Expat Mums Blog

The frog curses

I had not planned on teaching my 21-month old daughter how to curse. What kind of role model would I be? I don't even curse! Blame the frog, it only wanted to be heard. REE-BIT.

Yesterday was like any other morning, I woke up early and made coffee while Beli and my husband slept. Caught up on some reading, blogs, etc. Then Beli woke up and wanted to draw, one of her favorite activities, so I sat next to her and drew a frog and said, "See, this is zaba (frog in Croatian) and it says , ree-bit-ree-bit. She looked at me and smiled. A few minutes later my husband woke up and walked into the living room just as Beli screamed, "JEBE, JEBE."

He looked at me and said, "You know she just cursed?" Surprised, I asked, "Why do you say that?" I mean, all I taught her was the sound a frog makes. Right? "Beli, tell daddy how a frog goes ree-bit-ree-bit, and she repeated, "Jebe, jebe." Here's the thing, she's only 21 months old and can't pronounce the R sound just yet.

Accidentally Causing Offence

Why is it that when learning a new language, the only words that are easily remembered are the swear words? Which means of course that you are left with a load of ways to be rude to people, admittedly helpful whilst driving in Bosnia but not ideal when you are trying to exchange pleasantries and ingratiate yourself into the nursery gate club.

The thing that I have noticed is that not only do I know the swear words, but I frequently get them muddled up with other, every day words. So I’ll be chattering away, massacring their language in a very British way with everyone smiling indulgently at my efforts and then, suddenly, their eyebrows fly through the roof and I realise that once again my Bosnian Tourettes syndrome has struck.

It IS a small world after all

It turns out that two of our favourite Brit expats in America have recently discovered that not only do they have similar experiences getting used to life in the US midwest but they have met before, a little while ago. They recently published posts talking of this coincidence that neatly demonstrates the smallness of the world. Both posts are reproduced here, complete with photos of some very young bloggers-to-be.

Lady Marmalade

This was my second marmalade season. Last year I was amazed and beguiled by the ease of making home-made marmalade. My first attempt was a triumphant success. I put oranges, sugar and water into the pot - stirred a few times in between feeding and changing the baby - and a few hours later I had a crisp, tangy, jewel-coloured jelly that set like a dream. Like gelatinous sunshine in a jar.

I'll admit I got a bit cocky. I wrote about how simple it all was, and how unnecessary it was for people to over-complicate things like cooking.

This year, it was different.

Home is where the heart is -- but where's your heart

“Don’t you ever miss home?” an old friend asked me on Facebook a few days ago. She was referring to Sardinia, the Italian island where I was born and lived until the age of 17. More specifically, she was referring to Nuoro, the “city” so small it is barely a city at all – more of a town, really – where we all lived, went to school, met in the evening to walk up and down the Corso Garibaldi, the main street, and then stop at the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele, the square where we all went to play as kids, because our parents would take us back to where they used to hang out with their friends; the square where we also, as teens, started hanging out with our friends.

The Little Things I Miss

Proper bacon butties on a soft white bun
Greasy spoon caffs, the crossword in the Sun.
Office gossip, discussing last night’s TV
The little work crushes and builder’s tea.

Boots the Chemist, Greggs sausage rolls
New M&S pants to replace mine with holes
Football away days, the Balti pies
Wins over Derby and FA cup ties

One New Year’s Resolution I Won’t Be Breaking

My foremost resolution for 2010 is to bring our baby into the world.  I’m 39 weeks pregnant; baby and I are cramped and uncomfortable; there’s no turning back now. 

I’m ready to become a mom.  My pregnancy has been a wild, sushi and brie free ride of new understanding.  I never pondered the ins and outs of pregnancy until I joined the club.  I’d never heard of quickening, TENS machines, toxoplasmosis or perineal massage.  I also never considered giving birth any other way than spread eagle on my back in a hospital bed, numbed by an epidural and probably shouting obscenity at my husband for impregnating me in the first place.  Birth would be just like in the movies, right?

A Serial Short Term Expat

OK, so I’m not really officially an Expat mum … at the moment … but I have been and well, with the way my feet are itching at the moment, I’m pretty sure I will be again. So, on the invite of the lovely Emily at Brits in Bosnia, here I am!

I first entered the world of being an expat age 23 when I spent six wonderful months living in Japan – minus a baby. I remember stepping off the plane and navigating myself in a daze around the busy airport swarming with people. I had a broad smile on my face and burning flames of excitement deep in my stomach. It took all I had to stop them from leaping right out of my mouth. I remember thinking “this is the life for me.”

There is no queue in Hungarian

I have to admit it, I am a British person to the core of my being.  Living away from the UK for over a year has finally taught me this.  There are a lot of British cultural traits/ modes of behaviour that I can do without, queuing is not one of them.  I have always been a stickler for queue etiquette- waiting my turn even when the Kids were desperate for the loo and the sensible thing would have been to push in.  If someone pushed in front in a queue I would tut tut, mutter, or sometimes when I was feeling brave actually say something.  This is not something that I can do in Hungary.  For a start there is not a letter Q in Hungarian.  Some foreign words seem to have sneaked in here like "quick" but when they appear they are spelled with a "kv". 

US vs. UK Christmas

As our fair Josie at Sleep is for the Weak is taking a holiday sabatical from the Writing Workshop, we here at Cafe Bebe are struggling for inspiration.  I’ve gone to Josie for a personal prompt and it’s a good one!  Her advice, US vs UK Christmases?  Which one is better?  What’s different??  Are you ready for a bit of Christmas cheer??

Here is what my Christmases were like in the US…it should be noted that I DO NOT SPEAK FOR ALL AMERICANS!

• The official Christmas shopping season begins the day after Thanksgiving. Every shop in the land is open at 5 or 6am with “Door Buster” sales and all sorts of incentives to get silly shoppers out of the house at ridiculous o’clock. Thanksgiving is usually the 4th Thursday in November- this past year it was the 26th of November so “Black Friday” was 27 November.