This is common Third Culture Kid behaviour. Well into adulthood, I changed to adapt to my different worlds too. It brings a smile to my face to now watch it play out in my own children. Somewhere along the line, we learn that certain customs, reactions, or jokes are accepted in one environment but not so much in the other. We become self-aware, and we adapt. We negate one side of ourselves to become one thing to one person, and another to another.

Ayo is a confident French kid at school. He is graded no differently to his French peers on his “dictée”, the infamous weekly French spelling exam. He raises a polite pointed finger like his classmates to ask for a question instead of the more brazen American hand raise. He’ll even say “yesss!” and “wouaaat?” in that horrible French accent when he wins a game with his buddies.

My eight year old came home from school one day with a bright laminated name card. On it, he had coloured in a boy and written in bold colors the name “Jack”.

“That’s my English name, mama!” he told me with great enthusiasm.

“Oh really? But umm, you already have an English name” I told him. “Why don’t you use your actual name for English class?” He shrugged, not fully able to explain his choice.

“Do other children use their given names in English class?” I enquired further wondering if he was worried about being different. “Yes, of course they do, mama” he assured me. “But they can also choose a more English one. So that’s just what I did!” he said, shrugging again.

As he continued to list the English names of all the kids in his class, I found out that his best friend in fact chose Ayo’s name as his English name. “This is getting confusing” I chuckled.

The irony is that the friend understood Ayo spoke English and wasn’t totally French. But my boy saw himself like his monocultural classmates. Maybe too, he would rather melt into the sea of French kids creating a English persona. In this situation, he would much rather be fully-fledged French, like everyone else.

Deep down, Ayo knows he is different. He will readily say he was born in America. But this statement is void of our cultural connotations associated with this label. It’s void of knowledge of place. After all, he left North America half his life ago. In the next sentence, he will tell a friend “nous les anglais on mange tôt” to indicate that we Brits eat on the earlier end, and that his sister has an accent because she is British.

On a good day at home, Ayo will attest he is American. If pressed further about how he felt being American when we were in the States over Christmas, he says he might actually be more French come to think of it.

I don’t see this as a big problem at this point in time. He is sorting his world out, using cultural clues with great finesse for a young boy. One day, though, I will challenge him on his chameleon state. I will ask him what it looks like to be confident in his full cross-cultural identity. I will share the inner-peace and freedom he will find one day when he is able to truly be authentic without negating one of his cultures. I will remind him he can still be a great cross-cultural broker, using native communication and love for his different worlds without losing a part of himself in the process.

Of course, what made the library great wasn’t only about the number of books you could borrow. North American libraries are also notorious for their Summer of Reading programs. This program encourages mainly children and youth across the US to use their long summers to read (or be read to!). They earn prizes along the way and upon completion. Each library had a different challenge and set of prizes, so we’d make sure to sign up for a few of them. Many of those programs would start in June.

We have a few weeks before the kids are officially on summer vacation on this side of the pond. But, as the extra-curricular activities begin to wind down, I have naturally been thinking about our summer plans. I’ve also been dreaming of a way to increase the kids’ enthusiasm towards reading – particularly in their main minority language, which has now become English.

What a better time than to make our own DIY Summer of Reading program – one that fits a multilingual family’s reading needs!

To reward or not to reward?
Mine little chart is fairly simple. 10 books equals one prize – most of which I still need to come up with. I have read articles saying that reading rewards imply that reading isn’t inherently fun. While I can see where that argument is coming from, I am quite confident that my kids will love the process, enjoy the reading and all the treats. Enough with arduous school! We’re going for the summer of fun treats version.   You don’t really even have to list all the prizes. I gave myself until the end of summer to come up with a “End of Summer Reading” reward. I was thinking of a trip to see a live show or musical performance. Ayo thought of a proper haircut as his big treat. Poor child just wants his hair cut. Oh dear.

It will likely be just a small token (like a removable tatoo (why do they love these??), a little pot of play-dough, or some other random object), with the exception of the first 10 books to start out with a bang: going out for ice cream! I started out with a 40 book goal, not wanting to discourage anyone. However, they desperately wanted to finish the whole chart on day one, so I can foresee a part two.

In fact, they were all holding books in the school parking lot today, hoping I could read to them before school. Unfortunately, I turned my head, which resulted in one little German book being placed inside the front car grill, such a letter in the postbox. The mechanic insisted it was better to avoid it going into the vent or catching fire. And so, this is how I ended up spending my afternoon at the mechanic’s watching them hoist the car up to dismount the floor-pan to retrieve a book. Are you absolutely kidding me? Grrrr. You can’t even make these things up.

Can we just get back to reading, kids?

What’s your literacy focus?
The best thing about making a DIY chart is that you can organize your Summer of Reading any way you’d like based on what you’d like to focus on. And of course, your little ones’ ages. So that’s what I thought of when designing our chart. Each of our children certainly have different needs.
– Kid 1 (age 6): More fluid reading & writing. Committing to chapter books.
– Kid 2 (age 4.5): Developing pre-literacy skills. Attention span with beginner chapter books.
– Kid 3 (age 2.5): We just need to find more time to read to him (#ThirdBorn)!

Thus, Ayo being the oldest will have to work hardest as he is the only one able to actually read. And reversely, we will have to work hardest to read to our littlest one.

Encouraging multilingual reading
I wanted to distinguish books that are read in French from English (and and other languages when I can pluck up the courage) to give us an idea of how much more of one language we read. We’re just using different colored stickers. It also encourages us all to read more in the other language(s). I track my own reading in this way and it is a real eye-opener. It could be that books in a certain language counts double, if it is really hard for a child to read in that language. Audiobooks are nice crutches too when you just.can’t.read.any.longer!

Adding fun literacy challenges
I love thinking of fun ideas to promote literacy as part of the Summer of Reading journey.

I added simple challenges like:

– Read to a sibling
– Have someone new read to you
– Read outloud to papa/maman
– Go to a story-time at a library
– Choose and reserve a book online
– “Read” an audiobook!
– Tell someone about a book you just read
– Visit an English library
– Write your own story

I never expected my kids to latch on to that last challenge in particular. Ayo spent all afternoon jumping ahead of all the other challenges, writing and illustrating a story of his own, which is by no means an easy task. We talked together about how a story is made up of people and a situation, a problem and a way to resolve that problem. He went to bed reading the first four pages of his own story, eyes glistening and dreaming about how his pirate story would end. If that’s not developing the love of reading!

I can tell we’re going to have some fun with our challenge! And get some haircuts along the way. Do you or your kids have any  language or reading goals this summer?

Related: 5 wonderful new cross-cultural books well worth your time

1. Gone by Min Kym,
Adult Third Culture Kid (ATCK) author, work of non-fiction
I just picked this book up last weekend at the airport and oh my, I couldn’t put it down. In fact, I have gone into a bit of a craze around violin music since I finished this memoir. No, seriously! I’ve begun researching everything around these prestigious Stradivarius violins. I feel like I have entered a new world of maple and spruce string instruments and I can’t stop listening to violin solos. I won’t spoil it for you, but picture the author, an undeniable Third Culture Kid (Korean/UK) child prodigy violinist, navigating her loyalties and cultural roots and the pressures surrounding her musical gifting. Add to that a turn of events where her Stradivarius worth 1.2 million GB pounds is stolen by a petty thief in a London eatery. What you get is Min-Jin’s powerful story of devastating grief, of longing and a journey in finding her own voice, without her precious violin to hide behind. Min Kym photocred: AllMusic

2. Tiny Sunbirds, Far Away by Christie Watson
Inter-racial spouse, work of fiction
I absolutely adored this gem of a novel, because it’s culturally so rich – nurtured by the British author’s own cross-cultural marriage with a Nigerian pediatrician. Tiny Sunbirds, Far Away is made irresistible by twelve year old narrator Blessing, telling a complex story in a simple yet credible way. Through a twist of circumstances, Blessing finds herself training to be a midwife in rural villages with her wise grandma. I love how she wrestles with her midwife grandma as if it were her own mother – with topics like female genital mutilation and the Kill and Go mobile police. Tiny Sunbirds Far Away offers an insightful foray into healthcare and education access in West Africa, not to mention the fear locals live in daily as the fight for oil goes on. It’s a story that will make you reflect long after you’ve finished it. Impossibly, it features a slew of topics like heartache and love, wealth and poverty, political, religious and racial tension, with characters as lovable as they are (at times) comical. You won’t want to leave their world and their interactions as you turn to the last page. I can’t believe this gorgeous book is Watson’s debut novel. Wow!

