tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32201629761644044592024-03-17T09:21:53.409+01:00Belgium or BustZosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10895464414635313714noreply@blogger.comBlogger776125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3220162976164404459.post-82252369590373713222016-06-08T09:00:00.000+02:002016-06-08T09:00:04.256+02:00Wordless Wednesday: Bring On The Sun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6oz_Qudne14FOjGIKJtrlpJca-uYfMUeP_WZ15j1t_am5LlYG7KV10QW_oITJYWj5shO9D924aU5q37SQgZz27ivBfR7WrJ7r6WHtAZyyjxKQeMo1x7iHzwaFAIz13efPCO1GFLy61RiV/s1600/DSC_0147.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="423" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6oz_Qudne14FOjGIKJtrlpJca-uYfMUeP_WZ15j1t_am5LlYG7KV10QW_oITJYWj5shO9D924aU5q37SQgZz27ivBfR7WrJ7r6WHtAZyyjxKQeMo1x7iHzwaFAIz13efPCO1GFLy61RiV/s640/DSC_0147.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqXHMfiM1Z0pmS0DQ1-1TcjFxM0sikHsPrmxw3NFHyVPObmiUePUj3x3x_-f1QjZeu9ujKksASjc8pCbfXauZFeeTBDKOrFdjoRH3X7dl5MBir9te-AY5RCpGsy1pGGvaLRfXCs9b9_Ryr/s1600/talk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqXHMfiM1Z0pmS0DQ1-1TcjFxM0sikHsPrmxw3NFHyVPObmiUePUj3x3x_-f1QjZeu9ujKksASjc8pCbfXauZFeeTBDKOrFdjoRH3X7dl5MBir9te-AY5RCpGsy1pGGvaLRfXCs9b9_Ryr/s1600/talk.jpg" /></a></div>
One of the wonderful things about school is that children are exposed to new ideas and people and have the opportunity to explore things they might not otherwise have the chance to at home. Since the beginning of the school year Sidney has been coming home talking about the new friends he is making, what he is learning and the fun he is having in the process. It is topics like this that make me feel good as a parent. On the flip side your child may be coming home talking about subjects that in one way or another challenge you as a parent. These subject aren't necessarily topics you don't want to discuss with your child; rather they are ones that you were hoping you wouldn't have to discuss for a while. This may be due in part to your thinking your child isn't ready to discuss them or, as is my case, I haven't figured out how to discuss them myself with my child. And as we have entered into the wide world of first grade, these conversations are happening with increasing frequency.<br />
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First there was the conversation about cancer and dying. Our family has been fortunate to have escape ravages of both during Sidney's short life so quite simply the topics have never come up. But as Sidney's school was preparing for their annual Terry Fox Run to benefit Canadian cancer research, he became a student on the subject and began asking lots of questions. What is cancer? What is dying? What happens when you die? I was pushed completely out of my comfort zone as I struggled to answer these questions in an age appropriate manner but coupled with what he was learning in school, I think I did alright. And it was just preparation for the conversation that came next: lock down drills.<br />
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Yes, lock down drills. Those unfortunately necessary yet complete scary practices that have been as commonplace as fire drills in schools across the western world. They didn't exist when I was in school. I remember being scared out of my wits the first time my class had a fire drill when I was in first grade. I had no idea what to do when the loud alarm sounded but I quickly learned what I was supposed to do. At the time we were living in a rural community in northern Vermont and the first grade (but not the second and third) was attached to the larger high school. Our biggest threat was a spate of bomb threats called in over the course of several months by teenage pranksters wanting to get out of taking their exams. When the alarm sounded we would file out of the school only to be allowed to return soon after. But times have changed since the 1970s..........<br />
