Brave New World

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.

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.

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..........

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Rising To The Occasion

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.

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.

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.

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.

Phases & Stages

There's been a lot of press in the past week discussing the Maine diner owner who yelled at a misbehaving toddler in her restaurant. Various versions of the story have been all over social media with both the restauranteur and the toddler's mother self rightously defending their actions. There have been conversations of who is right and who is wrong, how children shouldn't be brought to restaurants and how they have just as much right to be there as anyone else. There are those who say that the customer is always right and others who say parents need to control their children and teach them to not disturb others. There are always at least two sides to any story so the reality probably lies some where in between what we are all hearing. On this one though, I'm siding with the diner owner since the mother's self righteous excuse for not removing her crying toddler from the situation--the child was hungry, they had waited too long for the food, the busy diner was already noisy so her child's noise didn't contribute to the din, it was raining outside--just strikes me as whiny and annoying. And I say this as a parent who on more than one occasion has left my food uneaten in order to remove my screaming child from a situation.  But this whole issue makes me think of larger issue--that of the various stages and phases we all go through in our lives and how these changes require us to change and adapt our own behaviors as our circumstances change.

I know that I love the idea of enjoying a long leisurely meal that someone else has cooked for me. And prior to having a child Sunday brunches and over priced dinners at hip restaurants were a regular part of my lifestyle. But now, I recognize that such events simply aren't practical. Do I miss them? Absolutely but they just aren't in the cards right now. The same thing goes for impromptu invitations, sleeping in on weekends and forgoing making dinner because I'm not hungry. When you have children, everything changes and as adults, we simply can't put out wants and desires ahead of those of our children. At least that is how I feel but I know others will disagree with me.

But as this now infamous Maine incident demonstrates, not all parents change their habits when children enter the picture. Rather than growing up and accepting that their circumstances have changed, they continue to live as they always have. They may continue to eat  where they want and go where they please without giving a thought to others. The phrase "child appropriate" never crosses their minds because in their mind, everything is child appropriate. Or even worse, they assume the attitude that their children can do no wrong and that others must simply deal with their (good or bad) behavior. Its enough, well, to make even the most patient person loose their cool.

Would I love to visit art museums when we are in foreign cities? Yes, but I realize that Sidney would be happier visiting a park or a zoo so we limit the museum to a quick morning visit and dedicate the afternoon to an outdoor, kid friendly venue. The same goes for hotels and inns; on-site playgrounds let us know that the littlest of visitors are also welcome. Not having a babysitter means skipping an event or one of us going alone rather than taking Sidney with us to an event to which he wasn't invited. We eat in nice restaurants but go for lunch or when they first open with the hopes of beating the crowds. Sidney is now at the age when this doesn't matte as much but we are still conscious of wait times, whether the menu includes foods he will eat and whether or not it is an environment we can all be comfortable in. If the answer is no to any of these issues, we reconsider. And if at any time the behavior at our table begins to interfere with the enjoyment of others, we immediately remove ourselves from the situation. No one need to tell us to leave and we certainly don't allow actions to bother those around us.

Life moves in cycles and this is simply the stage we are in now. Our time for staying in quaint, antique filled inns, lounging in cafes over steaming lattes or late night visits to wine bars will come again. In the mean time we're discovering that zoos, parks and interactive museums have a lot to offer visitors of all ages. Restaurants that are welcoming to children can serve really good food without the stuffy pretenses found in more formal establishments. But most importantly, we need to enjoy the phase we are in because all too soon it will be gone.

There's No Fire Here

Religion is one of those hot button issues that can really get people worked up. Because of this, and because we are what I consider to be a non-religious household, I tend to avoid discussing religion with others. For the most part this approached has worked well for me since I simply don't bring the subject up. But as my Facebook pages attests to, my friends cover a broad spectrum of religious beliefs--from the non-believing to the evangelical preachers and everywhere in between. Many times I don't agree with what I see but I simply choose to ignore it since it is highly unlikely that anything I could say would persuade anyone to change their minds. And besides, who am I to try to change anyone's mind? Perhaps it is my generally lack of faith that allows me to take such a cavalier attitude towards religion. I won't proselytize to you about my beliefs and expect you extend the same courtesy to me. (Ironically I was a religion minor in college but I approached the subject as a purely academic exercise where I would question everything with a critical, uninvested interest). And even as a family, when we've had religious beliefs we don't agree with pushed into our faces---we once had American dinner guests who insisted we all join them in a prayer before we began eating--- it has been relatively easy to look the other way. Until now.

Last week Sidney informed me that if you prayed hard enough dead soldiers would no longer be dead. His comment caught me by surprise since we were in the car and I was more focused on the traffic than what he was saying. I asked him to repeat what he said then questioned where he had heard this. He informed me that a boy a camp had told him that this was true and he wanted to pray to bring all of the soldiers back from the dead. Then later in the week on the drive home he began whimpering and told me that he was afraid he was going to burn to death. When I asked him why he thought this, he said (another) child at the playground had told him that he would burn in hell because he didn't go to church. Like it or not, my approach to looking the other way when it comes to religion and religious education was now smacking me in the face.

But I really shouldn't be surprised by this turn of events. After all, the United States is a country that was founded on religious freedom. Or Christian freedom as one elected official recently said on national television. Although I beg to differ on the nuances of this take of the country's founding, it would be hard to argue that we aren't a country where religion is important to many people. Churches are the cornerstones of many communities and our country's youth regularly go abroad as missionaries hoping to spread the word of their faith to people around the globe. Religious organizations work both domestically and internationally to provide needed services and support to those who lack the basics that many of us take for granted. I've sat through community meetings and forums that have been started with Christian prayers and I've worked in government offices where bibles and crosses are accepted, if not encouraged, office decor. And we currently have over an egg carton full of presidential candidates who are trying to out Christian one another in their quest for the Oval Office. As a military family we often feel like the odd family out because we don't wear our (Christian) religious beliefs on our sleeves for the whole world to see. Most recently our base orientation program included information on the Christian religious offerings on base with nary a reference to anything else. All of this in the land that professes to a clear separation of church and state. But we are used to this and will quietly mull over what is said, and what isn't said, between ourselves and leave it at that.

So what did I say to, in my opinion, Sidney's misguided statements? I quickly assured him that that no amount of praying would ever bring any soldier back from the dead and that no, he was not going to burn in hell. Even though I was seething at the thought that someone told my son that he was going to burn to death, I reminded myself that this was another child who said these scathing words to him and it is likely that he was only repeating words that he himself had heard from an adult. I went on to tell him that different people believe different things so the only thing he had to worry about was what he believed and what we believed as a family. We would respect the opinions of other people and if he ever had any questions, he should let us know. Both times he nodded and let it go but I know I've only bought myself a brief reprieve. He will be back with more questions, both his own and those that have been raised by the comments of others and I need to be ready. I'm not sure what he will ask or how I will answer but all of this has me thinking about the different types of religious and moral education and how best to relay our beliefs to Sidney without scaring him or discounting what others believe. Because respecting others is one of our family's firmly held beliefs.