3. A Long Way Home by Saroo Brierley
Internationally adopted author, non-fiction
I had heard about the film Lion (2016) for a while. Friends kept urging me to see it. Unable to go to the cinema (#motherhood), I borrowed this e-book. It was a page-turner; a gripping story of heartache, resilience and triumph. The power of this boy’s story truly won me over. Hard to imagine all that Seru went through at age five – particularly as a mother to a child of that age. My heart skipped a beat when I read how he only found out in adulthood how he had been mispronouncing his own name. I read each line as if I was going through his cross-cultural kid’s identity questions alongside him. Ultimately, I felt as if Saroo did a fantastic job of processing his journey, and a decent job writing his life story down in book form. A “Long Way Home” makes a refreshingly good case for international adoption, after plenty of anti-adoption lit. published over the past years. Can’t wait to watch the movie and compare notes.

4. On Rue Tatin by Susan Loomis
Expat family, non-fiction
Susan’s account of her first years in Louviers, Normandy reads like a relaxed walk in the park, stopping to look at a recipe book. It feels to me a little less novel of a travel memoir due to the fact that her every day is our every day. It’s just our daily life in France. I had expected more of a dramatic storyline, but it was still an enjoyable read. I can imagine this book being really unique for people living outside the country! Her astute observations of the land and the culture are another reminder of how wonderful our mundane, normal life is in this magnificent country. Some books are like that – they make you realize how much you are living the dream.

5. Home, James by Emily Steele Jackson
Author: a Third Culture Kids mama, fiction
Brilliant and relatable novel about James, who “returns home” to Missoula, Montana, USA after growing up in Nanning, China. I just loved how the story is written in both a witty and tender way – absolutely on point with a number of Third Culture transition issues. You won’t be able to put it down. Emily did an excellent job of writing with a young adult audience in mind, but if you’re a parent of a transitioning cross-cultural kid, do yourself a favor and snatch this book up immediately and read it today. Be warned though, you’ll laugh and you might just cry too. I recently had the privilege to ask the author a few questions I was dying to ask about Home, James in an exclusive interview. You can stalk that conversation over here.

Bonus – If you’ve read all of these fantastic titles, why not pick up Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I reviewed it a while ago here. Another delicious novel with layers of Third Culture themes!

Have you read any of these books? Or do you have any other great cross-cultural books to share with me? If so, I’d love to hear from you!

Happy reading, friends!

photocred: Libert Schmidt

“Home, James” follows James from the moment he lands in the United States, his passport country, with all the awkward feelings surrounding his transition. One of my favorite scenes features James trying to figure out the pledge of allegiance and how him not being able to recite the patriotic lines is misinterpreted as terribly disrespectful. Another time, James ventures out to share his story, only to be faced with eyes glazing over and racist cool kid jokes.

Although there isn’t a victorious ending to the book per se (wouldn’t it be great if that were the case for all of our cross-cultural transitions), there is so much hope the reader can glean from its pages. This short book would make an amazing parting gift to any young adult or parent making a transition back to their passport culture (not just for Americans).

Sensing there must be some truth behind the tender pages of Home, James, I was curious to hear more from the author. I am delighted to be able to share my interview with Emily Steele Jackson today. Enjoy and don’t forget to pick up a copy of the book – available on Amazon Kindle.

Hi Emily! Would you like to tell us a bit about yourself?

Hello! I’m originally from the U.S. but traveling and living internationally have been a big part of my life for a long time. Most recently, my husband, two kids, and I spent over a decade living in southern China. We just moved back to the U.S. last summer.

You’re the author of the brand new release (Feb. 2018) Home, James, congratulations! Would you like to share with us how you were led to writing this irresistible novel about James and his transition experience back to the United States after growing up in China?

Thank you! It’s very exciting to have my first book published, and I’m delighted that you liked it.
I’ve always enjoyed writing. A few years ago, I started recording our family’s overseas adventures in a blog, Small Town Laowai. The blog got a great response from readers, and that prompted me to think about writing something longer. In November 2015, I wrote a draft of an entire novel during National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).

The following November, I helped run a NaNoWriMo group at my kids’ international school. I had been toying with the idea of writing my own draft, rather than just coaching the students through theirs. I decided to jump in. I already had the idea for a story from the perspective of a kid whose family was moving back to their passport country after living overseas long-term. That was the reality my own family was about to face, and I knew there weren’t many stories available for kids going through international moves. I finished the draft, and it eventually became the book, Home, James.

Who was the novel intended for and when is the ideal time in life to read it?

The novel is aimed at children ages 9-12, but I’m hearing from plenty of kids and adults outside that age range who’ve really connected with the book. As mentioned, the story centers around James’ experience with repatriating as a third culture kid, which can often be a tough transition for children. I think the book will be very helpful for families who are making an international move.

Have your own children read your book? Has it helped them normalize their own transition chaos?

My kids have read the book and they really enjoy it. Though, since they had to endure me reading multiple drafts and re-writes of scenes to them, by the end, I think they were glad for it to just be done! Because they knew the story, they could mention different quotes or scenes that related to what was happening in their own lives as we transitioned back to the States.

How on earth did you manage to write a book while packing up your life of 12 years?

Yeah, that is a bit crazy, isn’t it? Thankfully, I finished the first draft before things got too busy with packing up for our move. It sat as draft for months as we wrapped up life in one country and settled in to life in another. About six months after our move, I started on revisions. I think it would’ve been too much to work on the book during the chaos of moving, though the story was certainly still in my mind the whole time.

How has “Home, James” been received in expat and monocultural circles?

I’ve been touched to hear from many readers that the book has impacted them in meaningful ways. Expat families have deeply resonated with James and his journey. Many have told me that they easily related to James, whether it’s cringing at the tough things he faces, laughing at his funny moments, or tearing up for some of the more heart-tugging parts of the story. Parents and kids have been enthusiastic about having a true-to-life TCK story. There aren’t many out there! Readers are recommending the book to international school teachers, other expat parents, and groups that provide TCK resources.

As for those who have never lived internationally, I’ve had readers express how good it is to have a window into the life of a kid who is not only “the new kid” at school, but also new to the country. It helps them understand children like that a little better – what they might be feeling or struggling with as they adjust. The book has also opened their eyes to what it’s like to be a TCK who is expected to blend in to their “home” country, but who doesn’t necessarily have the life experience to do that. Plus, readers have also said over and over that the book is simply a fun read!

After reading the novel, I couldn’t believe how well you were able to bring the main character, James, to life. It was as if you wrote with a twinkle in one eye and a tear in another. How did you put yourself in the shoes of an eighth grader returning to his passport country so very well? Had you been through some of these same hard things during your own re-entry or had you been writing down cultural mishaps for a while? Or did you start with Third Culture Kid themes before building a story around it?

“A twinkle in one eye and a tear in another” is an incredibly accurate description of what it’s like to repatriate! I’m glad I was able to put those emotions into the book in a way that readers connect with. As our family was getting nearer to leaving China, I was thinking a lot about re-entry and reverse culture shock. My family had been back in the U.S. a couple of times before, so I had seen first-hand what it was like for kids to try to navigate a country and culture they were “supposed” to know. I had also heard a lot of stories from other expat friends about difficulties their kids faced in transitioning to their passport country.

I wrote the book while my own kids were in fifth and eighth grade, so that helped in terms of thinking what life is like for middle schoolers. I know middle school can be awkward, but it’s also a really fun age group!

In your book, James often retreats to his art journal. Drawing is such a great mental health technique – is that something you have seen done successfully before?

Sadly, I’m not nearly as artistically gifted as James! I’ve not used drawing to record thoughts or process things like James does, but I know it’s often something that helps a lot of kids express what they’re feeling in a more helpful way than having them speak or write out their emotions. For me, I tend to have that happen verbally, either through writing or processing things outloud with others.

There was a particularly tear-jerking moment in the book, when James realizes he had received all the leading roles in his international school in China simply because he had been a native English speaker. He had been a big fish in a small pond and was now a small fish in a big pond. This is such a common realization for expat kids returning but it is one that isn’t mentioned much in TCK literature or transition seminars. Do you think there is a way to better prepare our transitioning TCKs for the big pond?

I think this is something that can be a struggle not just for TCKs but also adult expats. In some ways, it’s very difficult to go from being special to being so ordinary. Many people talk about the relief of finally being anonymous again, but we don’t talk a lot about what it’s like to lose the expat label. I think as parents talk with their kids about the upcoming transition, they can specifically mention some of those things, and that it’s okay to be both relieved AND sad that you won’t stick out anymore.

How was writing Home, James therapeutic for your own cross-cultural journey?

For the past few years, writing my expat blog has been a great way to process all our cross-cultural experiences, good and bad. I think writing Home, James did the same for me. The biggest difference is that my blog posts are based on real events and written after something happens, but the book is fictional and was written before my family moved back to the States. I guess it was a bit of pre-processing for me! It’s been interesting to see what part of our lives have ended up mirroring James’ story as we’ve gone through transition. One of the things James’ mom tells him is that adjusting will simply take time. I’ve needed to give myself that same counsel a few times.