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Lockdown drills have replaced the fire drills of my childhood. In this age of what feels like weekly school shootings, knowing how to react during an emergency can mean the difference between surviving and not. Thus the reason we have five year olds quietly cramming themselves into closets and bathroom stalls and sitting patiently until the all clear alarm sounds. They emerge safe if not a bit shaken but then the real questions arise.<br />
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Sidney's little school has already rehearsed two lock down drills during the first two months of the school year. Parents were notified about the impending drills prior to their taking place. And prior to each drill the teachers worked with the students so that they know what is expected of them during the drill. I wasn't in the classroom but I have full confidence that they presented the drills in an age appropriate and sensitive manner. But because of the sheer nature of the exercise how could a child (or adult for that matter) emerge from the practice not feeling a little shaken? I know that on the afternoon of each drill my little first first grader came home telling me what had happened before launching into a whole series of questions that yet again started a conversation I had naively hoped to delay having for some time.<br />
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He wants to know why bad men (as he calls them) would want to hurt the kids at this school. He wants to know if it is even safe to go to school and what he should do if they bad guys come when the kids are on the playground. He wants to know if they will also come after the parents and if the teachers are being brave and protecting their students whether they will be safe. These are all thoughts and questions that keep adults up at night and certainly aren't ones that a six year old should be pondering. But they are.<br />
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So how do you answer all of these questions yet explain to a child that while going to school is safe, someday the drill he is practicing might be for real? All I can do is explain that his teachers' jobs are to keep the students safe. No matter how scared he might be he needs to focus on what they tell him to do and to obey the rules. I assure him that that his parents will be safe. And for the moment, his going to school on a secure military base is probably the safest place for him to be. He understands that everyone must show a base issued identification card to enter the compound and early on when he questioned its purpose I assured him that it was to keep the bad people out. After the first drill these answers mollified him but after the second drill he asked what would happen if the bad guys skipped the main gate and dropped onto the base from the air like paratroopers (....he really is a military kid......). All I could do was reassure him that his teachers would take care of him and that everyone wants to make sure that all of the kids are safe.<br />
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And for the moment these answers have to be enough because they are all I have. The reality is that I can't promise him that his school will always be safe, that his teachers will always be able to protect him and that the bad guys won't descend upon his school. But I can promise him that the adults in his life will always do the best we can to keep him safe, that there are more good people than bad people in the world and that good does overcome bad any day of the week.<br />
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I believe that we can't live in fear of the what if and instead must focus on the here and now. And with that I'm going to give my little boy an extra hug and spend time focusing on the fun and (remaining) innocence of childhood.<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Falbaniaorbust.blogspot.com%2F&description=If%20you%20like%20it%2C%20pin%20it!" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>Zosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10895464414635313714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3220162976164404459.post-16391768750205126032015-10-14T09:30:00.000+02:002015-10-14T09:30:01.637+02:00Wordless Wednesday: Robin Hood's Woods<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4uMs9igrlP9GA4hSr8JP0whRys5GWSpVpwxhgtqWmUcKhPK4z4HZlirq8mrBGtgTjwHybe0Nt1240b_E16sxy73UbUZyfk4dCfaskxpJTKlGdpBxYs0X5OTwQteOieKqgXr4ezO9pUAul/s1600/DSC_0064.