What will I say? I have no idea. But I do know there won't be any threats of flames and the rising of the dead in any of my explanations.

City Boy In The Country

Belgian fields and Belgian skies

We're approaching the halfway point of summer this week which begs the question of where or where has summer gone? One minute the school year was winding down and now scouring supply lists and preparing for the next one. But because it is summer, we've also been doing all sorts of summer time activities. There have been trips to zoos and museums, hours upon hours spent upon the playground with friends, story time at the library and sleeping in and hanging out at home. And of course no summer would be complete without camp.

Last summer Sidney attended a wonderful day camp on the coast of Maine. He paddled in the tidal pools of Penobscot Bay, played games I remember playing as a child and made a whole new bunch of American friends. Hesitant at first, he quickly came to love everything about this all American camp and was sad when it ended. So this summer I wanted to find a similar experience for him here in Belgium.

Growing up in a rural area some of my fondest childhood memories were just going outside and playing. This was back in the days before helicopter parenting, overly programmed schedules and the incessant need to have every activity be aligned with the standards of learning. It was a time of free range parenting before the term became a stigmatized phrase. Summers were all about playing in the fresh air, letting out imaginations guide our activities and simply being children. Our backyard was spacious and emptied into a deep woods filled with trees, paths and unlimited opportunities for exploring. Despite our best efforts, I realize how foreign this whole concept in Sidney's world. A large part of that is the result of his immediate surroundings. In Albania out house sat behind a high, barb wire topped concrete wall and lacked any green space. In fact, safe green space was virtually non-existant in our neighborhood. Here in Belgium our front steps empty onto the street and while we have a small walled back garden (or yard), it is just that, small. There is a patio, a patch of grass and ivy and rose covered walls. It is lovely but not exciting to a five year old who has already lost too many balls over the wall. Neighborhood playgrounds provide some opportunities for running and playing as do after school sports, but all of these activities are so clean, orderly and structured.

Getting to camp is scenic

We are in fact raising a little city boy. He can navigate the narrow cobblestone streets of our neighborhood with ease, is cautious when it comes to crossing a street and is a pro at riding public transportation. But take him into the woods and he might as well be in a foreign land. The first time he saw a real expanse of green grass he gazed at it in astonishment and asked if he could walk on it. And this point was driven home earlier this spring when on a light hike through a nature preserve, Sidney took off running through the grasses and low lying branches spanning our paths. Repeatedly he stopped what he was doing to tell us that he was having so much fun exploring, playing solider and running through the woods. He then informed us that we needed to have trees in our own backyard for him to play in. What he was describing to us was what we had both taken for granted growing up yet was such dream for him.

By pure chance it was only a couple of weeks later that I heard about a day camp here in Belgium that sounded intriguing. Located in the Belgian countryside the small camp offered children the opportunity to be children. Campers would play in the woods and fields, learn about baby animals on the adjacent farm and generally spend their days playing. And as a bonus, while the camp leader and a few of the counselors spoke English, most of the day was spent speaking French. It sounded like just what we were looking for. Sidney and I visited one afternoon, both fell in love with what we saw and quickly signed up for a few one week sessions.

The happy camper set for another
rainy and mud filled day

So over the coarse of the past week Sidney has been going to what we have dubbed farm camp. In true Belgian form the weather this week has been cool and damp but armed with galoshes and raincoats, camp is going on. The kids are playing in the woods, watching baby chicks grown and playing in a magnificent tree house. They are "free ranging" in the best sense possible, exploring the world around them and simply being kids. Sidney is coming home covered in mud but declaring each day "the most amazing day ever." He's tired when I pick him up--falling asleep on the ride home each afternoon--but in the morning he bounces right out of bed and is ready to do it all over again.

I do wish the camp was located a bit closer to us as I am spending two hours a day driving him back and forth but I am discovering Belgian villages and countryside that I never knew existed. The rain only seems to be a damper for me since it isn't bothering Sidney one bit. I cringe a bit that we are spending money for him to experience the being a kid that we took for granted outside of our backdoors as children, but times have changed. What hasn't changed, however, is the need for kids to be kids, for them to use their imaginations in their play and to explore to their heart's content. It all makes for an amazing day. And that is simply priceless.

Wrapping It All Up

The end of the school year is rapidly coming to a close here in Belgium and as such, the procession of projects, art work and papers are making their way home by the armful. While I feel as though I'm being inundated with paper that we must keep ("because it is all important work"), the process has been enlightening and has provided me with insight as to what Sidney has been doing all year. Because up until this point, with the exception of a few rare glimpses, I've been pretty much in the dark.

I've loved our experience with Sidney's Belgian pre-school. While many things are different and what I call quirkier than what I would expect from an American school, he has been happy, has made friends and has been fortunate to have strict but loving teachers. And most importantly, after a year and a half of attending, he professes to love school and is sad that the year is winding down. Communication between the school and parents has been virtually nonexistent, however, so I've struggled to figure out exactly what Sidney is learning or doing on a daily basis. (Despite seeing his teacher twice a day communication is essentially limited to notices that are put into his communication notebook. If we have concerns we are encouraged to raise them but rarely are issues actually brought to us as parents. Its a much different approach than the American over involved, over communication approach and I've adjusted for the most part. It appears that this is just the Belgian way). But, with the avalanche of papers coming home I'm getting a fuller picture of what Sidney has been doing all year and I must say, I'm quite impressed.

There is something to be said for receiving an entire year's worth of school work at one time. I can clearly mark Sidney's progress from September through June, watching his handwriting go from shaking and quite undecipherable to clear and confident. The same goes for his artwork; paintings and drawings from the spring are clearly identifiable. But what has impressed me the most is what he has clearly learned. His lessons are entirely in French, leaving me to wonder how much he is able to read and write. After perusing the pile of papers, my answer is that yes, Sidney can read and write in French at an ability clearly beyond mine. But it is the way he has learned that I'm most in awe about since it is a world away from the Dick, Jane, Sally (Spot and Puff) characters I learned with. Last fall the focus was on the outdoors with the class taking a field trip to some Belgian caves. The lesson clearly extended beyond the day at the caves since Sidney brought home intricate work where he labeled the components of caves as well as trees, leaves, mushrooms and plants. All of this was done in French of course and as we reviewed his work he reiterated what I was looking at by reading each label in perfectly accented French. Fall gave way to winter with the Christmas and Carnival holidays being diagramed. Spring brought snails and tadpoles as well as a several month unit on Vincent Van Gogh and Mons 2015. Each lesson included art work, writing exercises in both printed and cursive script, word searches and crossword puzzles and activities testing spacial and hand-eye coordination. All in all, its quite impressive. Back in September I never would have thought that my son would be able to correctly diagram the anatomy of a snail, discuss the lifecycle of an egg, and correct me when I confuse stalagmites with stalactites.