Thanks so much for your time, Emily!

Cross-cultural sizing up.

Surely, you know what I mean. It could also be all those times you have sat in the room with another traveled person (let’s call her Travelista) and have felt the urge to inflate your own cross-cultural persona to be able to participate in the conversation. Most often, it’s all of those times you have felt about as small and shriveled up like a raisin because Travelista has lived in more countries than you. Her countries are perhaps more exotic, more extreme, more authentic, more rural, more [fill in the blank]. Said Travelista speaks more languages. Added to that, she was way more integrated into her host cultures growing up. In fact, she still works with all those places as an Adult Third Culture Kid. Basically, her Third Culture status is far greater than yours.

This is the era of the epidemic of discontentment that the international community isn’t immune to.

If you aren’t careful, or spend too much time on Instaglam or say on Worldschooling Facebook pages, that cultural coolness ranking can get even worse when you have kids. “Geez, our family is only living in France. All the while, their bi-racial single parenting family is world-schooling in rural Tajikistan, learning Tajik, Arabic and Swahili” you might think.

Cross-cultural sizing up is tragic, because it implies that your story isn’t great enough to be shared.

I get these feelings too. I recently listened to a brilliant AfroBlush podcast where one of the guests on the show reeled off SO many countries she had lived in, that I questioned my own identity as a Third Culture Kid. Woooooowww, she is so cool, I thought to myself. Indeed, I wasn’t brought up in a highly mobile environment, moving every two years. I hadn’t lived in exotic places like her. And I certainly don’t have to deal with racism that comes from being an ethnic minority. So, what do I have to say about all the burning topics like identity, grief, restlessness, belonging that cross-cultural kids typically have to deal with?

That’s how easy it is to invalidate our own experiences.

Just this morning, I watched a video of someone boast that they were way more than a Third Culture Kid. They are a fourth, fifth, maybe even a sixth culture kid based on all the countries their parents were from and where they have lived.

This is why the mother in the parking lot at school raising a kid in a country outside of her culture tells me her son really doesn’t qualify for that term. Surely, their story doesn’t matter as much.

I’m afraid, I think we need to bore ourselves with the classic definition for Third Culture Kids once more. TCKs are individuals who have spent a significant part of their developmental years outside of the culture (or cultures) of their parents. The first culture is that of our parents. The second is our host culture (or cultures). Our third culture is the amalgamation of all of those.

There is no fourth, fifth or more highly ranked culture. We are all different variations of the Third Culture.

Admittedly, research surrounding the initial Third Culture findings still has a heavy North American bias and deserves to be expanded to fit a growing population of worldwide trans-nationals, not to exclude refugees, adoptees and bi-racial kids. Perhaps, that is why we feel the need to explain that we are a bit different to those sorts of cross-cultural kids?

But, if we don’t find belonging in this group of individuals who share similar experiences, where then do we belong?

There is no more alienating feeling than to be disowned by the one group we can relate to. If anyone who feels like they fit the definition, they are absolutely welcome here. Whether you grew up in rural Chile, or in London, whether or not you are multilingual, “just bilingual” or simply monolingual, whether you have been back in your home culture for a month or 17 years – you belong in the Third Culture. Please don’t remain silent. You belong here. YOUR story play a critical role in freeing others to become the brilliant world changers they were made to be.

Images courtesy of:
Sean Molin – Featured image
Charles Pieters – Body text image

Not too long ago around our multilingual table, we got talking about papa’s language skills. Passing the peas, Tall Mountain jokingly asked the children if he should show up one day at school and speak French.

“No waaay” giggled the kids in unison, imagining the absurdity of the proposition. “Papaaaa, your French is not two thumbs up, only two thumbs in the middle!” You can always count on kids for encouragement.

Attempting to offer an equally absurd scenario, my husband turned the tables. He asked them if mama should start speaking English when she comes to school then. We expected the same dismissal. Obviously, both would laugh off the strangeness of the idea that maman would one day switch to English in that Francophone environment.

We expected that “of course not” answer as I’d previously tried to approach switching back to English at home. It was another day, several moons ago, where I was met with a different peculiar answer. My son hadn’t wanted me to switch back to English, because he desperately wanted the red (French) passport and with it, the ability to vote. It was such a startling answer for a five year old, that I swore to revisit the proposition down the road, thinking perhaps this was just a phase in a justice passionate child’s mind.

I could never have predicted my kids’ answer this time at dinner either. Both voiced a very strong opinion, straight from the heart. As different as they are personality-wise, that’s how different the answers were.

My 4 year old daughter said: YES!!!! Let’s switch back. Please speak English to me, that would be a fantastic idea. We could have our own secret language in school. Let’s do it from now on, please don’t speak French anymore! Come on, mama!?

Huhhh??

As for my 5 year old son, he said, “no WAY!”. No thank you, don’t speak in English, because he would be… and he whispered: ‘sooooo ashamed’.

Woah, what was going on here?

Why did one purposefully want to be different and use language as a secret tool? And, why on earth did the other long to conform so badly?

Our rebuttal would have been far more polished had we had longer to think about it. But, parenting would be far too easy if we had the time to reflect on all of our answers. Still, we felt the weight of the moment, knowing that this dinner time was our chance to talk about the sheer gift of language. Language is not meant to be a divisive tool, meant to keep others out. Quite on the contrary, we view language as a bridge-building tool, which breaks through cultural walls and reaches his hand out to the other.

We told our son that language a gift that many adults have to work hard at for years. And here they were, handed these languages on a silver platter, already able to thrive in communication with many people around the world. Surely, that is something to be proud of. Definitely not ashamed of. Let’s all get it straight, right now, that we’ll forever be different to other families at their school. This is a wonderful thing, and we celebrate the richness in our diversity.

Soon after our chat, it was back to reality. Dinner finished in the way it always does on a school night at our house with little littles. It unravels, often with tears of fatigue and the urgency to move towards bedtime.

But this conversation keeps tugging at my heart, today again, wondering if we have embraced integration in France to such an extent that they aren’t dancing the cross-cultural dance as much as we once thought they would. They are yet children, but it’s painful to admit that they don’t see their multilingualism as a gift as of yet. One just wants French, the other just English. This, on some level feels like a complete failure on our part. On another level, we have confidence they will grow into that identity if given the right environment to feel the value.

Practically, I haven’t yet decided how to handle their differing requests. Of course, we don’t choose a language based on their current preference. But we do think strong thoughts in this area merit being honored and worked through as part of their identity building.

Do I speak a different language to each child? My daughter’s English would benefit from it, but how odd would it feel to speak a different language to each child? I had read about those families who spoke different languages to each child and vowed I would never do that. Never say never.

In moving forward, I don’t have all the answers. But, what I do have, is a renewed fire under my bum to continue to uncover the joy and wealth of the languages we have already dabbled in. This week, we found all sorts of moments to learn Chinese. When waiting for a dance class. Over lunch. Then, last night, bedtime routine was all in Mandarin. Their hearts and minds aren’t always open to mama’s latest linguistic game. Sometimes they hate my language antics. But, last night they loved it. It was so fun. They caught on to the fun, cross-cultural vision of it all.

It has to be us, the parents, leading our kids in the vision of it all. Ours is a vision they can’t yet truly grasp yet. It’s a vision of a multilingual marathon, run day by day. One step in front of the other, leading to a life of bridge-building opportunities. Time for us to pick that baton up again.

I don’t know about you, but I sure hate paying exorbitant international postal fees for gifts. On several occasions, I’ve paid more than the cost of the gift in postage.

Licking my proverbial wounds, I would immediately resort to online shopping for the next gift. There really are so many great gifts you can buy online for multicultural families.

This holiday season, I really want to keep the giving simple, inexpensive and yet meaningful. Of course, send cards to family and a few friends across the ocean. Cards from the other end of the world are always special to receive.

But then, for those few people who we really want to ship a gift to, it’ll need to be lightweight and handmade.

Click over to my guest post on MulticulturalKidBlogs.com for a selection of our EIGHT favorite DIY gifts for cross-cultural families like ours, that won’t cost you a month’s rent in shipping costs!

Featured image (top) courtesy of MollieMakes.com

After our long journey back, we arrived to our frigid stone house. Attempting to warm the body and feed the soul, we adorned heads with winter hats as we sipped on warm soup my mum had thoughtfully prepared for us. It was our first meal back home. Technically, it was dinner, but it felt more like a hangover breakfast.

