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.

Mean Girls

Mean girls. In the extreme form they are female bullies who resort to rumor spreading, nasty comments and deceit to exclude and manipulate others. But not everyone is a full fledge mean girl; there are the queen bees, the wannabees and the girls who fall somewhere in between. Collectively they can make one's life pretty miserable.
It sounds a lot like tween drama or the makings of a bad made for television movie but in reality they exist in real life and even more tragically, they exist at all ages. Mean girls span the generations and can be young girls, grown women and even senior citizens. Little mean girls are often the offspring of mean mammas and mean mammas are often raising their own little mean girls in the making. You would hope that mean girls are just a passing trend but they aren't. I met my first mean girl when I was in junior high, encountered even more though high school and college and sadly have continued to encounter them throughout my adult life. Sadly enough, mean girls seem to be timeless.

As an adult woman I've seem my peers acting as mean girls and was actually "mean girled" recently by another mother. Her barbed comments followed by her actions then subsequent snubbing of me initially left me speechless. But rather than be hurt---the way I was in earlier mean girl encounters--I was more irritated. I no longer feel a need to fit in or to be accepted by the masses. I also realize that while on the outside these girls may appear to have inflated egos and senses of self esteem, the opposite is more likely the case. All of the bluster and meanness is really a facade covering up one's insecurities. When one tries too hard to fit in and be accepted, more often than not, the opposite takes place. So after watching this mother's actions from afar I can honestly say that I don't have any desire to be a part of her crowd. I don't like what I see and I don't have time for those antics. I've been there and done that years ago. Now, we are grown women who should be acting as positive role models for our children instead of acting like children ourselves. Or perpetuating the cycle of bullying and being mean girls.

R.S.V.P.

Good manners never go out of fashion. Or so I thought. But now I'm really beginning to wonder. I was always taught that when you received an invitation and the host asks you to let them know whether or not you will be coming, you should do it. The concept seems easy enough but for whatever reason it seems like fewer and fewer people are answering that request. Or maybe it is just the people I know.

I first encountered the problem with people not responding when we were living in Albania. In both my paid position and in my own home, whenever I issued invitations to events people were slow to respond (if they even bothered to respond at all). I know it was unrealistic on my part to expect them to respond within 48 hours of receiving the invite (the way I had been taught) but some response at all would have been appreciated. I never really cared whether people were going to attend but as the event planner and the hostess I needed to know how many guests to expect. A sit down dinner at my house; do I plan for seating for twelve or for eight? A children's party at the embassy; if I don't know how many kids to expect how can I make sure that every child receives a goodie bag? I became a master at squeezing extra place settings in at the table or removing them if necessary. After one disastrous reception where I cooked for the number who said they were coming (plus a little wiggle room) and then ran out of both food and drink when the entire guest list showed up, I learned to always make extra food. Sometimes it all got eaten but more often than not we had leftovers for the week.

I never quite understood why people didn't respond. When I asked people (yes, it came down to that), the responses were mixed. People weren't sure whether they could make it while others said of course they would be there. (I guess I'm supposed to be a mind reader). Other would say that they didn't want to commit on the chance another offer came up (yes, I was told that), committing took the spontaneity out of the event (for the guest I am assuming), or they didn't know what the letters R.S.V.P. meant (yes, I heard that one too). And then there was the time my inquiry as to whether or not someone would be attending an event was met with the accusation that I was old fashioned and stuffy for even inquiring about such a thing in the first place.

Fast forward to our being in Belgium with an entirely new international community with the two official languages on the base being English and French. Yesterday we threw Sidney his long awaited birthday party. One month out I reserved the space, providing them with a tentative number of guests. Two weeks ago Sidney hand delivered invitations to all of his classmates. Not wanting to be a glutton for punishment I didn't give an R.S.V.P. deadline but I did ask that people let me know their intentions via email. A few replies immediately came in then silence. Sidney would come home telling me that so-and-so was attending (have a message relayed from one five year old to another hardly seems like a reliable means of communicating). Other days parents would catch me in the hallway and let me know their child would be coming. One parent even sent a handwritten note to the teacher who passed along them message to me. Two days before the party only one child had declined the invitation, sixteen had accepted but that left another ten up in the air. (Yes, Sidney has a freakishly large class). I went back to the event space giving them a tentative number and they must have been used to the non-commitment of people since they said they would work with me on however many people showed up. Having heard horror stories about everyone showing up at parties here without R.S.V.P.ing, I went home and baked enough cake and cupcakes to feed the entire class and their parents in case everyone showed up. The same with the goodie bags.

So how did it work out? The day of the party I received three last minute cancellations due to the nasty bug that has been making its way through the school. One child showed up without an R.S.V.P. but her father apologetically told me that he could read my handwriting on the invitation. Everyone else who said they were coming, came. We had just enough pizza, too many goodie bags (which can be disassembled and recycled for another event) and more than enough cupcakes so Glenn will once again be providing treats for his co-workers.

But this experience now has me thinking. Am I misinterpreting what R.S.V.P. actually means? Does it now mean regrets only? Respond if you feel like it? Of course I'll attend? Or do people simply chose to respond to those invitations they deem important and ignore the others. What is a hostess to do? I don't know what anyone else does but my solution is to be prepared by making extra food and to be ready for the unexpected. What other options do I really have?

Names & Faces

You know you have settled into a community when you begin to readily recognize people. Its a comforting feeling; no longer is everyone you see a stranger, rather you are all a part of the same community. But simply recognizing someone doesn't mean you know them. Even after you begin to greet them when you see them, do you really know them if you don't know their name?

Right now we are living in a diverse but relatively small community. Where ever I go I immediately recognize the people I see and I can categorize them into where I know them from. There is the staff at the post office, the clerks at the store and even the gate guards who check my ID each time I drive by. There are the people who hit the gym each morning at the same time I do; the moms who shop on base immediately after dropping their kids off at school and the people who stop by the cafe for coffee each afternoon before picking their children up. And of course there are the parents, mostly moms again, who I recognize from Sidney's school and soccer team. I can recognize most of them by the class their child attends and if they are one of Sidney's class or teammates I know them as that child's mom. With this group I am known as "Sidney's mom". (All this makes me wonder whether we all follow the same schedule!). But do I know their names? For the most part no.....It is all strangely anonymous but not really.

I'd been pondering this not knowing any one's name issue for awhile. First, I'm horrible when it comes to remembering names so even if I've heard it once I'm likely to forget it. Second, after talking to someone on a daily basis (fellow moms for example) it feels awkward to months later, as, someone what their name is. Sometimes Glenn and I will serve as each other's foil with one of us introducing ourselves to someone the other knows yet doesn't know their name. But inevitably we all quickly return to being known quasi-anonymous as so-and-so's parent.

But last week something changed. Like I said, I pass the same people each day as I go about my routine. I was at the post office and walked passed a fellow American mom who I see just about every morning and afternoon. We both smiled at each other but then as I passed her she stopped and introduced herself telling me that she saw me everywhere but didn't know my name. Here I was feeling the very same thing but she took the step to change all of that. We made our introductions then went along our way (with my repeating her name to myself several times so that I wouldn't forget it). Since that interaction I've seen her just about every day and we now greet each other not only with a smile but an acknowledgement using our names. As simple as it is, it feels so much nicer.

