Expat Mums Blog

Homesick

Mami has something called homesick.

Symptoms:

• Sad eyes
• Sudden outbursts of crying
• Staring off into a distance
• Long telephone conversations with abuelita
• Repetitive speech " I want to go home" "I wish we could go home" "Can't we go home?"

(Between you and me, I don't get that last one, isn't her home here with papi and me?)

I've heard this illness is very common and everyone has it at least once. I must have been vaccinated against it, because so far, I haven't had this homesickness mami talks about.

Why doesn't she just go to the GP like when I'm sick? Silly mami, I think she want to ride it out.

From what I can see, there are more serious cases and sometimes you just get a small virus. She says "this time of year is the worst for homesickness".

And I hope it's not contagious because I don't want to catch homesick too. Come to think of it, papi doesn't seem to have caught it, so I should be safe. Phewwwww!

Here's what I recommend

• Take Calpol before bed and take every 4 hours as needed. Always works for me!
• Lots of kisses and hugs from papi and I
• A long nap. I always feel a little better after a good sleep
• Have a bottle of warm milk or coffee, I know how much you like drinking that
• Keep the special picture I made for you with glitter close by. I know how much you like sparkly stuff!

This post was written by Maria, a US expat living in the UK. She blogs at Mummy's Busy World.
 

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

Thanksgiving in the UK

Thanksgiving is one of the hardest holidays as an American-born expat. I’d say it is harder than the Fourth of July – it is getting close to winter and the daylight hours are waning, often pitch dark not long after school pickup.

It is that awkward time of year when the temperatures haven’t dipped low enough for Jack Frost to cast a shimmering spell over the rooftops, it is just cold and grey and gloomy.

Every year I make an effort to preserve the Thanksgiving tradition. When I was working fulltime, I would take the day off and spend it in the kitchen.

When distance seems far

Most of the time the distance between England and America doesn't bother me much, but sometimes it hits me hard. This month I'll have missed my ten year high school reunion and my cousin's wedding. However, most often it's not the big things that set off bouts of homesickness, it's the little things.

It's baking a pie and not being able to get the crust quite right. I can't just call my Mom and find out what I did wrong because there's an 8 hour time difference.

It's realizing that the pyrex pie plate I've bought in the UK is smaller than 9 inches, and not knowing where to find one the size I'd really like to have in this country.

It's knowing that the Corelle Livingwear plates we brought with us from the US take up one forth the amount of space in our cupboards of the ones we bought here, and not being able to find more anywhere here.

Craving summer

It's September.  A fact that has weighed on my mind a lot over the last few weeks.  September is Fall...or Autumn...or whatever it is you want to call it.  It seems final.  Like Summer is gone before it was even here. 

I know, stereotypical Scotland-blogger.  Complaining about the weather. The wet, endless rain, grey, swamp I have been living in for weeks upon end.  Sure, there have been breaks in the grey, but not many and not often enough to be called Summer.  I even had the heating on for 20 minutes on Saturday night ... in August.