“It’s all a bit lower on the creature comforts in this part of the world, don’t you think?” I said to Tall Mountain, thinking back to the thick carpeted stairs, lovely walk-in refrigerators and pumpkin spice candles of our friends’ homes. I’m not entirely sure he heard me above the noise of three giggly-crying children. We’d gone through this jet lagged state exactly two weeks ago. I proceeded to unpack some prized possessions: Framed photos of the family for cheap from Michaels. 70 or so date-nut Lärabars. Books! Corn tortillas. And inexpensive-for-France almond butter that I slathered on toast for some weary kids. “You’re already going through our precious almond butter from America?” TM wondered. “Yup, I sure am.” I said.

Stores were closed on Sunday. As they are. So we planned our family grocery shop for the following week. We worked our way through the store aiming to stock up after our trip. I eyed the sales, all of which are phony sales. 5 cent discounts to entice the consumer. I already missed America. Wow, with the exchange rate, and after Target, everything felt so expensive. We reached the glorious fish counter with all of the yellow-red promotion signs hanging above head. I had missed fish in America. So, I chose a large filet of salmon that looked like it was alive that morning. Ahhh, back to fresh fish. TM was the first to notice that the per kilo numbers didn’t match the fish sale. “Sir, the promotion claims it’s 9 euros a kilo, and this price makes it about 15 euros a kilo” I told the fish monger. “Oh yeah. Old promotion.” he said as he ripped one of the sale signs off. “Alright, how about the sea bream, or the trout? Which fish in this counter are actually on sale” I challenged him. “Hmmm, let me see… nope, they are all expired promotion signs.” he said matter of factly, as he ripped all of the sale signs off the swinging rod above head. By this time, I was incensed: “Well, then this is all false advertising, since every pre-portioned package has a yellow SALE sign on it with the normal per kilo price! What can you do for me?” And then, like a car salesman, he made it up on the spot: “Well, we often sell this stuff for 25 a kilo”. Furious, I left with our fish, still sweet by North American pricing standards but terribly bitter in terms of the experience. We were no longer kings sitting on our American customer service throne, but most definitely back in France.

We left the store with three kids in one shopping cart, and one cart for purchased items. The cashier was ‘over’ her job. She was over our family and over being asked if she had applied the discount stickers to the bill, all of which she conveniently forgot to remove. She was over the hassle of beeping through so many items. We wished her a “great evening” and she responded with the evil eye. As for us, we left wondering how on earth these groceries could cost so blooming much. Welcome home, fam’.

The next day, my husband got laughed at for his lunch. An African woman in this office elevator wanted to know if he had an African wife, or why did he bring a chicken cashew stir-fry and rice to work in a glass tupperware? Why didn’t he have a baguette sandwich or a carrot salad like the other French white people? As she laughed hysterically, she made it clear that he didn’t quite fit in here either.

By the time we had left America after 16 days, we were used to doing life there again. Looking at the calendar, I see it took exactly two weeks to get back into the groove of life here as well. Prior to that, three children were upside down. School mornings were brutal and nobody slept well. We were groggy and ticked off by an absurd number of bills that had arrived in our absence or rude encounters with “servicemen”. And then, after two weeks, we started to experience things that grounded us again.

About exactly at that two week mark, one of our kids blurted out some hysterical local saying picked up from school, wearing a classic white and navy striped marine sweater. “Oh my word, that kid is so French.” I told TM. “Of course they’re French babe. They’re little French TCKs.” he responded. And still, my husband’s affirmation totally surprised me.

Belonging is a place where we are expected and we are known. Where we recognize the sights, the sounds, the smells. Where we know the people and the habits and all those unspoken rules.

Wine and cheese Thursdays with our neighbors. A dance class. A playdate with a little friend. Running in the great outdoors. Being known by the postman. A warm baguette broken open. An invitation to a bird song concert from a teacher. Anticipating ski season.

I enjoy writing about these small, silly cultural encounters and I hope they don’t come across as critical. We treasure those small incidents that remind us of our rich, multi-faceted cultural identity. This is how our cross-cultural family experiences the dance between our home cultures.

Ayo, now 5.5 years old, who thrives on knowing the rules was a bit thrown off during the first days. Thankfully we started our trip staying with family because I struggled to recognize my own child. “I want to go home to France” he cried one night. Something was troubling him. It took us by surprise as we’d always assumed the kids were highly flexible and had an innate thirst for adventure. They are all brilliant travelers. They sure thrive on anticipating an adventure. However, all the new cultural signs and rules were a bit destabilizing. And I’d again made the mistake of seeing the US like another home country, when it had already become, for him, a foreign country. Was it possible to become a Third Culture Kid that fast? Within a year and a half of leaving the States? Our middle child didn’t react as strongly to the new environment. In fact, she wondered when we were flying to America a few days after landing in Colorado. She had zero recollection of our former brightly colored house. To be fair, we’d left it almost half her life ago. She went with the flow, enjoying anyone who was up for playing with her. As for happy baby Amani, he did great eating his way through the smashed food on the airplane floors. He feels grounded as long as he is eating, that one. Anything, anywhere. He did generally well during the day, but kindly ensured we were all up together partying at night.

Just like for our recent trip to the Middle East, we set our two older kids up with a blank notebook to journal and process their trip. The travel journal was a good place for them to learn what their passport flag and currency looked like. And, for us as parents to note some of the most priceless observations you can imagine. Observations that are only possible when you arrive with fresh eyes. Ayo kept doodling on the page of observations: “There are flags on houses and cars! Pumpkins everywhere! So many police cars! People say hi in English! The streets are huge! The water in restaurants is cold, brrr!” And later, as they fell back in love with seedless grapes, they were duly added to the notebook: “grapes, with no seeds!”

Délice focused on drawing things she loved about her stay: Singing one of her French maternelle songs in front of an American preschool! Jumping on a friend’s bed! A date with mama to get some contact lenses. Waving American flags at the thrift store. We printed out loads of photos for cheap (hallelujah for Target) of our friends to show back home. More and more, I feel like the travel journal is a simple way to show our kids how to be mindful of traveling and to remember how privileged they are to travel the world this way.

My American husband Tall Mountain and I even had our own set of unsettling moments. This too took us by surprise as we had lived in this city for six years. By the end of that time, we’d found a path to thrive in most every area of our lives in the States. Still, straight off the plane, I got so ticked off at the border police who wouldn’t stamp the kids’ innocent travel journal like every customs agent in every other country where we’ve asked. “No ma’am, we don’t do that”, she said with an icy gaze and a condescending voice. Later, at the airport curb, we stared at the cars as if we had arrived from another planet. They appeared imposing, bloated, bland all over again to our now European eyes. And yet, by the time we loaded our cases into our own rental van, we were already loving the comfort of the wide spaces. The kids already wanted to purchase the same van in France, please please pleaaaase —> Sorry kids, not if it’s to be refilled at 7.5 U.S. bucks a gallon!

I am thankful TM immediately reminded us not to fall into the poisonous trap of judgement and to remain open to different ways of doing life. It’s such a common trap for cross-cultural families like ours to fall into. Rather we carved out regular times to recenter as a family despite being on the road, which was grounding for all of us, AND we sought out the goodness we love of this land: Our cousins! Our dear friends in this place! American libraries! Customer service! Family! Creative healthy or gluten free treats! Incredible state parks! Activities for the kids, cheap, all day every day! Late night frozen custard run with a sister! Coffee shop culture! Did I mention family? Vitamin cottage! Roaring fast internet!

We quickly settled into this life of “relational highs”: amazing home cooked meals in the evening, margaritas at night, hikes with friends during the day. Fajita parties, sushi double-dates, pumpkin carving and painting parties… By the time we left, we were a little sad. Happy to return to our own beds for sure, but pained for these relationships to be a world away.

Can you even be a fulfilled global citizen if you are judgmental or defensive about your home or passport country? Aren’t both the judgement AND our defense mechanisms symptoms of some unprocessed junk in our lives? And how much of the experience do you miss out on when you get caught in one of those modes? I’m asking myself, and maybe I’m asking you too.

I think it’s still okay to feel unsettled and acknowledge it. The fact that we had to ease back into our old life drew our attention to how deep we must have laid down roots in our new home in France. How much French culture, and the culture “in-between” we live by has impacted our family. But this two week stay wasn’t about denying our family’s new identity and what it’s becoming. Our trip wasn’t a threat. It was no less than a gift to be on the other side of the world. And, it was about honoring the many people who chose to invest into our family during our years in this city. And, eating as much Tex Mex as our bellies could possibly handle of course.

Within the expat species, my family falls into the nomadic category. We redefine ‘local’ in a new country every few years. At this pace, my kids will need to adapt to a new culture, new school and curriculum several times by their pre-adult lives. I know they will have amazing experiences and grow up understanding the perspectives of many different people and cultures worldwide. But sometimes I wonder, will they be able to do long division?

Sounds silly. Hear me out on this one . . . A friend of mine recently described how she inadvertently skipped a couple of months of math instruction when switching schools in her tweens. It took her years before she was really comfortable with fractions. Even now, as an adult, she occasionally discovers something new that she should have learned during those skipped math classes (and she has a very math-heavy Master’s degree in Environmental Engineering!).