And her initiative has now spurred one of my own. At a minimum of once a week (I do need to remember all of the names after all), I am going to make it my mission to actually introduce myself by name to someone I see regularly and inquire about their own as well. I've already done it twice and I am now able to refer to people by their names rather than as the mom of Sidney's classmate ______. I wish I had started doing this sooner since my already small community is suddenly feeling cozier and more friendly than it was before. I love it. Now I can't promise that I am going to remember every one's name but I'm going to give it my best shot.

Finding Contentment

I spent part of this past weekend with a group of wonderful Mount Holyoke College alumnae. Our ages span the generations and our current homes are located in all parts of Europe but collectively we are smart, funny, intellectually curious and well travelled. We are all well spoken, opinionated and strive to be the best at whatever we do. As is the case whenever I spend time with fellow alumnae, I return from a gathering feeling intellectually stimulated and emotionally rejuvenated. And as is also always the case, a part of me feels slightly out of sorts and unsettled, simultaneously being proud of what I have accomplished yet wondering whether I could have or should be doing more with my life.

But this feeling and questioning isn't new as I've always second guessed my life choices and decisions and sometimes, but not always, regretted those that I've made or wished for spontaneous "re-dos". (Wouldn't life be wonderful if our 40 something year old voices could guide our 20 something year old minds in their decision making process?). There is something about being around such accomplished and (at least outwardly) confident women that causes me to step back, pause and reevaluate. And that is just what I've been doing this past week.

Its been years since I've had what I would consider a career. I gave up a full time job--one I didn't love but that was at least in my career field since the pickings were slim in our area-- shortly before Sidney was born and have only worked sporadically since then. In the past five years we've moved three times, including two over seas moves, I became competent in a new language and am refreshing my skills in another and for two and a half years I did work in a job that filled my time yet left me feeling inadequate in many ways. Now I am my all accounts a stay-at-home mom. I used to wonder what it was that these mothers did all day and I know that days are busier than I ever imagined they could be. And my hat goes off to stay-at-home moms, but it is the hardest, and least intellectually fulfilling, job I have ever had. I spend too much time driving around and sitting in traffic, have learned all of the popular songs with the five year old set and can now add soccer mom / playground referee / cheer leader in chief to my resume. Yes, my days are busy running from one place to another yet my routine leaves me feeling lacking and needing more. In an attempt to fill that need I'm taking both French and painting classes, spend hours at the gym and volunteering for a variety of activities. But this past weekend, as I explained what it was I did all day to inquiring minds, I realized how inadequate it all sounded. Of course my audience was career driven women who owned their own businesses or were racing up the promotion ladder at their international corporations while juggling multi-faceted family lives. In comparison my day just sounded so simple. The very idea that I would be the one following my spouse rather than having him follow me seemed confusing to some.

But despite our current differences, we all shared a common alma mater and conversation naturally turned to our college days. When posed with the question of what I wish I had done differently in college, I paused. What would I have done differently? I loved my American history major and can play a mean game of Jeopardy but well into my senior year I realized how unspecific and not really marketably it was. The year I graduated I was one of thousands of liberal arts majors hustling for a job. In hindsight would I have selected a different major? I don't know. Do I wish I had gone to law school after working for a couple of years the way I wrote in my graduation announcement that was sent to my home town newspaper? Not really. Should I have pursued a more mobile career path? Probably, but then again my twenty year old self never imagined that I'd be living the life I am today. Do I regret jumping off of the career track to move to Virginia when I met my now husband? Absolutely not. Sure I wish there had been real job opportunities for me there but I can say with confidence that I knew what I was getting into when I said "yes". And being a mother? Despite the moments when I simply want to pull out my hair, it is the most rewarding (and scary) endeavor I have ever taken on.

So am I content? Mostly......Time with Mount Holyoke alumnae does make me question where I am, what I am doing and how things could have been different. But it also makes me appreciate where I am and what I have. All of the decisions I have made to date bring me to the place I am today. For a brief moment I missed being the one who had the job, the fancy title and the professional responsibility but then I reconsidered. After all, I don't miss being attached to a Blackberry, having to put on suits every day and having to endure the stress of missing deadlines that are out of my control. The only organization I will ever be CEO of is Household Brown and despite Glenn's musings, we won't be able to live off of the earnings from my blogging in our post-military life.  I am not by any stretch of the imagination an uber wife, mother, housekeeper and cook but I can happily hold my own on all of those fronts. I have an amazing and diverse network of friends that span the globe. Because of the decisions that have been made I have the opportunity to pursue interests that I would never have the time to do if I was working outside of the home. And I must admit, it is kind of nice.

This is the path I have chosen and I embrace it. This coming year is going to be one of college reunions and get togethers so naturally there will be more reflection and occasional self doubt on my part. But life is short and there is absolutely no time for regrets. Questions and reconsiderations, yes, but regrets? Absolutely not.

Table For One

Dining alone. Have you ever done it? I'm not talking about drinking your latte while you read a book at Starbucks, grabbing a quick bite to eat at a casual dining establishment or eating at the restaurant bar. I'm talking about perhaps making a reservation for a table for one then sitting down at a properly set table, ordering off the menu then leisurely eating your meal without turning to your iPhone or e-reader for companionship. Scary isn't it? Yes and no.

I used to be terrified of eating alone. The coffee shop with a book in hand was OK but anything beyond that was too much for me to handle. When I traveled for work I would resort to room service or perhaps eating at the hotel bar--not a table in the bar area mind you but the actual bar. Anything else felt like too much of a spectacle. I mean what if people looked at me and wondered what was wrong with me for not having a dining companion?

But then this got old. Whether traveling or in my home community I wanted to eat good food and didn't always having dining companions to join me. So I took the plunge and partook in my first solo dinner in public. I was traveling for work and room service didn't excite me. The hotel bar only served pub food and besides, I had read about a great restaurant in the city that I really wanted to try. I didn't know anyone and rather than skip what turned out to be a great meal, I went to the restaurant by myself. I had planned on eating at the bar but when the hostess lead me to a two-top table in the dining room, I followed her. At first I was a bit uncomfortable about sitting by myself but as I looked around I noticed that there were several other solo diners in the room. Some were reading but others were simply sitting and eating. If they could do it, so could I. And I did and found myself enjoying the food and the freedom of not having to carry on a conversation. It wasn't so hard after all. Then I started eating alone when I was at home. If I wanted to try a place and no one else was interested in joining me, I went by myself. As funny as this may sound, being able to eat out by myself was a completely liberating experience.