So now my little boy in on the verge of entering first grade (in a bi-lingual French-English program this time). Sidney has visited his new school, met the principal and asked the all important question of where he will eat his snack and lunch. (He also asked, in French, how much of his day would be spent speaking French and how much would be spent speaking English). But first we have six short weeks of summer vacation. It will include French camp, a three country family road trip and time to simply hang out and enjoy living at a slower pace. We can't wait.

O' Canada

As a parent I often find myself wondering whether or not I am making the right choices for my son. Some decisions--what's for dinner, whether or not to go to the playground or what to wear are minor ones. Some days (or moments) my decisions might not make him happy but the choices do not have lasting results. Others are a bit trickier--such as discouraging a budding friendship that doesn't seem healthy or encouraging him to try a new sport or activity (I'm looking at you swim lessons). The consequences are not necessarily life altering but do effect him longer than the wrong colored shirt does. But then there are the big ones. These are the choices that are life changing and do stay with you forever. And the big, life changing decision for our household in recent months has been that of school choice since in reality, the decision we make know will effect him for the rest of his life.

Sometimes having multiple options is harder than having none at all. After all, with limited choices you power ahead and make the best of it. Here in Belgium we are fortunate to find ourselves in the situation of having several options when it comes to enrolling Sidney in elementary school. As Americans, the obvious choice might be the American section of the international school on base. It is by far the largest school and the one that most people, regardless of their nationality (with a few exceptions of course), naturally gravitate too. There is also the Belgian option, which is actually two separate options really. We could enroll Sidney in our local commune school where his peers would be all Belgian children or the Belgian section of the international school on base which is a combination of local children whose parents work on base and more adventurous internationals. And then there are the other smaller international sections on base which are hosted by various NATO countries with the intent of educating their own students as well as a handful of students from other countries. (Of course there is also the home schooling option as well but for a variety of reasons, including both my and Sidney's sanity, that really isn't an option). So what is a parent to do?

Making educational decisions for your children is such a personal choice. What works for some doesn't necessarily work for others and vice versa. This isn't a good or bad thing; rather it is simply reality. But as a family we've never been people to blindly follow the crowd and opt for the easy choice, so over the past few months we've been doing a lot of school research. Because of this, the obvious choice wasn't so obvious for us. Blessed/cursed with a November birthday, enrolling Sidney at the American school would place him in kindergarten for the upcoming year. But, having spent the past year and a half at the Belgian kindergarten, he would essentially be repeating this past year's curriculum with the biggest difference being everything being done in English rather than French. Due to his pesky birth date, there is no negotiating his being bumped up to the first grade regardless of his abilities. So the repeated curriculum,  combined with large class sizes and my general unhappiness with the school when it comes to communication, had us exploring the alternatives. All of our other alternatives had him skipping kindergarten and moving right into first grade which raised another set of lasting issues. For us, the curriculum is more important than the grade number, but what would always being the youngest student in his class do to him? Sidney's aptitude for the French language had us exploring Belgian schools. My French ability, while increasing, is still limited making me uncomfortable about my own ability to speak the language with his teachers. But, as parents you put aside your own discomforts and do what is best for your child.

A first look at the Belgian options looked promising with a curriculum that would be both challenging and reinforce his budding French capabilities. Then I discovered the close to home bi-lingual option of the Canadian school on base. The program was bilingual and everyone I spoke with absolutely adored the school and the education their children were receiving. The school has small class sizes (a plus for an easily bored and distracted boy), a curriculum that emphasizes music, art and physical educational (subjects that have been downsized into virtual nonexistence in too many American schools) as well as the traditional subjects. Field trips and experiential learning are a regular part of the academic program. Plus the combination of English and French instruction would allow Sidney to continue learning French while honing his English language understanding. (Never having lived or gone to school in an English speaking community has wrecked havoc on his grammar). The more we learned about the school the more we wanted to be a part of it. So the minute the application process opened up we submitted our application then crossed our fingers and waited.

But because I am one who believes in contingency plans, I continued looking into our options. The waiting list for the British school immediately eliminated it as a possibility so I returned to investigating the Belgian options. With the assistance of Google translate, I toggled between the French and poorly translated English pages and liked what (I think) I saw. The Belgian school looked like a viable option should the Canadian school not work out. Sidney even visited the Belgian school with his kindergarten class and reported back that it "was fun, they had great snacks (waffles of course) and that one kid even spoke English". I was ever gearing myself up to attend a parent orientation. It felt great to have two viable options where we would be happy regardless of the outcome. And then our acceptance letter for the Canadian school arrived.

After we did our happy dance and breathed a sigh of relief, the reality began to sink in. While the rest of his five year-almost six year old peers are entering kindergarten our little boy will be starting first grade this fall. How did this happen? Academically he's up for the task but we are setting the stage for his always being the youngest child in his class. This isn't necessarily a bad thing but combined with his small size, I have to wonder whether he will be at a disadvantage in the years to come. Are we making a mistake? A small part of me wonders, but at the moment the advantages far outweigh any doubts we may have. So we are plowing forward. Communication from the school is flowing in and the planner in me loves the fact we already have both a supply list and the academic calendar for the coming year. As a new student Sidney has been paired with a second grade "school buddy" who will welcome him on the first day of school and show him the ropes. Over the next two years Sidney will truly master the French language and this will stay with him for the rest of his life. He'll make new friends and experience and see things that we never dreamed of when we were his age. And he will also be learning English which will make his inevitable transition back to the United States easier.

Are we making the right decision? We think so but only time will tell. I know it won't be all fun and roses and there will be inevitable bumps in the road. But what I can say with confidence is that I am excited about the opportunities that lie ahead for the next two years. They are opportunities I could only have dreamed about as a student. Sidney may not fully appreciate them at the moment but I hope that some day he does. In the meantime, come August he will be a first grade student at the Canadian school complete with swim lessons in gym class (bonus!), new bi-lingual friends and a moose for a school mascot.

Did I mention that I am excited?

Just Call Me Coach

It was bound to happen sooner or later. After a year of settling in (?), recovering from our last posting (?), just focusing on my own family (?), a combination of all three and then some (?), I've finally jumped back into the fray. What fray you ask? The one of volunteering and getting involved in my community. Perhaps too involved but involved none the less.

After almost three intense years in Albania, I arrived in Belgium tired. Tired and burned out. So rather than jumping in with both feet the way I previously have done, I sat things out. I was still willing to help out if needed and specifically asked, but I no longer wanted to be in charge of things. I would contribute to the bake sale if asked or would provide treats for the class party but I didn't want to be the one organizing these activities. I dutifully brought Sidney to all of his activities but then I sat on the sidelines until it was time to leave. At first I felt bad about not actively participating but after a friend reassured me that I had "done my time" and that it was now someone else's turn to step up the the plate, I was determined to enjoy participating with out leading. And I did. Initially it was nice; I had time to do all of those things I had never had time for before. I went to the gym, took painting classes and French lessons and honed my cooking and baking skills. I took Sidney to soccer practice, swim lessons and play dates; we explored our neighborhood and went to the weekly story time at the library; we found the best playgrounds in the area and Sidney was introduced to the art of Tae Kwan Do. But gradually, despite all of this activity, it felt as though something was missing. I was going through all of the motions yet feeling oddly detached from it all. And that leads me to where I am today.