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4uMs9igrlP9GA4hSr8JP0whRys5GWSpVpwxhgtqWmUcKhPK4z4HZlirq8mrBGtgTjwHybe0Nt1240b_E16sxy73UbUZyfk4dCfaskxpJTKlGdpBxYs0X5OTwQteOieKqgXr4ezO9pUAul/s640/DSC_0064.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQSnh4-ugaq4n1mraT_vufsqsdu5rq8mnIgTb80XhhtikpEpwFeV9cy-oun2yoD8Di_njvdYyJOlxar_yBt8NpGYGrFRpbFMUMyr8nD3XmiB4I9g6elG0uUxkyS53kf0b_ezWv0BZaN8dP/s1600/IMG_6556.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQSnh4-ugaq4n1mraT_vufsqsdu5rq8mnIgTb80XhhtikpEpwFeV9cy-oun2yoD8Di_njvdYyJOlxar_yBt8NpGYGrFRpbFMUMyr8nD3XmiB4I9g6elG0uUxkyS53kf0b_ezWv0BZaN8dP/s400/IMG_6556.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ZUnaQ_6nLecbEgZmvcuj_RFTlQKTvCSmNGx9F1oJm3Y4IMIMzB7LRRIsnGRJUT38_QYps53hk1LJLbgYSZae51UHMzrjRtO7k1TeS2z1EOrC6isXaS-lxYou23JNIeWDj8zBJA_Sb97M/s1600/photo+3-250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ZUnaQ_6nLecbEgZmvcuj_RFTlQKTvCSmNGx9F1oJm3Y4IMIMzB7LRRIsnGRJUT38_QYps53hk1LJLbgYSZae51UHMzrjRtO7k1TeS2z1EOrC6isXaS-lxYou23JNIeWDj8zBJA_Sb97M/s640/photo+3-250.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV3LT0ZZ4G3GSH7goomPUEkz73y4v6zXbHR5qlBjj0Efg-iNP-Zm_c-BYxcCAqPsk-iZKwFufMK4FADy6ivNOto5UTglytaCE891YWaBJ_VvR2WZDxbYbW9t2SLNuhjkDSx-s1ZG8D0aJV/s1600/IMG_6596.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV3LT0ZZ4G3GSH7goomPUEkz73y4v6zXbHR5qlBjj0Efg-iNP-Zm_c-BYxcCAqPsk-iZKwFufMK4FADy6ivNOto5UTglytaCE891YWaBJ_VvR2WZDxbYbW9t2SLNuhjkDSx-s1ZG8D0aJV/s640/IMG_6596.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRM0-F3YxOM9hQayggXZDTT2oVsJyX4knTCUF7RNslfNOPwkWXAtKwrh8NlRWOKMq1wctQ9xW1jw9iWyfAjChvccjvFZWjEUonnZ6ONk19imAbtWMBPHHcyU64DZy5ATfj8-Zpa_8T8OcL/s1600/DSC_0192.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRM0-F3YxOM9hQayggXZDTT2oVsJyX4knTCUF7RNslfNOPwkWXAtKwrh8NlRWOKMq1wctQ9xW1jw9iWyfAjChvccjvFZWjEUonnZ6ONk19imAbtWMBPHHcyU64DZy5ATfj8-Zpa_8T8OcL/s640/DSC_0192.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXX0a3vX9-17Z6d-ke31RO2r3loiqraZew_MZVDHYumll8O0s66-rND5U24xs9bzzN0sXtfmbSbGVYgBptiDKHkjoLhgQ6PejRuKhfVi3A153KuQkfTNeLPQjFmsjguOHp0nbWbchPLQJ/s1600/IMG_6289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXX0a3vX9-17Z6d-ke31RO2r3loiqraZew_MZVDHYumll8O0s66-rND5U24xs9bzzN0sXtfmbSbGVYgBptiDKHkjoLhgQ6PejRuKhfVi3A153KuQkfTNeLPQjFmsjguOHp0nbWbchPLQJ/s640/IMG_6289.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; line-height: 18px;">In honor of the return of the annual Tanks in Town event here in Mons, here's a repost from last year's fun.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">When we lived in Virginia I always wondered about the Civil War reenactors who would flood old battlefields each year. Because we were south of the Mason-Dixon line there seemed to be more Confederates than Yankees but the later were still present. I wondered whether the (mostly) men who played war were history buffs reenacting the stories of their forefathers or simply liked to get dressed up and play war. At the time I naively thought this was some weird American phenonenum. But then I moved to Belgium, the heart of battles in both world wars and realized that Americans have nothing on their European counterparts when it comes to war reenactments.</span><br style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">This past weekend was the annual </span><a href="http://www.tanksintown.be/En/Principale_EN.html" style="color: #888888; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;">Tanks In Town</a><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> event here in Mons. Tanks In Town commemorates the liberation of Mons by American forces during World War II and this reenactment is the ultimate in big boys and their even bigger toys. For three days tanks, jeeps, amphibious vehicles and every other form of World War II artillery descend on the Mons region for one big party celebrating the region's liberation from Nazi control. There are reenactments, camps and parades throughout the region. A huge flea market selling everything from period uniforms and weapons to cheap Chinese produced knock offs runs the length of several city blocks. And the culmination of the events is a Sunday evening procession of all of the military vehicles into the Grand Place in Mons.