Like many fellow globetrotting Third Culture Kids, we may move from an IB program, to a Cambridge one, to a QSI curriculum and will be lucky if all K-12 instruction is in English. Kids of the military, diplomatic, corporate and international development breed may change schools up to 9 times before they start tertiary education.

On a coming note, this cross-cultural life may have my kids mixing American and British spelling in the same sentence, or, like Third Culture Mama’s kids, they may be developing an incredibly enunciated English accent that facilitates communication with non-native speakers. But beyond the typos and funny pronunciation, sometimes there is something deeper that roving TCKs experience in their education. Research tells us that students who change schools several times struggle more in literacy and numeracy than their peers. Yikes! As if packing up our whole life and relocating 6-9 times wasn’t stressful enough.

Here are some tips a group of expat teacher-moms and I came up with about how to keep up academically while moving between systems.

1. Build an Academic Bridge

Before you transition, let the teacher you’re leaving know about the move, the new curriculum and share your concern about missing key parts of the content.  Together you can put together an exit-pack of materials, assessments and progress you can bring to the new school.

In transit, if you can get copies, compare the curricula and outline of what has/will be covered in the two schools. It’s also useful to ask about requirements for placing new students in subjects like pre-Algebra, Algebra, Biology and Chemistry. It may seem straightforward, but actually each school is different: some opt for assessments and others base placement on coursework completed.

When you get there, tell the receiving teacher where you’re coming from and where you’ve been. Helping the new teacher understand the academic (and social and emotional) needs of your kids is best way to ensure a smooth transition.

2. Fill the Gaps

Teachers who are most familiar with your child’s abilities can provide extra assignments and support to develop missing skills before/during the transition.

Swap your parent hat with a teacher cap, pull up your sleeves and work with your child on the skills. The World Wide Web is replete with free online lesson plans and workbooks to work through. Or grab a cheapie from Teachers Pay Teachers, where you can find lesson plans for any subject that linked to education standards.

If your child is pretty independent, link your little one with Khan Academy that is designed for students to teach themselves Math, English, or even Computer Science for free. Duolingo is another great free site specializing in language learning.

Not ready to relive calculus with your child? Then leave it to the experts! Find a tutor who uses assessments to identify skill gaps and helps fill those. Tutors like TwigaTutors who are experienced with expat life can also help you demystify varying curricula and standards and set up a learning plan to best support you and your child.

3. Keep Your Finger on the Pulse

Even when you’re steady in place for a while stay tuned-in to your child’s progress. Keep assessments and reports. Also note areas where your child is tracking ahead or behind.

If you know you’ll eventually repatriate, supplement your child’s learning with the subjects they’ll need but aren’t available locally like History, Geography, Civics or Language.

You can do this by simply mixing up your child’s summer reading list with some historical autobiographies, grab a geography trivia game, watch a historical drama or documentary, or celebrate holidays from your country of origin. For more structure your child can sign up for an online history, language or civics course. I recently came across Greek lessons online

In summary, you can do it! And there’s no better expert than an expat to find a million and one ways to stay connected even when far away. The same holds true for education.

Christianna is a Greek-American busy mama of two, who loves yoga, traveling and collecting languages. 

Ever since watching documentary Waiting for Superman, I have seriously admired families like these world-schooling ones, questioning the status quo. I love how they challenge the traditional, often painfully outdated model of classroom education. Most of all, I admire these courageous families for how they don’t rely on paid teachers to become active life learners.

Come on, who wouldn’t want to hang out with this family for the weekend?

We’re not planning on roaming around in a decked out world-school car any time soon (we can barely handle a trip to the grocery store without some level of insanity). In fact, we just started our second year in French public schools. If you have read my thoughts on our experience of the French education system, you know it is far from perfect. Also, ours is about as local and removed from “the world” as you can get.

That said, we believe our village school is absolutely where our children are meant to be this year. Our school is the epicenter of village life: it gives us all relational roots and a number of linguistic and cultural opportunities. This year, our children have far fewer kids in their class and have teachers that we love. They’ll learn to write and swim, learn poetry and negotiate and do life in their microcosm of the French society. Our school is a place that is trying so darn hard to keep up with more creative methods of early childhood learning and changing parenting demands.

It’s beautiful.

That said, our school is not that which will prepare them for jobs that haven’t been created yet. It’s not where they will learn character formation or blossom spiritually. It’s not the place they will develop a global perspective, thirsting after the world. Our school is not where they will become out of the box thinkers. Or where they will learn to be world-changers in a changing world.

That’s fine! In my mind, we are still their primary educators. And knowledge can’t be held in a set of dated books on a shelf. We believe that it’s our role as parents to help our kids become passionate life learners so that they will be inspired to take action.

And so, in more ways than one, I’ve recently come to realize that our cross-cultural family shares a common vision with many of the world-schooling ones. Both in how we view travel as gain, and education as a joy that deserves being taken out of the classroom.

We certainly place importance on traveling with our kids during the holidays if we can. If we can wing it, it might be internationally. This year, we will all have had the immense privilege of traveling to places like Oman, Germany, USA..  It’s not just a race to check off all the countries on a list however. We also want to discover local hidden gems in our stunning country of residence. (This summer we stumbled upon the city of Nice and fell head over heals in love with the place!)

World-schooling is not just about traveling. For me, world-schooling is a lifestyle. It is a mindset of the passionate and wonder-filled.

Year round, we’re not making papier mâché globes or researching how an avocado seed grows because school told us to do so. Rather because we’re following the natural path led by our wonder. We’re interacting with friends worldwide and figuring out what time of the day it is there. Kids ask who we know near the Caribbean as Hurricane Irma strikes. They are invited to watch Chinese shows when they beg for a little screen time. And as they grow, we’re eager to share more of our love of food, travel, culture, language. Tall Mountain reminds me that in many ways, it is also a part of how the Third Culture Kid can create a global world all around. Indeed, this type of so-called “unconventional traditionalist” world-schooling is a natural extension of how a Third Culture Kid might choose to parent. Personally, learning new things with my kids is one of my favorite parts of motherhood. Sometimes, we parents lead with what we are learning (an incentive to never stop learning). Other times, it is our littles leading us. That right there, is where the magic happens.

This week, I’ve gained a whole new understanding for cyclones. Why not! That’s just what our 5 year old, wannabee EMT / paramedic latched on to this week. Today, we followed Hurricane Irma’s trajectory. We talked about how a French rescue squad arrived in Guadeloupe, 150kms away, because they couldn’t land in St Martin or St Barthelemy. And how some inhabitants of those islands don’t know the next hurricane (Jose) is headed their way. How terrible! And how even playground slides are ripped right out of the ground. All the while, we’re diving deeper and deeper as long as interest is still there.

These past weeks, we’ve been riding the airport / aircraft obsession, building a full-on Lego airport. It’s been so fun to watch the wheels turn. Do all airplanes have back wings (rudders)? What does a security check really do? How does the metal show up on the screen? Then, we open up a fascinating book on airports and follow where mamie’s suitcase just went through at the airport. And where that one with the skis could be going to. And we follow the magical yellow brick road of questions and natural learning.

Not everything has to be a learning opportunity. We are all for unstructured play (all parents say, amen!). But sometimes we do have enough energy left to answer all the “why” and “how comes”.  And we can facilitate a much more empirical and long-lasting road of learning.

What greater thrill than to be part of developing our kids’ creative and critical thinking?

This type of world-schooing doesn’t have to cost you loads of money, but it does take intention and passion for learning… with a side of wanderlust.

If you enjoyed this article, you might also like:

Growing a world-shaped heart
A simple tool to help young kids remember their travels
Holidays are for world-schooling
Adventures in China with small kids

Last month, we celebrated one year living on this side of the ocean. Being back in France has been different to what we’d expected. But it has jump-started a few positive changes in the life of our family.

A neighbor just asked if we’d like to picnic together on a mountain 15 minutes away – during the work week. Government offices and pharmacies closed, carpenters and dentists on their lunch break, there was nothing to miss out on. All to be gained in these carefree hours of relational communion.

In January, about eight months after moving our family across the ocean from the US to France, we started to see a real shift within us. We gave up fighting to get things done. Our well organized move-in to do lists were killing us in this part of the world. All of that pushing to get resident documents, driving permits, furniture, repairmen out when they said was exhausting. And, our drivenness defeated the purpose of living in the countryside. We resorted to cutting down the number of things we wanted to achieve in a day, shop less and be okay with a bit more imperfection. It was then that we decided on embracing the natural rhythms of where we live. Also, instead of letting life’s open loops rule us, TM and I chose which mornings we each would get up early and pray and reflect, journal or run. We realized that space for mediation is rarely a question of time, rather it’s a question of priorities. This simple space for self-care has been a game changer for us.