Sidney loved playing soccer last fall but as a parent, my frustrations with the way his team was organized drove me crazy. There were no shows, last minute cancellations and chaotic practices where the kids spent more time staring at the airplanes in the sky than they did kicking the ball. Sidney began to complain that it was boring and I repeatedly found myself thinking that I could organize the practices better. But, I stopped myself from complaining too much (or at least out loud) since the volunteer coaches had stepped forward to take the lead whereas I had deliberately decided not to. As someone who has organized my share of events and activities where people complained yet no one volunteered, I knew I was in no position to complain when I wasn't willing to do it myself.

Fast forward to spring soccer season --or spring football as they call it here--and I am now a coach. More specifically a friend and I are coaching our sons on their 4 and 5 year old developmental soccer team. I don't profess to know a whole lot about soccer but at this age understanding the intricacies of the game are less important than reliability, teaching good sportsmanship and having fun. Its sort of like herding cats but our little team of boys and a couple of girls are excited to be there. I'm excited to be on the field as well. The other parents seem relieved that some other parent has stepped up to the plate. But most importantly, Sidney is excited that I am there. He calls me "Coach Mom" and is thrilled to be back on the field and playing. I'm the proud owner of Soccer For Dummies, I've spend hours scouring the Internet for age appropriate drills and we're stumbling through. Its exhausting yet exhilarating and I'm having a great time.

So yes, I'm back in the game. Literally and figuratively. And as if this isn't enough of a challenge, I'm also volunteering with a couple of other new to me activities that excite me. But those stories are a blog entry for another day.

The Dating Game

Friends. How does one find them...especially as an adult? There is something to be said for children; they seem to befriend and be befriended where ever they go. Whether it is on the playground, in the neighborhood or at school, kids seem to naturally gravitate towards the other little people around them. Language, skin color and gender are all but irrelevant when it comes to making friends. These friendships come fast and furious; on more than one occasion Sidney has gone to a playground and left with an invitation to go home with another child or he himself has issued such an invitation to a virtual stranger. Many of these friendships peter out as quickly as they came on but others last much longer and become what I would consider true and lasting relationships.

So how do adults make friends? Instead of playgrounds we have offices and work spaces where we spend the day toiling alongside co-workers. We have the gym, volunteer activities and perhaps neighbors that provide us with opportunities to meet and interact with other adults. We may or may not have anything beyond work or a shared location in common with our adult peers and are apt to enter into relationships with other adults with a world weary skepticism. Sometimes we click and other times we don't; peers may become friends, remain acquaintances or be moved onto the do not call list. Add in the transient nature of military families, where everyone is always coming and going, and the whole process becomes speed dating since time is so limited.

But because life tends to come full circle, the playground still does come into play when it comes to adult friendships. Enter the parents of your children's friends. Anyone who is a parent knows what I'm talking about; the other adults who sit on the benches along the soccer field, hold the coats and bags while counting down the remaining minutes of play at the playground and stand in the hallways at school waiting for dismissal. Small talk usually ensues and sometimes full fledge conversations develop since these are the people you (at least I do) see day in and day out on a routine that is predictable as the week itself. Sometimes I find myself looking forward to and hoping a particular parent will be there while other times my thoughts drift in the opposite direction. And it all moves forward from there.

Life is like a dating game. There are the fellow parents you want to see and those you want to avoid. There are the ones who you only see in the hallway and those that you invite out for coffee after drop off is complete. You tentatively ask your child about a potential friend's child to see if a spark of friendship between the children exists. It is disappointing when it doesn't and I wonder how much prodding of that relationship I should do with the selfish hopes of making my own friend. If there is the potential, play dates between the kids come next while the parents chaperone and forge their own relationships. If all is successful, with fingers crossed, spouses are introduced into the mix, with the overarching hope that we all get along.  Sometimes the child is the one to introduce the play date and us parents (usually the mothers) do our own tentative feeling of each other out with our common bond being our children. I've found that this approach is just as apt to be met with success as it is with failure. The kids get along but the parents might as well be speaking different languages. 

But sometimes it all does work out and when it does it is a wonderful thing. I've met some of my closest friends because of my son's own friends. We've gotten together individually and as families and all enjoyed our time together. These parents become legitimate emergency contacts and even though we may not have known each other for years it feels as though we have. But because we are all military families we know our time is fleeting. If we are lucky we've clicked at the beginning of our tours rather than at the tail end. If not we take advantage of the remaining time we have. 

With each new friendship, however I am repeatedly reminded of how important friends really are. And because of that I vow to take a few cues from my son's approach to making friends--if I see someone I think I might like I need to go for it. Even if I am on the fence I should take the plunge anyway since you never know what lies beneath an appearance and the commonalities we might share. See, it really is like a dating game. If you don't take a chance you have everything to lose while if you do jump in you can emerge a winner.

A Visit From St. Nicholas

An American 5 year old's version
of St. Nicholas

One of my favorite aspects of living overseas is learning about local traditions. As Americans it is all too easy to assume that just because we celebrate a holiday in a certain way everyone else does as well. But that is not the case and this is what I love about being in Europe. And what is even better is that Sidney is learning about different holiday celebrations in his Belgian school then gets to share, and many times introduce, the traditions to us. I think it is wonderful that he is learning that there are different ways of celebrating holidays and other important days with no way being better than the other. Hence was the case last week when St. Nicholas visited his school.

Saint Nicholas is the forefather of the American Santa Claus who fills stockings on the 25th of December and thus his story is similar yet different than the American version. His name is derived from his Dutch name of "Sinterklaas". There are other similarities as well. Both dress in red but Sinterklaas dons a bishops robe and mitre. Santa has his posse of elves while Sinterklaas has helpers who are called "Pere Fouettard". Rather than wearing tights and smocks their clothes pay homage to their Moorish roots. In a dark twist that would probably be deemed unacceptable to Americans, the Pere Fouttard are said to put the children who have been bad in their sacks and take them back to Spain where they live during the rest of the year. (No frosty North Pole temperatures for Sinterklaas and his helpers).

St. Nicholas' actual birthday falls on the 6th of December and is aptly called Saint Nicholas Day. Here in the Benelux, on the evening of the 5th children leave their empty shoes (or in the Netherlands, their clogs) in front of the fireplace with the hopes that upon waking in the morning they will find them filled with treats. Hay and carrots are often left for the reindeer. As is the case with the American Santa, good children awaken to find their shoes filled with goodies while bad children receive nothing. Here, the story is the same as it is in America. And the festive atmosphere that surrounds the lead up to his arrival? That too is the same.