</span><br style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzbFuy8qqaY1ZUbbAD7JrHOzU8d2-ugTSk0F362zmOEJj67LhnztWf1eIgS1c33FzSxd-kfHMyL2mjfB3Cf2Gkaz7NMpBgbpeUYeRQoKDH9B15wsjonjKYgGkIYKTePZ0OYNGOU16hpzNj/s1600/IMG_2714.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="color: #888888; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzbFuy8qqaY1ZUbbAD7JrHOzU8d2-ugTSk0F362zmOEJj67LhnztWf1eIgS1c33FzSxd-kfHMyL2mjfB3Cf2Gkaz7NMpBgbpeUYeRQoKDH9B15wsjonjKYgGkIYKTePZ0OYNGOU16hpzNj/s1600/IMG_2714.JPG" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: none; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 11px;">Amphibious vehicle making its way back on shore</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Tanks In Town was one of the events we have been hearing about since we arrived here so we made it a point of taking in the festivities. On Saturday we joined the crowds in watching the launch of amphibious vehicles in the canal. It was pretty amazing to see these lumbering vehicles make their way from shore into the water and back. After their initial splash into the water I had to wonder how they could stay afloat. After the amphibious demonstration we made our way to the large encampment that served not only as a stationary exhibitors for visitors to tour but the actually sleeping place for many of the weekend's reenactors. An expansive wooden area had been converted into a World War II era camp for the weekend. Scattered amongst the trees were tank, tents, jeeps and other machinery. Soldiers lounged around campfires, healed the wounded in makeshift hospitals and answered questions from inquisitive guests. And of course there were the tanks; they tore around a muddy track splattering dirt and debris on those who stood to close. Up until this point I had never been this close to a moving tank and was surprised at how their sound echoed through the woods and make the ground shake long after they passed. These certainly weren't vehicles that were used in stealthy maneuvers. Other tanks were stationary with visitors being invite to sit on and explore their formidable features. Then there were the reenactors themselves. Men, women and children, young and old alike were dressed in period costumes. Many visitors had even gotten into the spirit of things by dressing in their own period costumes. And of course because this is Belgium the camp included some no-so-period beer and frites (French fry) trucks.</span><br style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_evdLQ3kKlQhpdf1XLoVtyH63ewFCe5ooxReAYV72c2xl0UCd-xhfc-n6hEGCXyE3bxKyzhM4mIUeU65PuqqkuWrhWX5VlLs69Xptw6AbbQRsLUfeAJb9E511ImH2moq9FyRwq-OTkuYv/s1600/DSC_0028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="color: #888888; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_evdLQ3kKlQhpdf1XLoVtyH63ewFCe5ooxReAYV72c2xl0UCd-xhfc-n6hEGCXyE3bxKyzhM4mIUeU65PuqqkuWrhWX5VlLs69Xptw6AbbQRsLUfeAJb9E511ImH2moq9FyRwq-OTkuYv/s1600/DSC_0028.JPG" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: none; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 11px;">Sidney and the tanks roaring into town</td></tr>
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<br style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">But my favorite part of the event was the next day. This is when these tanks came rumbling into Mons' cobblestone covered Grand Place, replicating the actions taken by American troops 70 years ago. A bus full of the veterans who helped liberate Mons were present as special guests. We were lucky to snag a front row seat at a cafe and with our bottle of wine (and orange Fanta for the little one) we watched the spectacle that is Tank in Town. We heard the tanks long before we saw them. First came the procession of jeeps, troop carriers and ambulances filled with waving soldiers and their pretty young women. Then came the motorcycles driven by grizzly goggle clad men with their coats flapping behind them and the amphibious vehicles. Finally there were the tanks. They rumbled up the narrow streets and into the square. Because of our great location Sidney was swept over the barrier by a soldier and placed atop a tank for a few minutes.