I'm a frequent follower of Tom Sietsema's weekly food chat in the Washington Post where the subject of dining solo is a hot topic. Callers often complain about the service, or lack there of, they receive when they are eating alone in restaurants. Many share their experiences of being regulated to poorly located tables, pushed into the bar even though they have a table reservation or shoddy service from waitstaff. Often they feel undervalued as single diners with women experiencing this inequity more than men. Have I experienced this myself? Sadly I have. I've been seated in back corners or even worse, near the entrance to the restrooms. When I look around many dining rooms that is where the smaller tables are located. Perhaps these table placements help restaurants best maximize their table space. But other times I've been seated front and center in the middle of the dining room. Sometimes the service has been great and other times it has been abysmal but I'm not sure it is a reflection of my dining status or the restaurant itself. I tip according to the service I receive and if I don't enjoy the experience I am unlikely to go back. I have found that some places are more receptive to solo, and woman, diners that others. In Albania eating out by myself was met with confusion by waitstaff while here in Belgium I see many women doing it. This is particularly true for lunch when I've seen entire restaurants filled with solo female diners. In America, depending on location, I have found it to be a mixed bag. Ironically, I have found that the higher end the restaurant, the better the experience. Perhaps their waitstaff is just better schooled in service......

Now I find myself enjoying my solo meals and don't let my being alone stop me from eating where I please. When eating by myself I can choose the restaurant of my liking based solely on my own food preferences and cravings. I can eat as slowly or as quickly as I like and the only food I have to worry about cutting up is my own. Depending upon the establishment I may pull out my e-reader but increasingly I find myself not reading anything and using the opportunity to be absorbed in my own thoughts. Or I will people watch which in the right place can be more interesting than the best dinner companions. Yes, dining alone may feel intimidating at first but go ahead and give it a chance. You just might find that you enjoy it as much as I do.

The Long Journey Home

After a month away, today Sidney and I are returning home to Belgium. I say home because, despite our month revisiting all of the places we have lived as a family, Belgium has become the place we currently call home.

During our month long journey up the East Coast then back down, we kept asking ourselves the question of "could we see ourselves living here?". And this is a pertinent question for us since with retirement looming, in a short two and a half years when we leave Belgium, we will be returning to the United States and for the first time, moving to a location of our own choosing. Never having the option to fully choose for ourselves, this is an exciting yet slightly scary proposition. 

So over the past month as we moved from one East Coast location to another we looked long and hard at what life would be like should we choose to settle there. The question of schools, job opportunities, cultural amenities, cost of living and overall quality of life were always in the forefront of our minds. Some locations we immediately dismissed as not being options. At one time we had made those locations work for us but in our current situation we just couldn't envision ourselves settling down there for the long term. Other locations possibilities and two became definite contenders. For both locations I even went so far as checking out the local real estate listings to see just what our money could buy us. Geographically and socially the two places couldn't be more different but we could see ourselves being happy and taking advantage of the opportunities they provided. Could we call either place home and raise our family there? Most likely. At the moment we don't have to decide but we do have a lot to think about.

So where is home? It is where ever we make it. Where is that? At the moment it is Belgium and it is good to be back. In the future? Who knows; only time will tell.

A Lifetime Of Love

My maternal grandparents had been married for over sixty years when my grandfather passed away in 2008. They had met in the heyday of the pre- World War II years and corresponded through hand written letters while my grandfather was a solider in the Pacific. They married upon his return from the War and settled into the suburban life that was expected of couples of their generation. They raised two children, a boy and a girl, in their starter house that became their home for life. My grandfather worked for the family business then in his own company while my grandmother ran the household and in her spare time served as a Girl Scout volunteer. 

My grandmother was always the more outgoing of the two; loving to socialize with friends and family and always on the lookout for the next fun activity to participate in. My grandfather was quiet and had a routine that included work, spending copious hours on his HAM radio and collecting guns. He preferred to stay home rather than travel saying he had travelled during the war. The one exception was a period of time during the 1980s when summer weekends would be spent in a camper trailer along the Connecticut River in New Hampshire. There he would simply fish for hours. While my grandmother was fun to be around my grandfather's silence and detached manner scared me. As I got older I remember hearing whispers that apparently the War had changed him. He would talk about bits and pieces of his war service but the stories were always superficial and revealed nothing about where he served and what he experienced. (It wasn't until after his death that I learned about the battles he saw and fought). These were the grandparents I remember from earliest memories.

When my grandfather developed Alzheimer's disease my grandmother cared for him at home before eventually moving him into a nursing home and then finally hospice care. As is often the case with his horrible disease, his decline was slow and painful both for him and those around him. Angry outbursts became common but my grandmother was stoically by his side throughout the ordeal. When he finally passed it was with a sense of relief. But suddenly after decades of being with her life partner, my grandmother was alone. Alone in a too big house that needed too many repairs. Alone and free of the responsibility of caring for a loved one. Eventually, after much waiting and decluttering, she moved out of house of over half a century into a nearby retirement community where she was able to maintain her independence in her own apartment yet have the comforts of an on site dining room, recreation center and most importantly for my social butterfly of a grandmother, lots of friends.

She has now been living in her new community for two years now and this is where we visited her during our recent trip to Massachusetts. Her apartment is cute and filled with relics from her old house including several photographs of my late grandfather. Due to distance it had been a long time since we last visited but I had heard that not only was Gigi, as she is now known to us, happy but she had a boyfriend. Yes, she is in her 90s and had been married for most of her life to one person, but she was dating again. And during our short visit with her we got to meet her "younger"--in his late 80s--new beau.

Seeing my grandmother and her "friend" as she introduced him, for me has been the highlight of our trip to date. Gigi appeared happier than I have seen her in years and years younger than I remember her being. Her friend was dapper, charming and obviously adored her and had survived the War without the same emotional wounds that had haunted my grandfather. He repeatedly called her honey and went out of his way to hold doors and help her in and out of the car. They giggled like school children yet squabbled like an old married couple when trying to decide which entree to split at lunch. They joked with each other and were more affectionate towards one another than I ever remember my grandfather being with my grandmother.

The whole scene was so heartwarming. I loved seeing my grandmother so happy and full of life and reminded me that love can happen at any age. Young love is wonderful but finding love again later in life. I can only imagine how nice it must be.

Complacency

Are we too complacent as a society? I started to wonder this recently while I was listening to a broadcast of Diane Rehm on NPR. Her guests were discussing the controversial issue of the Affordable Care Act, or Obamacare as so many call it, and the words of one of her callers struck a particular chord with me. The woman was from Oklahoma and was talking about how her family was now saving over a thousand dollars a month on their health insurance premiums due to health care reform. She went on to state that if the law was repealed her family would be destitute and she would then lobby her elected officials to have them fight to bring the law back. It made me ask the question of "why wait"? I mean, if something is that important to you why wait until it is gone to let the people in power know how you feel?

I'll be the first to admit that I am often too complacent when it comes to issues that matter to me. Take the health care issue for example. My family, like other military families out there, is very fortunate that we have extremely affordable (i.e. free) health care because of my husband's job. If we need to see a doctor how we would pay for the visit is something that never even crosses my mind. I believe everybody should have access to affordable health care and it saddens me that this isn't the case. But honestly, what have I done about this? Absolutely nothing. I listen to pundits talk, voice my opinions to those closest to me, maybe blog a bit and then leave it at that. Really, I, along with everyone else who is lucky enough to have health insurance should be pounding the pavement and calling our elected representatives demanding that others have the same benefits we enjoy. Whenever there are rumblings about the cost of health care for military families and veterans increasing you can bet that these families are out there writing letters and making phone calls protesting the proposed actions so why aren't we joining forces and doing it to help others? Do we think they aren't deserving? That they can do it for themselves? Or that it isn't our problem?