A few weeks ago Sidney's teacher put out the call for empty plastic water bottles for an upcoming project. When I queried Sidney about it he smugly told me that I needed to wait to see what they were making. Each day he came home with small progress reports and all I could surmise was that a lot of cutting and gluing was involved. Sidney said it was hard but fun. Early last week Sidney informed me that St. Nicolas was coming on Friday and that his madame had informed him that the entire class needed to be good if they were to receive a gift. He was excited and when I inadvertently referred to him as Santa Claus I was quickly corrected. And sure enough, this past Friday he visited the school and Sidney came home with not only his gift (a wonderful age appropriate wooden puzzle) and his own small St. Nicholas which Sidney had been laboring over for the past few weeks. He proudly showed me how he had cut then glued each piece. And St. Nicholas is now sitting in his place of honor under our American Christmas tree awaiting the arrival of his cousin Santa Claus later this month.

Christmas itself is still an important holiday here in Europe and it has many of the same over-commercialized aspects that we do in the United States. But despite this widely recognized and celebrated day, Europeans continue to hold onto their St. Nicholas Day celebrations. I love this and hope it is a tradition that is never lost.

Food Issues

I subscribe to too many magazines for my own good. Most months I scan the pages seeking out a new recipe or a potential travel destination and that is about it. Rarely do I read a full article but a recent piece in Cooking Light magazine caught my eye and had me reading the article in its entirety (twice). The author, Ann Taylor Pitman, is the magazine's Executive Food Editor and the mother of now 8 year old twin boys who were born prematurely at 29 weeks. While the picture of her fragile twins is what first caught my eye and gave me flashbacks to my own tiny baby, it was her discussion of food and nourishment that had me reading each page. Here was a lover of food, someone who incorporated this love into both her personal and professional lives, who was struggling to feed her children and give them the nourishment they needed. Her words rang so many bells with me and reading Pitman's words I was once again reminded of the close link between nutrition and one's health and the struggles that often ensue when the two meet.

I consider myself lucky when it comes to food and eating. Because I love just about all food and am always willing to try new things, eating a balanced diet seems to come naturally to me. I rarely diet, never eliminate any one food or food group from my diet but rather eat all of the things I like in moderation. I prefer unprocessed foods to their pre-packaged counterparts and as I grow older, my sweet tooth has been subsiding. I practiced this type of eating both before and during (as well as after) my pregnancy. In my mind it was a give in that I would breast feed rather than relying on formula, baby food would be homemade and my son would have the same love and curiosity about food that I do. A mother can dream, right?

But life rarely turns out as planned. The idea of breastfeeding flew out the window with Sidney's early birth and while my plentiful supply made bottle fed breast milk a viable option, his doctors wanted it to be fortified with formula. I should have known then that I would be spending the next several years trying to pack as many calories as possible into my son. Reflux made feedings both unpleasant and take twice as long as they should have been and he was slow to take to solid foods. But once Sidney discovered the pleasures of solid food he simply couldn't get enough. I worked overtime making purees of organic fruits, vegetables and meats and he loved them all. Friends introduced him to venison sausages when he wasn't quite a year and a half and he loved them. While the same friends bemoaned their three year old daughter's desire to only eat a handful of plain pasta at each meal I relished the fact that my son finally had an appetite. He was still small but he could eat so my mind raced ahead to the wonderful family meals we would be able to enjoy together.

Unfortunately, as with all things children, Sidney's love of new foods came to a halt as quickly as it had taken off. Fast forward a year and he was the one requesting plain pasta at every meal. Hotdogs, one of the few foods that I all but refuse to eat, were acceptable on occasion if they were first drowned in ketchup. Chicken, beef and lamb were no-gos as was any creature that comes from the water. I spent countless hours trying to entice my son with new foods only to be met with such resistance that I felt perpetually defeated. I worried about his nutrition and the fact that he was still the smallest kid around. But honestly, I was the most horrified by the fact that my son essentially hated the one thing that I loved so much. Food. I mean, how is that even possible? Refusing to give up I became adept at hiding the nutrition in those foods he would eat. Pizza was usually acceptable so homemade pies, loaded with vegetable enriched sauce and red peppers (yes, for some reason he loves raw red peppers) became a weekly menu item. A trip to Italy introduced Sidney to Bolognese sauce so I would make vats of that, again loaded with lean meat and tons of vegetables. And the experiments continued with mixed but often unsatisfactory results.

I know kids go through phases and can often be picky but as a parent I struggle with finding the balance between making sure he is eating a balanced diet and not wanting to force things on him that the truly doesn't like. Although it is getting better, all too often the dinner table becomes an unpleasant experience and the last thing I want to do is to instill a dislike of food and mealtime on him. In my mind food is something that should be enjoyed and celebrated. But even as a food loving person I can't quite figure out how to make this work. Cooking only foods on his "acceptable" list is simply unacceptable to me as is making two separate dinners each night.

So how do I find a balance? Sidney provides input into our weekly dinner menus so there are at least two dinners each week that he has selected. Yes, it often involves pizza or pasta but I add a few vegetables into the mix and we end up with a well balanced meal that goes down without tears. I take full advantage of his wandering into the kitchen, sniffing and stating that something smells good. I'm quick to show him what is cooking and talk about the various ingredients that I know he likes. I know Sidney doesn't like his foods mixed together but when I deconstruct the stew before putting it on his plate he will (usually) eat it all. We also have the "five bite rule" where he must eat at least five bites of each item on his plate. I also recognize that there are some things he simply doesn't like. Leafy green salads are currently on that list so when those are the vegetable du jour Sidney gets a plate of cut up raw carrots and red peppers. I'm picking my battles. I still worry about his being so small and wish he would eat a greater variety of food. I'm encouraged that he is trying new things; peer pressure from school has had him requesting both avocados and mushrooms recently. He didn't like them but he did tell me that at least he tried them. And that is progress. Maybe I'll make a foodie out of him yet. I can hope.......

Five! He's Five? Already?

This week I will become the mother of a five year old boy. How did this happen? It seems like just yesterday my teeny tiny preemie entered our lives. All 2 pounds  and 12 ounces of him came screaming into the world and he hasn't stopped talking, moving or exploring the world since then. Its been a wild ride so far with never a dull moment and the excitement just keeps on coming.

I remember the day we brought Sidney home from the hospital. Despite being 11 weeks old at the time, he was still a tiny peanut. After weeks upon weeks of assisting in his care in the NICU he was finally all ours. As I stared at him lying in his crib I was overwhelmed by love and fear. I loved this little boy with every inch of my being but I was scared since I didn't know anything about babies. Until Sidney was born I had never changed a diaper, I couldn't decipher whether his cries meant he was hungry, needed a dry diaper or he just wanted attention. And most of all, he was a boy. I knew nothing about raising a boy!