As we have slowed down, I started noticing little details about aggregate, perennial fruits like raspberries. Namely, how spectacular the array of colors raspberries can be depending on the species. Or, how delicate these beaded gems are. Releasing them from their cone-shaped stem a tad too firm, and you’ll damage the drupelets. Hoard them overnight and they risk becoming moldy and mushy. What a reward then, to swirl perfectly firm golds and ruby reds around in your bowl of morning yogurt. This year, they have decidedly become my most favorite fruit.

We understand more about wildlife typical of our mountainous woodlands. Our baptism by fire began on day one when we woke to ravens bashing their beaks against the old farmhouse. We’ve since battled the pine martens (weasels) living in the rafters with government appointed volunteer hunters, until we found out the martens were in fact dormice, a protected species (grrrr!). Most recently, we’ve come to find out first hand how nasty and lethal processionary caterpillars are. Their urticating hair can kill a dog, or weaken a host tree (be it oak or pine), or most noticeably, make your child scream for hours after you pluck hundreds of fine hairs out of their skin. Life in the country it is!

This year, I discovered how much of a breath of fresh air it is to have kids in school. And how them being in local French pubic school is wrought with a host of new ethical dynamics, begging us to stay involved and invested. But mainly, school has proven to be a vibrant epicenter of fantastic new friendships for our whole family. I could never have given them (and me!) all the relational opportunities they have had there. Summer holidays started a fortnight ago, and we’ll be hard pressed for the kids to see all their best friends this summer. Partially, due to the steady influx of wonderful visitors we have at the farm.

This past year, we have been learning how to be better hosts by inviting people into our normal lives rather than killing ourselves to play tour guide. We’re learning to invite people in when our house looks like… three kids have had an awesome day of play. I’ve come to see how valuable it is to write down the meals served so you can recycle some menus and you aren’t scratching your brain wondering if you made this dish before for them. Or, how costly it is to have a constant flow of guests. All of this is teaching us to cook simpler, but still delicious meals.

Mainly, I now know how to be a wonderful guest thanks to some fabulous guests we hosted over the past year. They are the ones that tell you to take your spouse on a date whilst they watch the kids. Or they’ll pick up a grocery bill. Or even better, help mop the floors. Having out of town guests has been really fun.

A delight too, to host regular local visitors. We’ve started to live like we are in our forties rather than our twenties. Our local and expat friends are all about 10-15 years older than we are. That works out, really. We’re a bit weary of the rat race and the social butterflying around anyway. We long for meaningful, lasting relationships and a mindful way of living and cooking. We think about a life well-lived and about death, perhaps in a more healthy way, rather than running from it.

We’re still very much alive and we plan to be present and live in gratitude for each day we have been given here. Sometimes, that means running in the country and taking it in. Other days, it’s finding time to just put the paint on the canvas.

We’ve rediscovered how accessible medical care is in this part of the world and we are so grateful. It’s a great place to find out why you have throbbing pain in your tooth, go to the ER or actually remove a funny growth. As our whole family heads to a Grenoble hospital adventure this week, we’re all still learning. How inexpensive surgery is. How few papers are to be signed. And how little hand holding there is.

In a year, we’ve learned a lot. But most of all, we’ve learned to fall in love with France all over again.

“I remember what those kids sounded like before but they sure sound different today, and I feel uncomfortable. I remember when they played games similar to my childhood, and now I feel judged for the life I lead, as if it wasn’t good enough for them. They were more like my life before, and I miss what we once had.”

Please know that their world is not a judgment of your life. Sure, they don’t fit your paradigm, and this may bring up a host of emotions within you. Those certainly deserve to be processed with skilled professionals. Skilled professionals – because our children are not the right people to carry your pain and frustration.

Unfiltered, your laughter or side comments or untactful gifts reminding them of what they should be according to so-called normal standards all build that wall of rejection towards them. One day, the moments TCKs were rejected by their own family will become just another source of grief the Third Culture Kid in your life will carry around, trying so hard to make sense of his world.

What an honor to guest post on the MKB website this month on the subject of Third Culture Kids. You can read the whole article on MulticulturalKidBlogs.com here.

xxx

TCKs in marriage is a topic close to my heart having married a monocultural American a decade or so ago. It goes without saying that any two people living together will have their ups and downs, quirks and pet peeves and unique set of challenges. Now think of the Third Culture dynamics, often bringing a broad worldview, but a raging inner war of identities, an intricate web of relationships and questions about belonging to an already complex marital relationship. I tell you, it’s been fun.

I recall being given permission early on in our relationship to view ours as a cross-cultural marriage and how freeing that simple label was. I didn’t have to adore popcorn or fit my international life inside a party trick bag. He didn’t have to give up his allegiance to Crocs or quesadillas with cheddar, salsa and a side of sour cream. Cross-cultural glasses were a good starting point for us to process so many differing view points.

Having said that, while Third Culture Kid marriages have qualities of cross-cultural or interracial ones, they are a bit different. For starters, these marriages aren’t made up of two monoculturals. The Third Culture Kid may or may not share a passport with their spouse, but their relationship to their passport culture(s) is rather complicated. They will often find their sense of belonging in people of a similar upbringing rather than in their citizenship. They may crave travel, struggle to commit to a job, feel trapped inside society’s prescribed boxes and live out the tension of ‘where I’ve come from’ vs. ‘where we are going’.

Or not.

This is the thing. You’ve got to be terribly delicate in drawing conclusions on Third Culture Kids in marriage since each marriage is unique. Because each Third Culture Kid is unique too. Some of us had fantastic experiences and struggle to identify real losses,  while others will process their grief for a lifetime. Some are highly mobile, others quite sedentary, raised in one town in their host culture. Some never even return to their passport culture. Some live like locals, others are quite in-tune with their parents’ culture(s). Some aren’t wealthy, others are living in slums. They are city kids, village kids. They are multilingual. They are monolingual.

Third Culture Kids all spent a significant part of their developmental years in a culture outside of their parents’ passport culture. Yet no two are alike.

And yet. And yet. When listening to all the voices of those who were kind enough to complete the TCK Love and Marriage survey, it all sounded so familiar. Maybe a bit like coming home. Despite business, missionary, navy backgrounds, you echoed one another.

Fighting the urge to draw hard and fast conclusions on TCK relationships (don’t we hate being put inside boxes?), could there still be insights to be gained from other Third Culture Kid marriages? Trends to be observed? What are markers of a thriving TCK marriage anyway? Is it easier to marry a Third Culture Kid than a monocultural? And what are some of the challenges specific to Third Culture Kids in marriage? How do these evolve over time? And what are some great pieces of advice for Adult Third Culture Kids (ATCKs) desiring to be in a relationship?

When I sat down to look at the responses, 136 had answered the survey. Removing duplicates and not quite TCKs ;-), we’re down to about 130 valid entries corresponding to people who have lived all over:

The vast majority (95%) were split between the ages of 25-60 years old.

107  were Third Culture Kids: 26 TCKs married to other TCKs, 81 TCKs married to a monocultural.
22 monoculturals married to TCKs.

I have left the survey open here to gather more responses for further thought. I’d love to capture the dating and the divorced demographics as they have much to offer here as well. Sadly, many divorcees don’t love taking marriage surveys and when you’re in love, you’re on love island. How does the expression go? If love is blind, marriage is an eye-opener? If you know TCKs in this group or married, please feel free to pass this survey link along (ideally before they read this article).

Back to the survey results…

There was a pretty decent representation in terms of how long participants had been married:

Here are the general trends emanating from the survey at this point in time. Please note that these statements are not representative of all the answers but rather summarize where the majority of the answers lie. Don’t take this as a precise scientific analysis, but rather as a glimpse into what the majority of respondents felt about their relationships.

1. Third Culture Kids find comfort in their monocultural spouse’s rootedness

Third Culture Kids overwhelmingly responded that the best thing about being married to a monocultural spouse is related to their rootedness. Their spouse could easily explain where they were from, it was a relief that they belonged, and boy, they had long-term friends who weren’t relocating anytime soon. Major struggles for this group included how one person always has to sacrifice where they have to live for the other, or the pressure to stay somewhere and not “steal“ the spouse from their in-laws. Several TCKs in this category mentioned that there were significant cultural clashes when it came to raising kids. And the bravest of them all, admitted that their constant presumption that their way was best had become one of the main struggles in their couple.

2. Third Culture Kids married to Third Culture Kids: kindred spirits but also grief x 2

Many TCKs think life is easier when you marry another TCK. In some ways it is: TCKs loved being married to a fellow TCK because they share a similar worldview and both simply “get” the desire for change, the joy in raising multilingual kids, or not having to explain themselves within their home. Sounds dreamy to marry someone with such a kindred spirit. However, they both bring the classic TCK challenges into their marriage. The struggles they noted: feelings of isolation, unresolved grief x2, wondering if they will ever belong, questions about where to retire, or what to do with the fact that they both deal with judgment of their passport country.