</span><br style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I know this was a reenactment but it was impossible not to get caught up in the cheering and spirit of the moment. People in the crowd hung out of windows high above the square waving flags and cheering on the liberating troops. Once the tanks filled the square the barriers were lifted and the crowds joined the troops and tanks. The SHAPE band played big band music while people danced, drank and had their pictures taken. The atmosphere was truly festive. I can only imagine what it must have been like to actually be here in Mons during the liberation. But since I wasn't there I'm lucky that I got to experience this reenactment. It is events like this that make living here in Belgium so special.</span><br style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXvsfQBgLp1XHkNskpy9gOTsWV2qY7uGvvMRKojkhpzEBJ8Xri9ANhhPyasfa9faKi8SA0un-6AqciyosZMpZ8ngadIlpJzYfi-X2t6hTuz2i0gyLJgzpJgndTAw6o7Hs0nz5xKYOnAtmT/s1600/photo-139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #888888; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXvsfQBgLp1XHkNskpy9gOTsWV2qY7uGvvMRKojkhpzEBJ8Xri9ANhhPyasfa9faKi8SA0un-6AqciyosZMpZ8ngadIlpJzYfi-X2t6hTuz2i0gyLJgzpJgndTAw6o7Hs0nz5xKYOnAtmT/s1600/photo-139.jpg" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: none; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative;" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 11px;">Grand Place filled with tanks, troops and people</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR5Mh5hFHk98r1CJz1ia8vOtrQdSk86ugIx6hMhYeg7WxkFLRk8UAeJBosz0eT1pJMyQSeNL0ZqTlWkWFNLbuEGGU_UUg44SBAS-g2q4jHzvEZLNnHOJpYzZOoVmQsfnHfOARs1T-TBVnr/s1600/IMG_2738.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="color: #888888; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR5Mh5hFHk98r1CJz1ia8vOtrQdSk86ugIx6hMhYeg7WxkFLRk8UAeJBosz0eT1pJMyQSeNL0ZqTlWkWFNLbuEGGU_UUg44SBAS-g2q4jHzvEZLNnHOJpYzZOoVmQsfnHfOARs1T-TBVnr/s1600/IMG_2738.JPG" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: none; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 11px;">The lone U.S. Navy representative</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTPx6b96XRbsleImK-fnowaKK-lfnA6VLvf2dnrBgUWvqD_lVHSwbBjIcjiw6YPtZuXuQVWtpFnibTa5ImmuCaW6i9N6rqQVFCErXnnpbcZZrae_pia4y-iVi-52bGXVp_lm6-tskqTSJM/s1600/IMG_2777.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #888888; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTPx6b96XRbsleImK-fnowaKK-lfnA6VLvf2dnrBgUWvqD_lVHSwbBjIcjiw6YPtZuXuQVWtpFnibTa5ImmuCaW6i9N6rqQVFCErXnnpbcZZrae_pia4y-iVi-52bGXVp_lm6-tskqTSJM/s1600/IMG_2777.jpg" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: none; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative;" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 11px; text-align: center;">Hi fiving soldier</td></tr>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Falbaniaorbust.blogspot.com%2F&description=If%20you%20like%20it%2C%20pin%20it!" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>Zosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10895464414635313714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3220162976164404459.post-68828998621006307792015-08-26T10:00:00.000+02:002015-08-26T10:00:01.564+02:00Wordless Wednesday: Grotto <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLHOdlkHclleU4EXAr_QKVH00vWcs1Zd5NTTI6kLKznxO3DhFfofZbY49z-j4IsQJIyk2_U1qKpvY58YFzBZlXoxzxNb5GlpzS_xjGKqCMAckwt59QUEQgiomyF06GUxpVlmKKHfLTe_xv/s1600/DSC_0053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLHOdlkHclleU4EXAr_QKVH00vWcs1Zd5NTTI6kLKznxO3DhFfofZbY49z-j4IsQJIyk2_U1qKpvY58YFzBZlXoxzxNb5GlpzS_xjGKqCMAckwt59QUEQgiomyF06GUxpVlmKKHfLTe_xv/s640/DSC_0053.jpg" width="482" /></a></div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Falbaniaorbust.blogspot.com%2F&description=If%20you%20like%20it%2C%20pin%20it!" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>Zosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10895464414635313714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3220162976164404459.post-47932143069112189232015-08-24T11:52:00.000+02:002015-08-24T11:52:00.102+02:00Rising To The Occasion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is often said that children will rise to the highest denominator yet sink to the lowest one. I've seen this myself with my own son; when he was the youngest child on his soccer team he played with all his heart and out shone the older children yet when he himself was the oldest, his efforts were sub par at best. On the playground playing with older children the bloodiest skinned knee doesn't even illicit a whimper yet the smallest bruise while playing with younger children has him crying to no end. This pattern has been on going for some time and I dare say, as we wrap up our first week of school, it is continuing.<br />
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Because of the small student body size (52 students spread across eight grades), as a first grader Sidney shares a class with the second grade. This results in an intimate class size that is still smaller than most single grade classes. This also means that he is interacting with older children on a regular basis. And as his history has shown, this is where he really shines. Actually his is glowing.<br />
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It seems as though my little boy has grown up over night. He is so proud of being a first grader that this identity has become his introductory mantra to everyone he meets. Whether it is in the grocery store, on the playground or on the street talking to a neighbor, Sidney is quick to tell everyone that he is now a "first grader at the Canadian school". In the morning he tells me that it is important to wear clean clothes to school because no one wants to sit next to someone who is dirty. On our walk to school I am informed that if you see trash on the street or the playground you need to pick it up and place it in the trash can because helping to keep the environment clean is the right thing to do. Sidney has adopted his teacher's favorite adjective "spectacular" as his own and uses the word to describe each activity. French class is spectacular as are math and music classes. Going to the playground is still his favorite school activity but it is now called recess. Each student has been given a sketch book to keep track of their art and they have drawn three pictures of themselves which are called "selfies". All of the classes meet together in the "maple leaf room" to discuss all school activities. Each of these activities is reported to me in thorough detail at the end of each school day. They are then repeated over dinner with the occasional additional detail being added in. All of this comes from the same child who upon being picked up from camp only reported that his day was good and he didn't remember what they did. I'm certainly not complaining but where has this instantaneous maturity come from? It is like he has become a whole new child overnight. I'll take it.<br />
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But then there is the bus. We had signed Sidney up to take the bus on the off chance that I didn't need to be on base in either the morning or afternoon. After the first day of school Sidney told me that he might want to ride the bus and after the second day he told me that he really wanted to ride the bus because according to him "first graders don't need their mothers to bring them to school". Really? We've talked about it and decided that starting next week he can take the bus home on the days when he doesn't have after school activities. In the mean time Sidney no longer holds my hand when we are walking up the street to the school and I am no longer allowed to cross the street with him to reach the school. Instead he gives me a wave and I watch while he crosses the road with the assistance of the crossing guard. Yes, my baby is growing up.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Falbaniaorbust.blogspot.com%2F&description=If%20you%20like%20it%2C%20pin%20it!" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>Zosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10895464414635313714noreply@blogger.com0