But what a whirlwind raising this boy has been. Sidney's moved three times, living in three different countries and is currently learning his third language. In the past five years he's visited more countries and acquired more frequent flyer miles than most people do in a lifetime. He has friends from every just about every European country, can recognize most of their native tongues and can identify most of the flags of the NATO countries. He is the first to welcome the new kid in his class (which in a military community means there is always a new kid in the class), is quick to give his mom hugs when he senses I am sad and has a stubborn streak that rivals my own. On the playground he is just as apt to be playing Star Wars as he is to be pretending he is a butterfly or a ninja. He loves books, playing football (a.k.a. soccer), never encountered a body of water that wasn't perfect for stone throwing and has never met a stick that wasn't worthy of being picked up and saved. And as of late, is obsessed with toy soldiers. I blame it on our trip to Normandy but since then he talks non-stop (in both French and English) about soldiers, specific World War II battles, and when prodded can even recite facts about General Patton.

And it was this love of all things army (not Navy of course because we are a Navy family but perhaps this is his own form of rebellion), that I found myself covered in green and brown buttercream frosting this past weekend. For a variety of reasons we had never thrown Sidney a birthday party and from the moment we arrived in Belgium last winter he has been planning his 5th birthday party. It was to be at the bowling alley on base (because every base has a bowling alley and having a party there is a right of passage for every military brat), with pizza and cake and all of his friends. A few months ago camouflage was added to the requirements. That meant camouflage invitations and goodie bags as well as cups, napkins and plates. Even the candles were camouflage. And instead of creating a light and airy cake I found myself frosting cupcakes and a cake with dark green and brown frosting and adding toy soldiers to the decorations for good measure. And much to my delight Sidney loved it all. He loved his multi-national classmates who attended the party (by my count seven countries were represented), the bowling, the pizza and cake and yes, all of the toy soldiers he received. As he declared to one classmate, this was the best birthday ever. And that is all that matters.

I still have no idea how to raise a boy but we're learning together. Like I said, there is never a dull moment.

Happy birthday little soldier! Whether you join the Army or the Navy, become a linguist, a doctor or a street performer, your mom will always love you.

Une Crise d'Identite

And so it has happened again. I was sitting is French class this past week struggling to comprehend the lesson. We were discussing numbers, specifically those between seventy and one hundred which, for some reason only understandable to the French, means there is a difference in the way these numbers are said in French-French and Belgian-French. Its enough to make my head spin. So I was essentially doing math, in French, on a morning with less than a cup of coffee flowing through my system. My brain hurt before it was done and I let out an audible sigh of relief when we moved onto the next lesson. Until I realized that the lesson in question was one of professions. As in, how do I ask someone what their profession is and how would I answer that question myself. Yuck; I almost wished we could return to the numbers lesson because I knew what was coming next.

Sure enough, the question of "what is your profession" was posed to the class. I was the second one to respond. As I listened to my classmate tell the instructor that she was a kindergarten teacher, I thought about what my response should be. I've had many "professions" in the past with the titles of supervisor, program manager and planner being in the forefront. But this question wasn't one of what I used to do rather since it was posed in the present tense it meant what do I do now. Student of French, blogger, experimental cook, aspiring painter? But these aren't professions for me, rather they are the hobbies I dabble in when I have the time. So how do I spend my time? When it was my turn to explain my profession to the class I said I was the family chauffeur, cook and organizer. My response was met with a blank look from my instructor who then said oh, I was a "femme au foyer". I nodded and felt a little better when the next student said she was also a femme au foyer. But the following students all stated that their professions were actual careers; pharmacist assistants, teachers, professors and the list goes on.  I simply sat in my chair and thought about the question and my answer.

I've joked that this is what I am and I've even blogged about it. But it is one thing to talk about it rather anonymously and another to say it out loud to a roomful of people. I stewed about this for the rest of the day. While I was having coffee with a fellow "femme au foyer" after class we dissected the issue. Later while taking Sidney to lunch with a few of his classmates the topic weighed heavily on my mind. While picking up last minute birthday gift for a weekend party, sitting patiently waiting for our delayed appointment with the pediatrician and shopping for ingredients for dinner I continued to think about it. As I kicked the soccer ball around with Sidney in the dusk while we waited for his father to get out of work I told myself I was content with my title of femme au foyer. But the truth is, not matter how much I try, I'm simply not.

I totally appreciate the fact that I have the flexibility to take Sidney to last minute play dates, to cook complex dinners in the middle of the week if I choose to or to sit for hours in the doctor's office without having to worry about being late getting to work. And when my son wants to play soccer after school? Not only can I take him to his practices but I can join him in impromptu ones when the opportunity strikes. The freedom is wonderful and I know I am lucky. But it just isn't enough. Sure I fill my spare hours with leisure activities and hobbies I had only hoped to have the time for when I was working full time but to be honest, I miss the grind and routine of working in an office. I miss the responsibility and the accolades that came with successes. Somehow putting a tedious project to bed ahead of the deadline just sounds like more of an accomplishment than baking dozens of cupcakes for the class party, finding the long lost toy or completing a to-do list that had me on the go all day long.

These are my issues with which I continue to struggle. Most days I am content with the situation but that might just be because I am too busy to think about or question them. But every so often that nagging question gets posed and it starts me thinking all over again. It doesn't matter what language it is asked in; my response remains the same. I need to learn to wear the title of "femme au foyer" proudly. I'm trying, really I am.

Diverse Skeletons

Last week I took Sidney to the base library's Halloween party. There the kids listened to stories, ate and did craft activities while dressed in their costumes. It was a simple activity but you would never have known it by the excitement the kids expressed for everything that was happening. When it came time for the craft activity Sidney chose the one that involved constructing a skeleton out of Q-tips. He happily taped the white swabs onto black construction paper and when he was finished, sat back to admire his masterpiece. After looking critically at his then at the ones made by the other children, he immediately asked why all of the skeletons looked so different. I explained that just as every person looked different on the outside their skeletons looked different on the inside. He nodded and seemed to accept my answer but his question got me thinking.

It made me realize that we live in a pretty diverse world. Since Sidney was a baby we have lived in foreign environments surrounded by people who both look similar to and different than us, hailing from countries spanning the globe and speaking languages that we understand, at least recognize or can't even place on a map. Because of all this, Sidney has essentially been immersed in natural diversity since his earliest memories and therefore takes this diversity in stride. When describing a classmate or friend from the playground to me he has never once used skin color as a descriptor. He'll talk about the child's clothing, what they were doing or even the language they speak but never has color come into play. And when I look at this playmates while I see a Crayola box of diversity amongst them, he simply sees his peers. They are the kid who has the good snacks, the one who always causes trouble and the boy who doesn't like to play Star Wars. That's it. (And if I describe someone using skin color he simply looks at me strangely). The flags of all of the NATO countries fly near the entrance to the base. A favorite game of Sidney's is to identify as many of the flags as he can. He takes it one step further when identifying a flag and tells me which of his classmates is from that particular country and what languages they speak. And speaking of languages, rather than being turned off by hearing a language he doesn't recognize, Sidney either gets excited and names the language when he hears one he knows or asks what language is being spoken when he can't place it himself. Hearing English does excite him beyond belief and he is quick to identify the differences between American and British English. (We're still working on the distinction between the English dialects of other countries).

