Expat Mums Blog

Mummy, why are we girls?

I get up early. By 6.15 I am down stairs in the living room with a laptop with a steaming cup of coffee. I try to get a good hour or so of work done before the kids get up.

But for the past week, HM (high maintenance), my 3 and ½-year-old, has woken up before her two older sisters and tip toed down the stairs with her blanket and pillow and snuggled in my lap.

I love this time with her. She looks into my eyes, revels in my undivided attention, and tells me something about her life:  The name of a new friend. A toy she wants. A declaration that she doesn’t like Cheerios.

Today she looked at me and asked: “Mummy, why are we girls?”

I could hear my husband snickering from the kitchen as he poured his coffee. I sensed that he was thrilled that it was I that was asked the question.

Leave the hubbies at home: How to double your income from charity events

Our PTA financed a fantastic new playground this summer. The new play equipment is extremely popular with the children, but the downside is that we “shot the wad” so to speak. We need money.

Our next major fund raiser is the Winter Ball. It’s “black tie and glamorous frocks” and includes a three course meal at a local golf club, with a band and an auction of promises.

It should be a wonderful event. Tickets sold out the day they went on sale (at £100 a pop). I was one of the lucky ones.

The problem is my husband does not want to go to the ball. And I bet that most of the husbands do not share their wives' enthusiasm for attending this fund raiser.

Pardon?

I first came to the UK in 1990 for a study abroad programme in Bath. I was a journalism student and had never been outside the US except for a trip to Niagara Falls when I was a kid and the obligatory Tijuana bar hopping over the border in college.  I thought living in the UK would be an adventure.

I was placed with a family with two girls; an 18-month-old named Marie and a four-year-old named Emma.

Immediately I was fascinated with the language differences.  I was quickly comparing the American version of British words with Emma – jumpers are sweaters, trousers are pants, pants are knickers. Hee hee hee, isn't this fun.

At dinner, we continued the conversation, she thought it was hilarious. I was about to tell her about jello, which is jelly, and that Americans love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I thought she would find this particularly amusing.

Coffee mornings and threadworms

I love coffee mornings. Women get together and discuss all sorts of things that they wouldn’t dream of mentioning on the playground or at a dinner party.

This week the topics drifted from Sarah Palin (the UK is actually frightened) to Jerusalem artichokes (I had no idea!) to threadworms.

My ears perked up when the discussion turned to threadworms. It’s one of those topics people don’t often talk about in public, like flatulence, headlice, and sex.

It turns out that threadworms (knows as "pinworms" in the US) are quite common in the UK, and most of the mums at the coffee morning had dealt with them at one point.

Oh, my.

A couple of my daughters have been complaining lately of itching “down there” and I had put it down to, how shall I say this, a lack of understanding on how to use toilet paper properly.

British shopping carts -- does it need to be this hard?

I've been living in the UK on and off since 1990. I have a British passport. My children were born here. I can make a roast that can compete with the best of them.

Why the heck can't I steer a British shopping cart?

I am resigned to the fact that "things are harder here". When I first opened a bank account, I went to the branch where I lived. Bad move. On a lunch break one day, when I needed to withdraw more money than allowed by the ATM, I had to travel 40 minutes from my work place in order to complete the transaction. The systems were not "connected".

Little orphan oboe

"Did you say that the oboe was an orphan...?"

I was trying to register what my eight-year-old daughter had just said to me. It was late and my mind was going through my to-do list for the next day.

“No, not an orphan, mummy. The oboe is an endangered instrument.”

Oh, right, of course, how could an oboe be an orphan that would be ridiculous.  Silly me.

“The lady that teaches flute and oboe told us at assembly that the oboe is an endangered instrument in the orchestra. That’s why Lucy and I want to learn it.”

It turns out she's right. Apparently an accomplished oboist is always in demand.

Playdate etiquette -- the unwritten rules

When I was little and was bored with my four brothers and sisters – I would disappear next door to play with my best friend. We would practice endless baton routines with The Carpenters Mr Postman Please blaring in the background on a record player. I had an open invitation and my mother always knew where to find me.