And I'm as guilty of this in action as the next person. I'm not out there advocating because I ashamed to admit that I am too complacent in my own little world. Like so many other people I tend to act when things personally effect me. That doesn't mean I don't care about others; rather for whatever reason I simply don't care enough to do something about it even though I know I should. I know this is bad.

So I'm challenging myself and everyone else to do something about it. Pick one issue, any issue that is important to you and do something to make a change. Write a letter or make a phone call to an elected official or volunteer for a cause in your community. Step out of your complacent zone and help make a change for the better. It may or may not directly effect you but if it helps someone else it is making all of society better. And that does help you. So just do it now.

The More Things Change.....

the more they stay the same. Or so it seems.

It all begs the question of whether you can go home again. Maybe in a physical sense you can but do you ever find things the way you left them? Physically they may (or may not) be but if you are looking at them through a different, more experienced lens, are they really the same? Are they as you remembered them or do they look older, larger or smaller, or just different?

The past couple of weeks have been a blur of activity for us as we have been traveling up the East Coast visiting family, friends, and places we haven't seen in several years, if not longer. Its been exciting and exhausting, enjoyable and disappointing all at the same time. Because just as people change, things change... meaning I'm not viewing these places I once called home in the same way I did before. It is like attending a class reunion where everyone is vaguely familiar but not quite the same as you remembered them. This isn't a good or bad thing; but rather I'm finding the whole experience to be mildly unnerving.

As we've moved from one old haunt to the next it has felt as we are slogging along in slow motion, viewing the world as outsiders looking in. Things have changed yet remained the same. The traffic in the DC metro area? It is as horrible, if not worse, than we remember it and served as a constant reminder about what we don't like about the area. The cookie cutter suburbs filled with the same oversized house after same oversized house on the identically landscaped lots struck me as disturbingly conformist. At the same time I found the vibrancy and seeming rebirth of parts of the area to be exciting. Construction that had been halted amid the economic bust the last time we were in the area was once again moving forward while other projects had been completed. We visited on the cusp of the long anticipated opening of the new silver line of the Metro. As we've seen in cities around the world, a committment to expanded public transportation is always a positive move for a community and seeing the years of talks, construction and disruption come to fruition made me stop and think that maybe the area is more progressive than I had been thinking.

Driving through our old home town of Norfolk we felt as though the city was frozen in time. Most of the restaurants and shops were exactly as I remembered them. There the same construction projects that had been unfinished four years ago still remained idle. I swear, even the pot holes and road construction signs looked as though they hadn't been touched since the last time I saw them. Our old house, the labor of love where we had invested hundreds of hours of manual labor to remodel looked exactly as it did the day we moved out. In a way it was haunting to sit at the end of our old driveway and look at the house and life that used to be ours. Did I miss it? No. But it felt funny just the same. Yes there were noticeable differences though both good and bad. First the good: the city now has its own light rail system and we saw the shiny train cars making their way through the city streets. The bad? the cars, however, appeared to be devoid of passengers at all hours of the day. And those beautiful old neighborhoods along the water that I used to dream of living in? They were still there but now for sale signs dotted too many yards to count. Their prices were so low (I looked) that we could easily afford to buy one now but is it the time to buy or to get out?

The list of things that are different but the same in places all along our journey goes on. But have these places really stayed the same yet changed or have I? Am I not seeing things the same way I used to? I guess at this point I'm simply feeling unnerved. The places that used to feel like home to me no longer do. And it all begs the question of where can I now call home?

Stress Factor

Stress.  As in "I am so stressed". The phrase has become so commonplace in conversations that I sometimes wonder whether it has lost its true meaning. Or whether it has become such a catch phrase that people don't stop and think about what it really means. But recently two separate articles discussing the causes of stress caught my eye and now I find myself thinking at of course we are stressed as a country and a society. I mean, given all that is going on around us, how can we not be?

First, a The Washington Post article cited a Robert Wood Johnson Foundations study that found politicians to be the number one factor in causing stress in our daily lives. Eighty-six percent of surveyed Americans indicated that they had experienced stress in the past month with 26 % saying those stress levels had been extreme. While major health issues were the largest contributor of longer term high levels of stress, issues surrounding everyday life were attributed to smaller daily stressors. Americans said that "hearing about what the government or politicians are doing"increased their stress levels more than dealing with long commutes, juggling the work-life balance and dealing with family dynamics. Hence the negative influence of our elected officials. And with the ongoing stalemate punctuated by vicious verbal attacks and other juvenile behavior in Washington, it really is no wonder. What we are watching looks like bad reality television. But when these issues-- the economy, immigration reform, religious freedoms, access to health care and global warming-- directly impact individual lives yet are treated like pawns in an ugly game, it is all too real. So it is no surprise that as a society we are so stressed. I know I am, are you?

And speaking about hearing and watching the politics play out on televisions, a NPR piece discussed the same study, focusing on the impact watching, reading or listening to the news has on our stress levels. Open a newspaper or turn on the news and it is filled with bad news. Foiled terrorist attacks, domestic disputes turned deadly and the recent horrific spate of parents leaving their young children in hot cars fill the airwaves and these are just the domestic news articles. And when an event is particularly horrifying, the media provides continual coverage of the event. If there is nothing new to report they replay the footage or bring in "experts" who not only speculate on the event at hand but link it to past atrocities. One only as to think about the events surrounding the September 11th terrorist attacks or the bombing of the Oklahoma City federal building to realize how true this year. Years after the event these images are still burned into my mind. But despite, or perhaps because, of the scale of these tragedies, people are watching. The above cited study found that "people who exposed themselves to six or more hours of media daily reported more acute stress symptoms than did people who were directly exposed" to the actual events. So we no longer need to actually experience the event in person in order to suffer the effects of its aftermath. Are we on the verge of becoming a country where everyone suffers from PTSD?

So who is to blame for all of this and what should we do? Do we elect new representatives with the hope that they can actually work together to solve our never ending list of problems? Do we turn everything off and simply unplug from current events? Do we run to our doctors requesting drugs to dull the side effects of our society? Sign up for yoga classes or live on media free communes that are cut off from the world? I have no idea what the solution is but something has to give. And soon....

The 'Woe Is Me' Race

Does it ever seem as though no matter what tale of woe you hear someone is quick to talk about how their situation was so much worse? As in "you think you have it bad but when I was a kid I had to walk to school...barefoot....in the snow.....uphill both ways." OK, I jest (sort of) but this is a quote I heard a lot growing up whenever one of us kids would complain about how bad or unfair we perceived something to be. For kids, it may often feel as though you had it worse, your life was tougher than everyone else's, your parents were meaner and you never got what you wanted. But to carry this attitude into adulthood? Unfortunately people do it and rarely, if ever, is it pretty. And when social media is involved, the problem seems to manifest itself all the more.

