WANT TO STAY.”
“Thank
you,” Evie said politely. “I am sure you are very nice people,
but we miss our mother and father.”
“AREN'T
YOU POOR? DON'T YOU WANT OUR GOLD?” the man questioned.
“What
would I do with gold?” Evie asked back.
“AREN'T
YOU UNHAPPY? DON'T YOU WANT THE MUSIC OF THE MAGIC HARP?” he
insisted.
“No.
Mommy and Daddy play with us and make us laugh,” Evie said.
The
giants held their hands behind their backs to whisper between
themselves. Evie and Jack rolled their eyes. “We can hear you.”
On
Their Way
Both
giants turned and nodded, “OK.”
Evie
held tightly to his fingernail as the giant man bent down to put on
his shoes. The giant lady also slipped into her shoes. Clink!
CLANK!
The giants carried Evie and Jack back towards their own house. The
steady steps rocked her brother to sleep.
Then, Evie cried, “MOM!”
Their
mom, with her head out the front window, looked towards them. Her
wide-open eyes blinked twice. Then, she fainted.
The giant man's nose poked in through the front windows. His deep
breaths sucked up the area rug and part of the the curtains.
“We
better get to work before she wakes up again,” Evie suggested.
The
giant man handed Evie and Jack to his wife. He then jumped down in
the middle of the countryside. Thud! Fences bounced out of the
ground. A cat fell out of a tree.
“Go
sit with your mother and hold on tight,” the giant woman said.
Evie
carried Jack across the woman's wide index finger, like a bridge,
straight to the front door.
With
Jack still sleeping in her arms, Evie lied down along her mother's
side.
Soft,
giant hands picked up the house. But before she could reach it down
to her husband, she spied in the window with one big eye and said,
“You are really nice children. I hope my baby will have friends
like you.”
Evie
promised, “we will be his friends.”
As the
house touched down to their plot of land, Evie kissed the giant
thumb. “Thank you, Sir.”
The
giant man bent down even lower and then, leaped high into the sky.
“Let
us know when the baby is born!” Evie shouted.
“What
are you yelling about?” Their mom rolled over and sat up straight.
“What time is it? Your father will be home soon.” She rubbed her
cheeks. The sticky note fell onto her lap. “What's this, Evie? Were
you going somewhere?” Her mom asked.
“Umm,
outside to play,” Evie answered. Just then, their father's car
pulled into the driveway. “But, let's get dinner ready instead,”
she suggested.
Evie and
Jack followed their mom into the kitchen. She sat a strainer in the
sink and turned on the faucet. After Jack gave each green bean a
shower, Evie cut them into smaller pieces and...
put
three seeds in her pocket.
What do you think?
• Have you ever had a project at school that did not turn out the way you expected? Were you able to fix it? How did you feel when it was all done?
• Are you ever afraid of doing something without your parents close by? How do you feel when you do act on your own?
• At times, it is difficult to make your voice heard, even when you have something very important to say. Can you think of a time when you spoke up, at home or at school, because you had to say something really important? Was there a time when you just couldn't get your words out?
;;
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