Expat Mums Blog

Learning languages

ONE of the things our break back in the UK allowed me to do was to see how much learning a second language has affected the boys ability to speak English. We spent a lot of time with friends who have similar age children and it was interesting for me to compare their English linguistic developments.

Luke appears to have been the most affected. Aged 18 months when we arrived he is now 2 1/2. I've never really heard him say much in Bosnian, but understand from his teachers at nursery that it is at a basic level: Yes, no, won't, don't, mine. In other words all the most useful words for a toddler. His English isn't bad at all, but there is a definite difference between him and his English peers. Having said that, after 5 weeks in the UK where he only heard English led to the most remarkable advances in his language skills. Who knows whether this jump was due to occur anyway, or whether being back in England encouraged it.

English childhood is another country

I have lived in the UK for so long now - nearly half my life - that I hardly consider myself an expat anymore. I understand the etiquette of queuing. I can make a decent cup of tea and I can discuss the both the weather and driving conditions on the M25 with genuine enthusiasm when smalltalk is required. Sometimes, when I talk about the British I say "we".

When I had my first child three years ago, however, I was once again reminded I was living in a foreign country. The English childhood has certain rules and codes that are a mystery to me.

The shouting contest and YOU ARE NOT JAPANESE

I went, I did my bit, I returned. I went to the elementary school to do my annual compulsory volunteering for Waku Waku Kids.

I am always a little anxious when I go off to do these things, because, as anyone else who lives here will tell you, anything like this is frought with the potential of humiliation. Not that you are going to do anything wrong necessarily, it’s just that no one can let you just go and do your thing and not mention the fact or draw attention in some way to the fact, that you ARE NOT JAPANESE.

I know I am not. I have always been aware that I am somewhat lacking in that department, but I’m ‘okay’ with that, but there will always be a little ‘thing’, a little moment, where it has to come up.
Sunshine once asked me when she was younger if people thought I didn’t know.

Little differences

On Friday I had many inquiries into what English mum's wear to drop off their kids at school.  It would be simple enough to just answer the question.  I think it needs more than that though.  It needs more explaining.  It is a cultural difference that is very subtle yet when it stares you in the face daily it becomes glaringly obvious.

First I should start at the beginning.  American school children go to school generally without uniforms (this is slowly changing throughout the country).  They can wear whatever their parents deem appropriate.  When I was growing up, it was generally a pair of clean jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers (trainers).  Here in England, all kids wear uniforms to school.  The uniform consists of a pair of neutral colored trousers (or skirts), a white blouse or polo shirt, and a school jumper (sweatshirt), or school cardigan.

Ex-pat re-education

If there’s one place that still makes me feel like an ex-pat it’s my kids’ school.  First there’s the grade system. My oldest is now in tenth grade thank goodness, so there’s less of the counting on fingers to figure out a kid’s age. In the UK, it’s “years” which are one ahead of grades - Year 1 is Kindergarten, Year 2 is First Grade, and so on.
 
Then there’s the annual school supplies list which asks for things like trapper-keepers. I thought it was zoology equipment at first! (For those not in the know, it’s a school binder with lots of things inside and a zip all the way round.)  I used to phone friends for translations, but I now give my kids the lists and let them run around the store. 

Going Christmas crackers...

Roxi experienced an English "Christmas Dinner" at school yesterday.

Roast Turkey

• Mashed Potatoes

• Bacon wrapped sausages (yikes!)

• Stuffing

• Mince pies*

• Lollipops

• and Christmas Crackers

Since I have never seen an open Christmas cracker, I bought a box of 12 for us to open (pop?) during our little "Christmas morning" here before we leave.

Please, leave your sick kids at home!

PLEASE, my fellow moms -- if your child threw up last night’s dinner or had the loo permanently stuck to their bottom last night, DO NOT SEND HIM TO SCHOOL.

I don’t care if you asked him if he wanted to stay home and he said no. I would want to get out of the house too if I was faced with the choice of helping a grumpy mommy with the growing mountain of laundry the size of Everest or playing with my friends.

The thing is, when you send your sick child to school, they spread their germs. They don’t do it intentionally – they cough or sneeze and the virus suspends itself in mid air, non discriminate on where, or on whom, it lands.

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.

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.

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!”