Sadly, I've seen this woe is me, my situation is worse than yours, too many times in the military community. This is especially sad since rather then supporting each other, we turn against one another, second guessing decisions and calling into question whose situation is worse. I recently read a blog piece that was written by a Army reservist's wife who was bemoaning an impending ten month separation from her husband. She unwittingly called the separation a deployment because those were the terms that she and her family thought about the separation in. But her husband wasn't being sent overseas, rather he was attending a military college program on the other side of the country (in the U.S.) and her family had made the decision not to be uprooted and move with him. So instead of fellow military spouses rallying around her to support the separation the claws came out in full force attacking her choice of words, questioning the decision to remain behind and essentially telling her that her situation was nothing compared to what other military spouses had gone through.

Choices such as voluntary separations are very personal and, I doubt, ever made lightly. Yes the circumstances between deciding to be apart versus being told you will be apart are very different but at the end of the day the results are the same: you are separated from your loved one. I am absolutely not discounting the stress and anxiety that comes from having a loved one deployed in a war zone but who are we, as individuals or a community, to judge someone else's decisions? If they want to call a situation by a certain name, let them instead of attacking them because what they said or are going through is different than our own experience. It is as if we in junior high or are we strong adults who hold our families together for months on end and support each other?

But along the same lines, whenever someone takes a moment to whine or commiserate, the same people attacking the above blogger are probably the ones who will be quick to tell you that their deployment experience was worse than theirs. Whether it be longer, during more "important" months, they experienced more house and car problems (which inevitably happens regardless of how long a military member is away) everything about their situation is worse. But in their civilian lives they are probably the same people who have the worst neighbors, their angelic children are probably in classes filled with misbehaving children, their daily commute is more trying and so forth. Maybe there is an award out there for having the worst situation that I am simply unaware of. Why else would people feel the need to try to one-up each other when it comes to bad or difficult situations?

Perhaps it is time that we all put on our big girl panties and support one another. A little understanding and compassion, i.e. "I'm sorry you are going through this" followed by an offer of a helping hand or positive advice would be a lot more productive than put downs and turning the situation into a competition about whose situation is worse. Think about it; its just the right thing to do.

City Mouse vs Country Mouse

I grew up in the country. While there were much more rural places in the area we were miles from schools, stores, restaurants, public transportation and other things I associated with urban living. Heck, our street didn't even have sidewalks and cable television wasn't an option. (The street still doesn't have sidewalks but now has cable). Honestly I hated it and wanted to get out to an urban environment as soon as I could. Ironically I ended up leaving and going to college in a suburban environment. But the community's close proximity to urban areas made the experience very tolerable for me. Every chance I got I was out and about in nearby cities where I thrived on the hustle and bustle that came with them. I moved to a city after college where the sounds of traffic, sirens and people became a the soundtrack of my life. I never realized how accustomed I grew to the noise until I would visit my mother's house where I found the silence deafening. Combined with the lack of street lights I could never feel completely comfortable there.

Fast forward a few years and I'm living on the suburban edge of a city where at the time we had the best of both worlds. There were lawns and sidewalks and close neighbors yet we were minutes away from the urban amenities I love. While friends were driving upwards of an hour to get to work my commute was less than ten minutes meaning I could actually come home for lunch if I wanted. Restaurants, theaters and other attractions were minutes away yet when we wanted it, our little neighborhood felt like a refuge from it all. It was pretty darn nice but then we moved.

First to a sprawling yet under developed city where I actually felt more isolated than I did growing up in my rural community. Our token patch of grass had a tree planted in it and the rest of our walled yard had been covered with multi-level tiles leaving things slippery when it rained and dusty when it didn't. Streetlights and sidewalks were non-existent yet cows and chickens were plentiful. And even if the desire arose, there was absolutely no place to walk to. We might as well have been in the country. But by the country's standards our living was urban but in my mind it was anything but. Now we truly live in a city center in a row how with a postage sized back yard and limited parking. Despite being two short blocks away from the historic city center our street is mostly quiet and when I sit in the backyard I can look up at the stars. And I love nothing more than listening to the toll of the cathedral's bells on Sunday mornings. (If I crane my neck and look out the window I can see the steeple as well). Within minutes of walking down the cobblestone streets we can be at both the bus and train stations, shopping at the local market or sitting in a restaurant or cafe. Talk about convenient.

But do you know what? Many days I actually find myself wishing for more green space. It would be nice to have an actual yard where Sidney could run, play and maybe even have a trampoline. Sometimes I even think it would be nice to have a garden. (Granted I've never actually planted one but it seems like it would be nice). When I'm hauling bags of groceries down the street I think about what a luxury a driveway would be. Or even reserved parking in front of my house. It would be nice to open our front windows without reaching out and touching the passing traffic (seriously). And not sharing walls with our neighbors? That would be heaven since with a rambunctious little boy I worry about noise. Maybe this true urban living isn't all it is cracked up to be.....

So country mouse or city mouse? Or neither. Maybe I'm really  a suburbanite at heart? Somehow this label feels just so wrong......

A Fish Out Of Water

Recently I've been feeling a bit like a fish out of water. I feel like I'm in limbo and don't really have a community to call my own. Maybe its because we recently moved (if you can call five months ago recent) and I have yet to find my niche. But as I look around me I find myself wondering just what my new "community" will be. Atypical of most military postings, there isn't a spouse group associated with Glenn's command. Add in the fact that I'm not working and Sidney attends a school without a PTA or other parent's group where I could easily meet my peers, and I'm actually finding it quite difficult to meet like minded people. Because from where I'm sitting, I really don't see a whole lot of people like me. That's not to say that I need to be surrounded by people like myself; rather I want to find at least a few people with whom I share similar interests and values.

I've had civilian friends tell me that by being a part of a military community I must be surrounded by people like myself. In a superficial sense this is true; we are all families who get uprooted every few years, understand than most the true costs of your country being at "war", and therefore can offer support to one another. This is most often the case. But just as our country is diverse, so is our military. Ethnically, spiritually, politically and yes, socio-economically we have variety. Add in the fact we are in an international military environment and the current level of diversity surrounding me so that much greater. Amidst all of this I'm finding myself feeling quite alone.

The American footprint here in Mons is much smaller than I expected and from what I've experienced, it is nothing like the close group of friends we've had at other duty stations. I feel as though the American community here is younger, more openly Christian and a lot more conservative than I am comfortable with. Now I'm not begrudging anyone their individual freedom to be open about these qualities but to be honest, they just aren't qualities I am comfortable with. I keep telling myself that there have to be fellow Americans here whose beliefs are more closely aligned to mine but I have yet to find them. I'm looking though.

And then there is the international community whom I do feel more comfortable around. Despite my inability to speak French in a meaningful way I find the greatest pleasure in interacting with them. Whether it be fellow parents at Sidney's school or Belgians in the community, this is where I am more comfortable. But I have yet to make a strong connection with anyone. But again, I'm looking.

And if I keep looking I'm eventually going to find what I'm looking for. Right? So, friend wanted. Must be socially and culturally open minded, enjoy good food and even better wine, have a spirit for adventure and love to explore. Parents of young children optional but a bonus. Any takers?