I love the fact that at this point in his life Sidney is essentially blind to skin color. He accepts his peers based on what they can and cannot do rather than what they look like. (Perhaps all children do this to some extent). My only wish is that I could harness this openness forever. How much easier would life be if skin color, physical characteristics or language wasn't one of the first things we adults use to identify people with. Obviously none of these traits matter to kids so why do they matter so much to adults?

The Littlest Butterfly

Raising boys; its enough to make my hairs turn gray. Sidney has always had an independent streak which is simultaneously wonderful and frustrating. Whether it is picking out his own colorful outfits or the games he plays on the playground, he marches to his own drum and doesn't openly care what others have to say about it. This makes him less susceptible to giving in to peer pressure (which is a good thing) but this same behavior is also increasingly drawing negative attention to himself (and this is a bad thing). So here is the issue I am pondering as of late: how do I encourage independence, creativity and non-conformity while not exposing my son to undue ridicule, potentially being picked on or generally setting him on a coarse for a harder path through childhood?

Sidney is small for his age (its honestly in his genes) which in itself is going to make for a long and sometimes turbulent course through childhood. But why is this? It is all so unfair that boys are expected to be bigger and stronger yet it is acceptable, if not desirable, for girls to be smaller and more fragile in stature. So much of this is dependent upon genetics so is it that as a society we look look down upon smaller people (especially males) who really have no control over their height? Even at the ripe old age of five I see the games that go on in school and the taunts that are made because of size. Until recently Sidney has never let his small size stop him; he's scrappy and fast and is the first to jump into the game and try something. But in recent months Sidney has been asking why he is so small and when he will grow bigger. I encourage healthy eating and tell him that he will grow but he wants to know when. As in a date and time when he will be the size of his peers. I just don't have an answer for this inquiry.

Through a series of recent unpleasant events I've learned that Sidney is being picked on by one of his  larger classmates and thus his desire to be bigger and taller. This simply breaks my heart. This same boy--a fellow American--taunts Sidney by calling him names, teasing him until he is on the brink of tears and on more than one occasion has even pushed, poked and choked him in class. Sidney feels that if he was bigger he wouldn't be the object of this boy's attacks. I'm not sure this is entirely the case since physical size is only part of it. Mindset and personality are the other. As rough and tough as he can be, he is also incredibly sensitive at times. And he is still a little boy. One who will play with girls as long as other boys aren't around ("because they will make fun of him"). Sidney is a little boy who doesn't like loud noises and is afraid of the dark. He wants to be liked and have friends and his feelings can sometimes be easily hurt. But somehow, for some reason, being small, sensitive and with a strong streak of individuality has made Sidney the object of this other boy's torment.

The physical assaults are horrifying but it is the words that are the most upsetting, and leave the longest lasting scars, of all. As far as I know, the physical assaults are no longer happening and things have calmed down in class but the words and taunts are continuing. (Of course I am only hearing one side of this story so I am a tiny bit skeptical). Words can be easier to hide and in the vast space that is the lunchroom and even worse, the playground, a large, loosely supervised area filled with children playing and proving themselves the way growing children do, words are often the weapon of choice. He's asked me what certain words mean. Words that I don't want to repeat let alone put in writing. Sidney has heard them someplace and he tells me that these are words that this other boy calls him. I in turn find myself at a loss for appropriate words. I can tell him that these are words we don't repeat, that they aren't nice. I can tell Sidney not to use them in reference to others because he knows how it feels to be called them. Teachers can't see and hear everything and kids will be kids. But how much is too much? And most importantly, how do I instill confidence in my son while protecting him and realistically, not making him the target of increased negative attention.

But most of all I am angry. Yes, I am angry at this boy, and by default his parents, since he has to be hearing and learning about these things someplace. But most of all, I am angry and disappointed in our culture that sets stereotypes and stifles individuality. And I hate the fact that I actually found myself suggesting to Sidney that he not say, do or wear things that might make him a further target of ridicule. Am I no better than our culture by suggesting that my son needs to conform to these pervasive stereotypes? As a mother I want to protect him from harm but I also want to encourage creativity and freedom of speech. But like I said, I want to protect him....

So for the past few weeks Sidney's class has been studying butterflies. They've talked about the phases of a butterfly's life and have even watched their own cocoons turn into butterflies. Sidney has been mesmerized by this lesson and has taken to running, flapping his arms and chanting that he is a butterfly. Yes, my little camouflage clad boy is proclaiming independence by identifying as a butterfly. He does this at home, on the playground and the soccer field. He's also the same boy who continues to spend hours playing soldier, racing matchbox cars and trains like there is no tomorrow and then goes to sleep sucking his thumb and clutching his favorite baby blanket. He is only five, but......

What is a mother to do? His teacher can serve as a buffer in the classroom and I can at home but neither protects him from the realities of the larger world. If it isn't this bully it will be the next one. Sidney is small yet tough, creative and caring, sensitive and stubborn. Part of the beauty of our society is that we all have differing views, opinions, and expectations. We don't all have to be friends but we really should respect each other. This is something I can teach my son. I can also help him put a Teflon coating on his butterfly wings then trust him to fly.

Crush

My little boy is experiencing his first real crush and from a mother's perspective it is both cute and mildly disturbing. I discovered this quite by accident but once I did all of the pieces about his new behavior became quite clear. He's loved school for some time now but this year he comes bouncing out of bed each morning eager to get to school. Last year getting him dressed each morning was a struggle with my wanting to dress him in Gap and his preferring to look like a a mixture of Eminem and southern redneck. This year he has adopted a habit (which I love) of letting me pick out his well coordinated outfits each morning. On the mornings he does pick out his own clothes he has taken to asking me if his shirt matches his pants then contemplating which shoes he should wear instead of defaulting to his dreaded Spider Man sneakers that light up. Then there is the insistence that he look in the car mirror each morning to make sure he doesn't have any stray smears of food on his face. Add in his new insistence that we park in a certain parking lot each morning during school drop off and I should have suspected that something was up but in hindsight all of these are cues that I had completely missed.

Call me clueless but I first suspected something was up when he would eagerly run up to a cute little blond girl each morning and excitedly chatter away with her as we walked up the hill. He would also talk excitedly to her mother, starting each sentence with the phrase "excuse me" before narrating a story or detail about what he had done since he last saw them. Both mother and daughter always give Sidney their full attention which he loves. Over the course of the past week I noticed that would be craning his neck on our walk up the hill from the parking lot to the school then jumping with joy when he spotted the little girl and her mom. Daily recaps always include details about what he did with this girl during the day along (they drew an American flag together) but also have the qualifier that sometimes boys and girls don't play together at school. Last Thursday after school he sadly told me that the little girl hadn't been there but on Friday he practically ran into traffic in excitement when he spotted them. They were walking ahead of us but returned his affection by turning around and smiling several times before making her mother stop so we could catch up with them. And then there was last weekend's Oktoberfest celebration. He spotted them across the tent and jumped out of his seat wanting to go say hello to them. (And this was after he had flat out refused to go greet other classmates of his). Glenn brought him over and watched as our son said hello to the object of his affection.