Today, playing with your best friend is more formal. We fit in “playdates” in between swimming, football and French. The spontaneity is gone.  I know one mother who has playdates booked months in advance. She's a working mum and pencils in our daughter's name between items like "Ian's review" and "ops meeting".

If you are new to the wonderful world of arranging your child’s extracurricular play time, here are the unwritten rules.

The end of finger sucking?

I was dreading the dentist. I knew that he would comment yet again on how my 4 1/2-year-old should not suck her fingers.

I also knew I didn't have a plan to combat this habit -- apart from the occasional “serious” discussions about my daughter's future beauty and other equally unsuccessful activities.

However, this time the dentist had a plan...or at least tangible advice.

He produced a leaflet about thumb and finger guards which are sold in the UK and are apparently quite successful. Our dentist gave the product a resounding thumbs up and that’s all I needed.

I promptly went to Thumbguard and bought a finger guard for £49.99 plus the usual extras.

Class reps: We need you!

I haven't decided if I'm going to the PTA meeting this week. Why?  For every hour spent in a PTA meeting, I end up doing two hours of PTA work. And if I have a glass of wine, it will end up being three hours.

This meeting is the one in which class reps are assigned. So if I get roped in volunteer to be a class rep, it’s not just double the time, but exponentially more time.

I know that if no one else’s hand goes up for one of my children’s classes, the guilt will set in and I'll find my arm defying my brain.

Immediately I'll regret this. My husband's inevitable last words will ring in my ear: "DON'T commit to anything, honey." Oooppps.

I help out primarily for the same reason I do other school volunteer work – to make my children’s education experience the best it can be.

The last lecture -- achieving your childhood dreams

I'm known for being a bit behind in current events. I come by this honestly (my parents still don't have cable TV) but I'm sure it is made worse by the fact that my brain can only handle so many bits and bytes and mine is on overload with kid stuff.

So when my friend Charlene asked if I had heard about "The Last Lecture" I gave my usual blank look.

If you haven't heard about this, let me explain. Randy Pausch was a professor at Carnegie Mellon in the US. Diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 2007, he gave a moving "last lecture" on achieving your childhood dreams that was videotaped and widely distributed on You Tube. To date, the lecture has been viewed by more than 6 million people.

YOU HAVE TO MAKE THE TIME TO SEE THIS. It is worth all 76 minutes. It is a good reminder of what is important in life.

Note: Randy Pausch died this summer.

This post was written by Susanna, an Expat Mums Blog founder. You can also find her at her blog, A Modern Mother.

Everything a mother says in a day -- condensed to two minutes and 55 seconds

Not sure who this woman is and why she is singing to a huge audience, but this is hilarious!

This post was written by Susanna, an Expat Mums Blog founder. She can also be found at her blog A Modern Mother.

Go on then, be a dinner lady

I volunteer as a dinner lady at my daughters' school.

I did it out of sheer desperation. I had no idea what was going on at that hallowed institution – my daughter offers very little insight.

Before being a dinner lady, this is how our conversations would go as we made our way home:

Me: “how was school today, sweetie?”

Daughter:  (looking around to see if any of her friends were still on the school premises; she spots one) “Hello Ella!”

Hubby going to the US? Don't get mad, get shopping!

I always know when my husband is going on another business trip state side. He’ll call, or send an email, saying something like “honey, there’s a big show in (fill in major US city, most likely Las Vegas) next week and so and so says he can't go, so I might have to instead”.  Or “(Fill in major client name) is having an account review meeting in New York next week, and I might have to attend to make sure it goes well”.

In reality the trip is already in his diary and he has already booked the travel. But he has this thing about “setting expectations” and he thinks that if he gives me some advance notice of extended travel, that I will not rip his head off by the time het gets home. I guess there is some truth to this.

But what he hasn’t realised is that I’ve changed my stance on US travel. Instead of being annoyed with him it, I look upon it as a shopping opportunity. With the dollar still weak against the pound, there are deals to be had in the US!