Like...Dislike

As a society have we become too reliant on social media? Have we lost our ability to communicate on a personal basis in favor of hiding behind a screen? I'll be the first to admit that I am a Facebook junkie and probably spend too much time scrolling through the likes of Facebook, Pinterest and Instagram. I can't even remember the last time I picked up an actual telephone to call someone yet I feel connected with my friends all around the world. In fact, it is because of social media that so many of these friendships have been kept alive and vibrant despite the distances between us. As for my handful of friends who haven't jumped on the Facebook bandwagon? I know it is wrong but I still keep in touch, but much more sporadically, than I do with my Facebook friends. And through Facebook I have found online communities that offer support and advice for just about any situation that may arise. If I have a question about the opening hours of a business, what is going on in the community or the daily specials at a restaurant I am more apt to check out their Facebook page than I am to pick up a phone and call. It is faster, more convenient and can be done on my own schedule and on my own terms. So yes it is nice but at the same time I can't help but wonder if we have simply gone too far.

Here in our SHAPE community just about every group and organization has their own Facebook page. There are the official ones that are managed by actual departments and offices--the general SHAPE page, the library, and MWR all provide a wealth of timely information and are quick to rebut any rumors that may be circulating. And then there are the what feels like hundreds of unofficial pages. There are pages for pet owners and frequent travelers, numerous pages to help people buy and sell items, and then general pages where questions are asked and answered. As with all situations involving social media, these pages need to be approached with a grain of salt since for every piece of good information there seems to be twice as many negative or false stories being circulated. But I'm not criticizing any of these pages; after all this is where I get the majority of my information about what is happening in my own community. But it makes me wonder, what about all of those people who are not on Facebook?

Yes, as hard as it may be to believe, there really is a contingent of people who shun social media and do not maintain online accounts. My husband is one of those people. While he does have a Facebook account, it has been so long since he logged in that he no longer remembers his password. In all honesty, his account now serves the sole purpose of keeping his far flung friends updated on his whereabouts and even then, this only comes from my tagging him in photos. But that seems to work for him. But it also means that if it wasn't for my telling him, he would be unaware of all of the vast array of activities and events taking place right around him. Even though he works right on base and is theoretically in the center of all of the activities, he is essentially unaware of many of the events that are taking place. Some larger events are announced via official notices yet much takes place outside of the official channels and seems to be announced solely on Facebook. Bake sales, ball fundraisers and family social events all sponsored by the Navy element here (and we are a Navy family) only seem to be announced via Facebook. Other activities will be announced on Facebook days if not weeks before an official notice may or may not be issued. Maybe it is just me, but this seems a bit odd.

And it begs the question of whether everyone needs to be plugged into social media. Can a workplace require it? Or can they strongly discourage it or even flat out forbid it (I know there are some places that do). And what about work places that advise their employees to use discretion? Can this guidance also extend to family members? Whether we like it or not, social media has become a global trend. By Facebook's own statistics, there are 1, 250 million active accounts worldwide. The United States, United Kingdom and Indonesia top out the list of countries with the most users (with Walmart being one of the most popular pages in the United States but that is a story for another blog post). But what does it mean if you are one of those people who hasn't logged on and clicked the "like" button. Are you simply destined to be left behind or left out? And is this necessarily a bad thing? Some days I'm not so sure..........

We Have Survived

Bundled up for the first day of school

Today is Sidney's last day of pre-school for the year. Although he started in February and only spent five months under the strict tutelage of Madame Isabelle, his Belgian, French speaking teacher, he has learned so much. In many ways he started as a shy little boy and has emerged as a much more confident  and worldly boy. But although short, it hasn't been an easy road.

For the first few weeks Sidney alternatively liked and hated school. At the end of the day he would say he had fun but then refuse to get out of bed the next morning. He would literally glue himself to his booster seat once we reached the school parking lot, requiring me to pry him out of the car and bring him kicking and screaming into his classroom. He said he didn't know what was going on since everything was conducted in French. Disliking the lunch that was provided by the school and refusing to even try it, he would be ravenous at the end of the day yet have no idea what was even offered on the menu. He would tell me he was good during the day but my appearance in the classroom at pick up time would immediately illicit a laundry list from his classmates reporting of everything Sidney (supposedly) did wrong during the day. On various days Sidney would come home with scribbles on the top of his head, paint on his arms and face and torn knees on his jeans with no real explanation as to how they all got there. Madame Isabelle initially said he was adjusting then she told us that he really needed to get better about listening. I began to wonder if our son would be kicked out of pre-school. (He wouldn't be the first one).

But gradually something changed. Sidney started listening to Madame and stopped hitting or kicking back at children who supposedly did this to him. He started talking about playing with his friends and began telling us how to say various things in French. Much to all of our surprise he started at least tasting everything on his lunch plate and has reported that some of the soup is even good. Pasta dishes remain his favorite but he will now sample the meats that are drenched in Dijon sauce and he really looks forward to the days when they serve fish. His artwork is still quite creative but he can write his name and readily recognizes many words in both English and French.

Somewhere along the line Sidney stopped crying at the notion of having to go to school in the morning and now gets himself up and dressed most mornings without any prompting or supervision. We arrived during the blustery and cold winter months making dressing in layers a no brainer. School is ending with days that are filled with cool mornings and warm afternoons (which reminds me more of later September rather than late June) thus prompting debates of what is appropriate attire for the day. Most days we end up in a compromise. He is now disappointed when it is Friday and he can't go to school for a whole two days. The refrain of "why is my school closed Mamma" has become a regular Saturday morning occurrence. And as of 15.15 today, Sidney will be on summer break; what will the boy (and his Mamma) do? We have variety of activities planned for the coming weeks including an extended stay in the United States and two weeks of summer camp (which Sidney is only willing to attend because "it is like school but with more fun activities and everyone will speak English). Sidney is concerned that other kids will be at his school while he isn't but I've assured him that no one will be there. And I've promised him that when we return from America he will be able to back to his school. It will be the same school with some of the same kids but a new Madame. Sidney wanted to know if she would speak English or French and my reassurance that she would speak French seemed to comfort him. Yes, things have changed in the past few months. My little boy has grown up and loves school. A mother really can't ask for more than that.

And Sid on a recent school morning wearing a
compromise outfit

Passion & Excellence

Some people just seem to be great at whatever they do. Whether it be academics, athletics, the arts, or one of a myriad of other things, it looks as though they effortlessly succeed in whatever they set out to accomplish. (At least that is how it appears from the outside). In high school they were the kid who was the star athlete, in more than one sport none the less, she was everybody's friend, they were the one who earned straight A's in honors classes, or was president of every club around. Or even worse, they were all of the above. They were the kids who had a bevy of acceptance letters to Ivy League universities and graduated with multiple job offers. I'm sure you know the type I am talking about. For the record, as much as I tried, I was not that person.