3. Monoculturals married to Third Culture Kids love their spouse’s broad worldview

Monos said they loved being married to TCKs because of their sense of adventure, or the fact that their spouse spoke another language or is flexible. I love how one person wrote: “TCKs are extraordinarily and refreshingly simple and down to earth“. That response echoed a number of others. Monoculturals appreciated the exposure they now had to a different food culture, and a large network of friends thanks to their TCK spouse. Among their struggles was language inequality in the marriage, the TCK’s awkwardness in regards to their passport culture (pop culture references, anyone?), TCK family expectations and the TCK’s wavering national allegiance to back their points of view.

4. How do you keep your cross-cultural marriage from being a constant fight of my upbringing vs. yours? Two distinct groups.

When asking all groups how they keep their marriage from being a constant fight of my upbringing vs. yours, most responses fell into one of two categories:

1. Couples seeking harmony at all costs
2. Couples engaging their differences

Indeed, the first group of couples preferred compromise or to avoid the topic altogether. They spoke of the value of fair representation of traditions in the home, or how they choose their battles, they opted for compromise or focused on similarities. The second group seemed to prefer wrestling with their differences. They said they’d traveled to their spouse’s country, they had lived there, they had intentionally created a new culture within their marriage, or they were trying hard to put on their “foreign glasses“ when speaking about the other’s upbringing.

5. Monoculturals can best understand their TCK spouse by entering into the Third Culture experience together, living in a third culture and raising little TCKs themselves.

According to the respondents, monoculturals could best understand their TCK spouse by embracing their TCK upbringing and drawing it out of them, entering into their grief together. Or, by reading Third Culture Kids – Growing up Among Worlds (new edition coming out shortly), by living abroad together and raising your own little TCKs.

This is how one Third Culture Kid sums it up:

Ask questions, let them cook food from their childhood, look at pictures, learn key phrases in their language. Understand that we’re constantly fighting against this dichotomy of wanting to venture off, but also wanting a place to belong. Realize that we approach emotional intimacy and relationships very differently.

6. TCKs can best understand their monocultural spouse by getting to know his/her family and walk in their shoes

TCK respondents said that one of the best ways to understand their monocultural spouse is to see your spouse as a person, to study what makes them tick and to get to know their family and friends. And, realize that relationships are far more important than geography.

7. Communication, respect, forgiveness, humility – keys for thriving TCK marriages

So many fabulous success tips were listed for TCKs in marriage. I could have written a whole post on just this topic. The vast majority of responses are admittedly valid for all marriages. Communication, talking and listening were constantly mentioned as best tips for a thriving marriage. Also recurrent were the notions of respect, forgiveness, humility and flexibility.

I love these quotes:

“Listen. It takes a great deal of humility to set aside your own desire to be right. And when multiple cultures are involved it’s easy to idealize your own culture and how you were brought up. But if you can set it aside to listen to another point of view and another way of doing things, you realize there isn’t only one right way. As a couple you need to decide to say “this is how WE do things. This is what WE believe.” Not “this is what she did. Or this is how my family did it growing up.” There is great validity in understanding both of your pasts and how you were raised. But you need to move on from there and choose a path that you go down together. Doing this takes humility, love, and a desire to do right more than to be right. Listen to one another” – anonymous

“Grow in your selflessness. Don’t hold grudges. Talk things out as soon as possible until both are satisfied. Seek couples therapy early, from someone who understands TCKs, before the issues become problems. Express love daily in the way your spouse likes to receive it.” – anonymous

Workshop participants added that thriving TCK marriages walk a fine balance between rootedness and independence. Partners are serving one another, giving each other the chance to breathe alone and with one another (but apart from the kids). They have learned each other’s languages (love language, culture, customs) and are still intentional about communicating decades and decades down the road.

8. Very few resources available for struggling TCK marriages

This survey confirmed the dearth of resources available to Third Culture Kids in marriages, let alone those relationships that are struggling. Of the 130 responses, only five resources were listed. With the exception of Still Waters Ministry in Ontario Canada (TCK counseling couple) and Family Foundations International, most of these were general marriage books and courses/seminars listed as well as a few cross-cultural ones. More often, respondents would mention they don’t know of any single support group or book on this topic.

This weekend’s workshop participants suggested finding a mentor couple, ideally in a TCK relationship to walk alongside your couple. Or to use the Love across latitudes workbook. Or to take the LAM (Love After Marriage) course, which isn’t specific to TCKs.  And yes, to communicate, communicate, communicate. No surprise there.

9. To the TCK wanting to be in a relationship: settle into the country first, be okay with friendship, and choose the person before the culture

Those already in married relationships wanted other TCKs to assume their marriage was a cross-cultural one before proven otherwise. Respondents spoke of choosing the spouse first before the culture. Or, honoring both backgrounds – “even if the monocultural one is boring”, said one person. Respondents couldn’t stress enough, the importance of cross-cultural pre-martial counseling and working on core tensions and on TCK issues (losses, grief, pride) before getting married. Also, to engage in your tensions before children come along and divide your attention. Life gets a bit crazy at that point…

This weekend’s workshop attendees suggested advising TCKs new in a country to take the time to first settle in before jumping into a relationship. Or, being content with friendship without the pressure to enter into the commitment of marriage.

10. Marriage grows up at 15+ years

Because we often hear of the challenges of Third Culture Kids in marriage, this was perhaps the most exciting and hopeful finding to me personally. Juxtaposing responses of the newest and the most senior marriages revealed a noticeable change in tone. Whereas the newer marriages often mentioned their pursuit to find themselves as individuals and as a couple, or how one partner was misunderstood or frustrated, marriages of more than 16 years changed their discourse to speak about respect, sensitivity and self-sacrifice for one another. There were some exceptions, but how hopeful is it to read how marriage softens some of those hard edges we sometimes come into it with. As one counselor friend told us once, marriage is about unpacking your bags for life together. These wiser, most content couples have certainly unpacked a few full suitcases.

There is so much more to say but those are a few high-level findings. I look forward to unpacking some of these topics over the coming months here on the blog. If you’d like to follow along, feel free to sign up for automated updates on the side bar (right) and follow my Facebook page as well as continue to fill out the survey.

Thank you to each of you who entrusted parts of your journey to me. You made me smile, you made me cry. Thank you to the couple of people who said that filling out the survey was an eye-opening, healing experience. Your feedback helps those of us who desire to see Cross Cultural Kid (CCK) and Third Culture Kid marriages thrive. In that vain, also feel free to pass this article to your TCK friends and care-givers of TCKs who can come alongside us in this phenomenal journey of finding strength, healing and richness in our Third Culture marriages.

Salut. <3

Wedding photos and featured image by Greg Allen
Black & White photos Carryingwonder Photography

Tell me a bit about your upbringing and how you met your spouse!
I’m what you’d call a Huárén in Chinese, which means ethnically Chinese but born elsewhere. My mom is a Chinese-Malaysian while my dad is a Chinese-Filipino (although locally we say Filipino-Chinese). I only spent four years in Malaysia before we moved to the Philippines. So I was raised as a Filipino-Chinese and was exposed to our Chinese-Malaysian roots during our annual visits back to Malaysia. After college, my mother signed me up for a Mandarin course in Beijing. There I met my Korean husband, who had by then fallen in love with Beijing and was determined to work there. A year and a half later we married, and since then we’ve moved back and forth between Seoul, Beijing and the Philippines. Currently we’re living the dream in Beijing.

How long have you been married?
We’ve been married almost eight years. How time flies!

How has your relationship been impacted by its cross-cultural nature?
My parents were initially apprehensive of the idea of dating a Korean. My mother had seen a few Korean dramas where men were very indifferent with their women. My father wasn’t certain if living abroad long-term was good for me, especially since I’d be so far away with no one with me. My husband’s parents were also a bit uneasy about marrying an outsider (Read this for more info) and had already warned my husband about the potential misunderstandings and disagreements we would have because of our cultural differences. In the end I’d like to believe we had won over each other’s sides, and both sides are satisfied with our marriage.

Tell me about a time you had a cross-cultural misunderstanding or differences in opinions. How did you work it out?
We’ve had quite a few, actually! In Korea, for example, being late can be seen as a form of disrespect, even between friends (don’t even get me started on how Korea and my countries see that term!) while in the Philippines my husband was quite dumbfounded by how laid back I could be.