Watching this from a mother's standpoint is strange. First, my little boy is just shy of five so I had assumed I have years before I would have to witness his flirtatious behavior. Five! (That just seems so young but Glenn has informed me that he kissed his first girl around this age). This is my little boy who still sleeps with and carries around his "baba" (blanket) when he is at home. But he is the same boy who is proudly declaring that he is a big boy and can do things for himself now. And apparently liking a girl (or gurl as he says) is one of those things. I'm simultaneously proud and a bit unnerved. I'm also a bit scared and sad. This is partially because I am just not ready for this but also because we are all military families and I happen to know she will be moving soon. I don't want to have to witness my son's heartbreak when the object of his affection leaves the country for another destination. Or when she breaks his heart by rejecting his little boy's advances. But maybe she won't, or he won't. I don't know.....what I do know is that I am just not ready for this. But then again, will I ever be?

Life Lessons

As parents, we walk a fine line between sheltering our children from life's harsh realities and exposing them to the great big world out there while not adversely scarring them for life. While I don't believe in hiding or sugar coating reality, I struggle with knowing how much information to present in an age appropriate way. And as soon as I think I've figured it out, Sidney gets older, matures and is capable of understanding things at a whole new level. Regardless of his age or stage, we have five basic household tenets or rules that help guide us along. They are gentle reminders to all of us as to how we should be acting towards one another and the larger world around us. Sidney has embraced these rules and is quick to point out which ones he abides by and which ones he struggles with. He also does the same for the actions he sees around himself.  The rules are quite simple; beyond listening to your parents and respecting others one of the five is keeping the promises you make to both yourself and others. Simply put, if you make a promise, keep it. The rule applies to Sidney as well as us, and in his four year old way of thinking, other people as well. When he makes a promise he must keep it and when we make a promise we must do the same. Sounds easy, right? Well, maybe not.

We're always careful to not make promises we aren't sure we can keep. For things that aren't certainties, we caveat the proposed idea or event with a promise that we will do the best we can to make it happen. Sidney doesn't always hear that part and unfortunately we've had a few hiccups along the way that have left him crushed and disappointed. But for those things that we feel are a sure thing, we openly make the promise and tell him they will happen. And that is exactly what we did when we signed him up to play on a soccer league for 4 and 5 year olds.

Sidney loves soccer, or football as he often calls it. During the World Cup he proudly wore his Belgian soccer jersey while watching the games and spends hours in the backyard kicking his yellow and black soccer ball into the goal. After school Glenn, and occasionally I, will join him for kicking, dribbling and goal scoring. But as much fun as he has doing this, he keeps asking to play with other kids. If we were back in the United States, extra curricular activities for kids of his age would be plentiful. As we discovered this past spring, they are all but non-existent here in Belgium. So when I learned of a developmental soccer league specifically for kids his age, I signed him up and he was beyond excited. The league is run by the base youth services program and coached by volunteers but I was assured the league would start and the end of August. (I was even asked if I wanted to volunteer as a coach since having knowledge of the game is apparently not a prerequisite, but that is a story for another day). Having no reason to doubt what I was told---since this is a Department of Defense run organization, I excitedly told Sidney about his impending opportunity.  Now I signed him up back in June so all summer long getting to play soccer on a team was all he has been talking about. When we were back in the U.S. we went out and bought him his own soccer cleats (neon yellow just like the Belgian team) and he's been practicing putting them on and kicking the ball around in anticipation of joining his team. And in between his playing he told everyone he met that he was joining a soccer team. Yes, he was that excited.

When we hadn't heard anything from the organizers two weeks ago, we reached out to them only to be told we would hear from the coach the following week. When that didn't happen we called back and this time were given not only the name of the coach but the time, date and meeting location of the first practice. Having sent an email to the coach and hearing nothing, I got Sidney suited up for his first practice and headed to the designated spot. And boy was he excited and his excitement was contagious. That was until I saw the empty field with no coach and no players in sight. The other fields were filled with kids and coaches and while Sidney looked sadly on I did my best to figure out what was happening. Finally, after talking to the person who was in "charge" we left having been assured that we were in the right spot at the right time but something must have gone wrong and the coach would be there for the next practice. Sidney was crushed and my heart ached for him as he asked me why he couldn't play. He wanted to know why his coach hadn't kept her promise to be there because according to his rules, you always have to keep your promises. Hugging him closely I told him that I didn't know where she was but that I would look into it. That was a promise I could keep.

The next couple of days resulted in a flurry of (mostly) unanswered phone calls and emails but an assurance that we should indeed be at the field during the next designated practice time. And we were, fully dressed and excited, but this time I approached it with the caveat that I hoped the coach and team would be there. Sidney said he hoped so too and gripped my hand tightly as we once again approached the empty field. A last minute email and phone call revealed that there wasn't practice that day either but that the coach would "be in touch soon". As Sidney once again watched other kids kicking the ball around under the enthusiastic tutelage of their coach he simply said he wanted to go home. I could tell that he was dejected and promised him that his dad and I would play soccer with  him in the backyard when we got home. He smiled weakly and said he didn't want to play. Even the enticement of an ice cream treat did nothing to lift his spirits. Instead he reiterated that people who make promises need to keep them. Not doing so is just bad.

At that moment I was simultaneously heartbroken and proud of my little boy. Heartbroken since the one simple promise I had been making to him all summer wasn't becoming a reality. Not only that, his enthusiasm for playing the game seemed to be dwindling. Proud because of the maturity he was showing in a difficult situation. Instead of crying or whining he was simply accepting the reality as he saw it. As we walked back to the car he talked yet again of promises and their importance. I love Sidney's new found maturity yet it pains me that he had to reach it through such disappointing circumstances. I am disappointed that another parent would let down children in such a way and frustrated that an organization that runs youth activities was less than organized. (My disappointment is slightly tempered by the fact that at least this parent stepped forward to volunteer which is more than Glenn and I did). I wonder whether she has ever had to explain such disappointment to her own child. I now have and although I'm sure I will have to again, it is not an experience I care to repeat. Life's lessons are rarely easy and this one was just plain horrible.

So what next? We've been once again told that yes there will be practice next week. Despite any assurances we receive we'll be cautiously back on the soccer field next week. Hopefully this hiccup is behind us and the team and coach will be there ready to play. If not, unfortunately we have this routine down. If his long promised practice doesn't materialize I'm sure he will handle it with both sadness and his new found maturity. I will still ache for him; both for his sadness and his sudden understanding that not everyone keeps their promises...... And maybe, just maybe, I will take an online tutorial on coaching soccer and volunteer to coach myself during the next go around. That would be a promise I would be able to keep.