I have always been good at what I set out to achieve but never the best. In school I got good grades but I worked hard to achieve what always ended up being a second place finish. Despite my best efforts I was a lousy athlete and after a few difficult and discouraging attempts I learned to focus my efforts elsewhere. I gained admission to a good college and worked hard to do well while there but despite my efforts could never achieve the highest honors. Unlike some people who have had a burning desire for a certain profession since they were young, I was all over the map and unsure of what I actually wanted to do "when I grew up". (I still don't know). As a result I graduated with a liberal arts degree, having taken classes in just about every subject matter but being an expert in none of them. This qualified me to........play a mean game of Jeopardy???? Even my graduate degree, which I worked hard for and enjoyed earning, lacked the focus of my graduating peers. Perhaps I am really a generalist at heart since I went on, through hard work, to be moderately successful in each job but those jobs were all over the place.  Whenever I looked for a new job I always found one but they never felt exactly right or what I was looking for. But then again, I'm not sure I even knew what I was looking for. If you ask me what my profession was/is I'm really not sure what to tell you. While others have risen through the ranks and had succinct titles, at various times I've professed to be a writer, researcher, program manager, supervisor, planner, and freelancer.....I've carried all of those titles but what do they really mean?

Personally I have a lot of hobbies that I dabble in but none are what I consider to be a true passion or something that I excel at. I enjoy writing and blog regularly but am nowhere near  what I would consider to be a professional blogger, which is jet another "career" I have contemplated from time to time. (There are people who actually make money doing this but my writing lacks a targeted subject that can draw in a critical mass--and honestly I would have it no other way since my blogging is like me--all over the place). I love to cook but, while it is good it isn't necessarily all that original and certainly isn't going to win a master chef award. Recently I've been exploring the fine arts with photography and water colors. I love these creative activities but simply lack that innate artistic talent that comes naturally to people who consider themselves to be true artists. And if you find yourself stressing over your attempts and working too hard to achieve something that is supposed to be a stress free hobby, is it really worth the effort? And speaking of being stress free, while I enjoy the stretching of yoga, in class my mind simply wanders and I rarely leave feeling relaxed. Really, I am all over the place.

Recently I've been finding myself wondering what I would do if I could do it all over again. Can you request a "do over" for life as an adult? A time to reset and do those things that they have always wanted to do. I know some people who have done just that and succeeded. I think I am too much of a conformist and afraid of the risks to take that jump. And honestly, I don't know what I would do or where I would even begin. As I look around I see people who by outwardly appearances seem successful in their endeavors and have a real passion for some aspect of their life. Me? I feel like I work hard to achieve what I have but don't stand out in any way.

Do I have a passion? Something that comes so naturally to me? I love a lot of things and like even more but can't find a single thing to focus on. Perhaps that is why I was a liberal arts major and learned a little about a lot of things. I am a great conversationalist at cocktail parties since chances are I know at least a little bit about whatever subject comes up. Hey wait, maybe I need to be a professional attendee on the cocktail party circuit? But seriously.... I would love to have a single activity that I am passionate about but somehow I feel that working too hard to find the activity actually defeats the purpose. At the moment  I can only dream about finding an activity that comes easy to me and I enjoy participating in. I'm looking and I will keep looking. In the meantime, invite me to your party; I promise to keep the conversation flowing.

Speak To Me

Graduation season is upon us and with it comes the long string of commencement speeches. Speakers are often high profile; politicians, actors or activists; all bringing with them inspiring messages encouraging graduates to go out and take on the world. Although I have no memory of what was actually said, I remember my college speaker being the late Ann Richards,  the former Texas governor who lost her reelection bid to George W. Bush. I'm sure her words were powerful but in all honesty, after the ceremony was over I doubt I gave them another thought.

Speakers are selected in a variety of ways; perhaps through a democratic process by the student body, faculty, or administration but most often based upon their individual achievements and success in their chosen field. As leaders in their fields in the past they may have made controversial statements or issued directives or have political leanings that some people don't necessarily agree with. But strong and inspiring leaders are just that; they are leaders who make hard decisions that move us forward, for better or for worse, as they deem best. If the intent of a commencement address is to inspire and urge young adults to take risks and be strong leaders, you want such strong and outspoken people giving the speech. Or so you would think......

The most popular commencement speakers are often in high demand, requiring them to be selected months, if not years in advance of the actual graduate date. But in the past few weeks I've been hearing about speakers bowing out due to student protests or invitations to speak being rescinded at the last minute by colleges and universities because the student body no longer wants to support or hear the message. First there was a rescinded invitation from Brandeis University for human rights activist Ayaan Hirsi Ali to receive an honorary degree after she made anti-Islamic statements. Then there was former Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice's withdrawal from speaking at Rutgers University's graduation after faculty and students protested her role in implementing George Bush's foreign policy. And perhaps most surprisingly (to me) of all was the withdrawal of International Monetary Fund (IMF) Chief Christine Lagarde from speaking at the Smith College commencement after students criticized IMF policies for furthering "imperialist and patriarchal systems that oppress and abuse women worldwide." But the controversy around commencement speakers isn't new. Last year invitations were rescinded for speaking out against gay rights (Ben Carson, Johns Hopkins University) and for supporting them (John Corvino, Providence College). And again, the policies of the Bush administration caused another speaker (Robert Zoellick, Swarthmore College) to not speak.

By protesting Rice's appearance Rutgers students are missing out on an opportunity to hear a powerful female leader share her words of wisdom. The same holds true for Lagarde and every other speaker whose engagement was cancelled. These protests only represent a single point of view. One needs to ask why the speaker was invited in the first place. Surely there are members of the student body who agree with some or all of the controversial policies. Where is their right to hear what these speakers were going to say? But more importantly, in focusing on the politics and policies Rice, Lagarde and other implemented or supported rather than the knowledge, experience, and insight these speakers would have shared, graduates are missing out on one of life's biggest lessons: whether we like it or not, we are living and working in a diverse environment. And that means hearing viewpoints we might not necessarily agree with and thinking about how these different views have shaped the world we live in. Colleges and universities are often considered to be bubbles from the outside world. But the rest of the world isn't as sheltered and neatly packaged. So on the eve of entering that big bad world, what message is being sent by sheltering these young adults from hearing a viewpoint they might disagree with? If nothing else, that varying opinion could fire up a new generation to take on the world.

Une Journee Portes Ouvertes De L'Ecole

My little chimney sweep peeking out to
make sure his parents were there

As parents of an up and coming student, this past week Glenn and I participated in what will be the first of many for us: the annual spring performance. I remember my own parents attending my performances and I'm realizing that regardless of the decade, the country, or the student's age, some things just never change. And now that I have been on both sides of the performance stage I have a whole new appreciation for everything it entails.

I'm not sure whether it is just the way Belgian schools communicate with their parents or my lacking of clear understanding of the French language (most likely it is a combination of both), but this whole spring performance remained somewhat of a mystery right up until the moment it went live. (And other parents, regardless of their mother tongue felt the same way). Back in March Sidney began talking about practicing for his show but never elaborated on what that actually meant. Early last month a notice was sent home in both French and English announcing a school wide open house that would be held over the course of two weeks and asking permission for our children to participate. With no times or further details forthcoming we granted permission. It was around this point when Sidney found the original Julie Andrews version of Mary Poppins at the library and asked to bring it home. As he danced along to the music in our living room he said that he was practicing for his school show. Ah-ha, I finally put two and two together to realize that his class would be staging a performance of Mary Poppins. I still didn't know when it would be and beyond his dance moves Sidney couldn't tell me what his role would be but at least I began to understand what was going on.

Two weeks ago on a Wednesday I received a notice from the school that I was required to provide Sidney with a costume of a black hat, black pants, and black shirt no later than Friday. Sidney did not own a single black item and Thursday was a Belgian holiday where unlike in the United States, everything is closed for business. Still not sure what his role was we scurried off to the mall after school and secured the required items which were (thankfully) met with Madam's approving nod. I still had no idea when Sidney would be performing and wondered how an open house could go on for weeks. Surely they wouldn't have little four-year-olds performing every day. Would they?

It turns out the answer was no. Two weeks ago we were told that Sidney's class, des Cerises, would be performing at 13:45 sharp on Thursday and that parents were to gather in the small gymnasium ahead of time. Under a strict warning from Sidney that we were not to embarrass him, Glenn and I crammed into the stuffy room with the other parents at our designated time. There were very few chairs so most of us stood. The room grew hot as we waited for the performance to begin. It gave me an opportunity to check out my fellow parents, many of whom I recognized from morning drop off. Attire included everything from a spandex biking outfit and short shorts to jeans and tons of camouflage and flight suits. (This is a military environment after all). We were a motley crew ready to watch our little international actors perform. There were cameras, iPhones, iPads and even a few full fledged video cameras poised and ready to go when the small students, under the watchful eyes of a cadre of Madams entered the room and tentatively acted out their scenes. The kids just looked so small as they stepped out in front of the parental paparazzi. No tears were shed although a few kids looked as though they wanted to bolt. Others, including our little chimney sweeper of a son, were hams as they fearlessly jumped and danced their way around the room. The lyrics were all in French but this didn't deter Sidney as he moved right along to the music. Seeing my little boy out there smeared in paint and acting so sure of himself was one of those moments that my mother had warned me about. I felt such enormous pride that it just made my heart melt.

After the show Sidney showed off his artwork which was decorating the hallway. As I've mentioned before we are not an artistic family so it was wonderful to see his colorful drawings and scratched out name that were on par with his classmates. (Now if only I could get him to do something other than scribble with a black marker at home since I now know he can do it). Sidney was bursting with excitement and pride as he showed Glenn and I what he had been doing at school. Then the entire class hustled back into their room where they stripped down to their underwear and back into the street clothes while the Madams looked on and parents milled about. (Yes, we are in Europe and no one was batting an eye as all of this went on). Then there were kisses for the Madams, backpacks were collected and the kids were dismissed early.

So we survived our first Belgian open house. I'm not sure I would call this whole experience an open house by American standards but at the core was a ritual that we will be repeating for years to come. With short notice I assembled a costume (I wonder if my mom remembers the reindeer incident of Christmas 1979?) and watched my little boy have his acting debut. I'm sure each school performance will become more sophisticated but I'm mighty proud of my little four year old dancing his heart out to a French Mary Poppins. So here's to the years of performances that are to come.

Surprise! Here's to the little actors and their
 amazing (and patient) Belgian teachers 

Missing Miss Elvana

I know this is totally a first world problem and a middle class, first world problem at that. But please forgive me for a moment when I say that the number one thing I miss about our time in Albania is our wonderful housekeeper. There I said it and I think her every time I pick up a broom or a scrub brush.

I am not a happy housekeeper and I have never pretended to be. I clean when I need to and make sure the house is always as clean as can be when we have company. On a daily basis when it is just us however, I struggle. I make the bed most mornings because there is something really nice about slipping between smooth sheets in the evening. But wrestling a fitted sheet onto an oversized mattress? The task usually involves some acrobatics and a few not too pretty words. While I love cooking and have no problem cleaning up after myself in the kitchen, giving the counters and floor a thorough mopping is definitely not the highlight of my day. Laundry and all it entails, especially the folding of what seems like a hundred white tube socks in both adult and kid sizes is simply tedious and time consuming. I do like things to be clean so I can generally abide by scrubbing a toilet but tackling the hard water stains in the shower are enough to drive me batty. And vacuuming? Just the sound of the vacuum cleaner is enough to make me run for the hills. Everyone has things they are both good at, they enjoy, or they find relaxing but no matter how I think about it or try it, the domesticity involved in cleaning the house is just not my thing.

One of the advantages of being an American living overseas in a developing country is the ready availability of quality and affordable household help. So when we moved to Albania and hired a full time housekeeper to keep our cavernous house in order I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Initially I was resistant to the idea; after all I thought it was a luxury we didn't need, since I could do it myself (if I really wanted to). But I soon changed my tune. Miss Elvana, our amazing housekeeper, was the best thing that happened to me in Albania. She knew just what to do to make sure the house was always immaculate. Despite his best efforts, Sidney's toys were never out of place and Glenn's shirts were ironed to perfect crispness. After I got over my initial reluctance of having her do our laundry, I grew to love returning home to piles of freshly laundered clothing just waiting to be put away. There is nothing like walking in the door at the end of the day and being greeted by the smell of a spotless and totally cleaned house. (It just isn't the same when you yourself smell like the said cleaning product). Not having to fold laundry or mop down the six dust covered wrap around balconies was really nice. Hosting a dinner party where all I have to do is focus on the cooking was a once in a life time experience (or a two and a half year blip of heaven). I knew I had it good and now I am constantly being reminded just how good it was.

Because now I have my new reality. Household help in Belgium is no where near as affordable as it was in Albania. Besides, now that I am no longer working, Sidney is out of the house most of the day, and we don't formally entertain on a regular basis, it would be really hard to justify the expense of having someone clean up after us. So I clean. Sort of. In my own way. Because of reduced electricity rates late at night and on weekends, Saturdays and Sundays are a marathon of laundry. We have wood, tile and ceramic floors with carpets on top and no matter what the surface they all seem to collect copious amounts of dirt despite our being a shoeless house. And our textured walls that look so beautiful from a distance? Up close I realize just how good those textures are at trapping dust. I don't know if it is the rain or something else but Belgium seems to have a lot of spiders. And these said spiders like to take up residence in the high corners of our ceilings. Every day. And sometimes multiple times in a single day. I kid you not. And the water. Not only is it so hard that it stains every indoor surface it touches, but it also stains and streaks the outsides of our large windows. Maybe it is simply because I am not proficient in this task, but cleaning this house could really be a full time job.

So I tackle it piece by piece. It is no where near as immaculate as it would be under Miss Elvana's thorough hands but for the most part it is good enough. I try my best and that is all I can do. So today, my self appointed scrubbing of the bathroom day, I am thinking longingly about the days when our bathrooms sparkled. I don't think I truly appreciated just how good I had it. But it is what it is. Today, as I scrub I'll be grateful for only having one and a half bathrooms instead five and appreciate the fact that Glenn now wears uniforms on a daily basis, therefore reducing our laundry load. Now if only I we could get rid of all of those white tube socks........