We worked it out by talking. I admire people who suggest not to go to bed angry, but truth is it’s sometimes just easier said than done! And so we work it out by giving each other space to calm down, even if it takes a few days. It’s usually me who starts talking to him first, even if I’m still mad. But by talking to him I’m giving him the opportunity to try as well. When we’re both in a comfortable space, that’s when we start talking. In our case, the first step is to be aware that a certain action is offensive or not acceptable in the other’s culture. Then we need to find a way to control our cultural differences in order to meet at a more common, acceptable ground. Otherwise, another fight is bound to happen!

What is one great way for a spouse from a monocultural background to better understand a TCK spouse like you?
Believe it or not, this is something that I really love about my husband. My husband has really done his research! When he’s in the Philippines he makes it a point to meet up with my friends, to play basketball with my brother and his friends, to meet my uncles with my Dad, to read more about the Philippines through books and online articles… he even brags about the Philippines to everyone he meets! But most importantly, he listens to MY stories. He loves hearing the inside stories about how people are in the Philippines and stories he doesn’t get from books. Likewise, I like hearing how history had affected Koreans and why his culture is the way it is today.

What has been the best part about being married to a monocultural spouse?
I love the simplicity of his background. I’ve always been very confused growing up, trying to figure out my identity without anyone to guide me. I’m very blessed that I’m here to guide my children in their walk as TCKs, but truth is I like how my husband is just Korean. His lack of an identity crisis gives me a stronger identity sometimes: I’m the wife of a Korean. My children are Koreans AND something. It’s like…at the very least they have an anchor somewhere.

What has been one of the greatest challenges about being married to a monocultural spouse?
In my nuclear family, no one really understands what I’m going through when it comes to understanding my identity. My husband likes my reasoning and how I connect with my different cultures, but his fascination is my life. Some days I wish my life were a bit simpler.

How do you keep your cross-cultural marriage from being a constant fight of my upbringing vs. yours?
By discussing. We talked about how we wanted to raise our kids, and he mostly lets me decide. If there’s anything he feels strongly about, I’ll listen and modify our plan accordingly.

What is your best success tip for marriages like yours not to only survive but thrive?
Listen, even when there’s so much you want to say. Let him/her say his/her piece, then say yours.
Honestly, I would also recommend journaling and not telling your friends about your problems. I have this friend I’ve stopped telling my issues to because she always has an I-Told-You-So ready, even though I’ve already been quite happily married for almost eight years now! By writing your emotions on your journal, you’re releasing it without making other people think badly of you or your husband. Also, if possible, discuss peacefully. I realize that some cultures don’t see “discussions” positively, but it’s necessary to communicate one’s point and also be open to the other’s opinion. Keep shouting to a minimum, or none at all if possible!

Do you have any kids? How old are they and how does your cross-cultural marriage affect them?
Yes I do. One just turned two and the other is three-and-a-half.
My family lives in the Philippines while my husband’s lives in Korea. We are currently based in Beijing, which means we are with neither family. We try to call them as often as we can but I can see that the connection is slowly weakening. And even when we move back—either Korea or Philippines—this means one family will still be left out. I grew up occasionally eating out with relatives, so this is something my children might not get to experience.

Not just that, they are currently TCKs. My older daughter prefers to speak Mandarin, a language that is neither mine nor her father’s mother tongue but is mainly spoken by her classmates at her school. It can also be confusing to shift from one culture to another, like how kids are expected to greet by kissing their elders’ cheeks in the Philippines but bow in Korea. There’s a lot, really! So we just have to be their guides.

What are some recommendations you have for young people who would like to be in a relationship with a TCK? Or tips for TCKs who would like to be in a relationship with a person from a monocultural background?
One of the blessings of being a TCK is that we are exposed enough to different cultures and languages that we think we are more knowledgeable than others when it comes to open-mindedness. But the truth is, someone from a monocultural background might be more open-minded than me just because he’s more well-traveled. So my suggestion is to forego judgments and listen first. Listen to the story of your partner, and when he or she is done talking that’s when you make an input. Everyone has a story—it can just get a bit more complicated when that story comes from someone from a different background as yours.

Thank you so much, Jackie for all the thought you put into making this interview so life-giving to other cross-cultural and TCK couples.

Head over to BringingUpTheParks.com to read more about Jackie’s wild and colorful Filippino-Malaysian-Chinese-Korean life in Beijing…which is pretty much like touring Asia without having to purchase a plane ticket! And if you missed Part I and II in this series, you can read Niger TCK Suzanne’s story here and MaDonna’s story on what it’s like being married to German-Taiwanese TCK here!

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Pssst – are you a Third Culture Kid in a dating relationship, a married TCK or a brave monocultural married to a TCK? I am collecting some data for a workshop I am hosting THIS WEEK for global caregivers on how TCKs can have great marriages. The giveaway is now closed (congrats, Sara J. on winning!) but I’d still be really grateful if you could fill out this little survey if you haven’t already! We’ll be sharing some of the fascinating results shortly on this blog, so watch this space.

Tell me a bit about your upbringing and how you met your spouse!
I grew up in the state of Missouri, which is almost the center of the US. I lived in a small town which was surrounded by fields and livestock. Very rural. My German husband grew up in Taiwan. He attended an American school, so has an American accent. We met while working in China as teachers at an international school.

How long have you been married?
18 years this July!

How has your relationship been impacted by its cross-cultural nature?
Uwe is a Third Culture Kid. He does have some German in him and we think he’s becoming more German with age. Haha. He is also a mix of the other cultures, but you can’t compartmentalize him – it’s just who he is. If that makes sense. So, I’m not sure how our relationship has been impacted by the cross-cultural nature, but maybe I can safely affects the extended family. They love/like him and vice versa, but because of the vastly different backgrounds it’s a little hard to relate on both sides. He did not grow up in a farming community and they know nothing about Asian culture. It isn’t a huge thing, but it is something that I have observed. It has helped that they have come to visit us, though, so the great divide isn’t as large as when we first were married.

Tell me about a time you had a cross-cultural misunderstanding or differences in opinions. How did you work it out?
I’d say most of the misunderstandings happened early on in our marriage – which is probably like for many marriages since two people are learning to live together and have different opinions about the ways things should be done. The one that I remember that has changed my baking process still to this day. Americans tend to have really sweet desserts – probably too sweet, but I didn’t think about that until Uwe pointed it out to me. He asked if I could cut the sugar in my recipes by at least half. I had never thought about changing the recipes, but I tried it and you know what? It was fine, the Chinese people liked it better, and it’s healthier, right?

What is one great way for a spouse from a monocultural background to better understand his TCK spouse?
1 – Read Third Culture Kids: Growing Up Among Worlds by David Pollock and Ruth E. Van Reken. A new version is coming out soon with part of the revisions done by David’s son, Michael Pollock.
2 – LISTEN to their stories. Ask questions about where they lived, their friends, etc.
3 – Travel to the places they lived if possible. Go to the class reunions to meet these people they went to school with. More great stories will come out at these events, trust me.

 
What has been the best part about being married to a TCK spouse?
It has helped my raise our TCKs – to understand it better for their sake. Also, I’m much better at navigating airports as I had a very good teacher and guide. Haha.

What has been one of the greatest challenges about being married to a TCK spouse?
The urge to move every 2 years, even if it is just to a new apartment within the same city. Or change the furniture completely around every 6 months or so.

How do you keep your cross-cultural marriage from being a constant fight of my upbringing vs. yours?
We talked about a lot of these issues before we were married – and our parents actually raised us about the same way, so it hasn’t been too big of an issue for us. Communication is a key to any marriage – not that we have it perfected, but it does help when we talk through issues and try to come to an agreement that works for both of us.

What is your best success tip for marriages like yours not to only survive but thrive?
DATE NIGHTS! No business dates or what we call “shop talk” (we work together). Just talk about what is our dreams, plans, kids, but sometimes work does come up.

Do you have any kids? How old are they and how does your cross-cultural marriage affect them?
I have three kids, ages 15, 13 and 12. I think it has messed up their math. And our youngest believes she is half American, half German, and half Chinese (she is adopted from China). But, seriously though, I think more of their issues are Third Culture related than cross-cultural related. We live in Taiwan now, so not getting to see the extended family as often is hard for them, for all of us.

Have your respective parents embraced the cross-cultural nature of your family?
Yes
What are some recommendations you have for young people who would like to be in a relationship with a TCK? Or tips for TCKs who would like to be in a relationship with a person from a monocultural background?
I think the late David Pollock gave me the best advise when Uwe and I were dating. I was so scared because every example that David gave in his seminar was a  monocultural marrying a TCK and how miserable the couple was. I had a chance to speak with David and ask him if we had a chance of success if Uwe and I were to get married. His response was simply: “Every marriage is difficult because men and women are different. As long as you both work at the marriage, then yes, it will be a good marriage.” I think that was some good advice.

Thank you so much, MaDonna for all the time you took even while being sick in Taipei to share your experience with others! Head over to RaisingTCKs.com to read more about MaDonna’s journey in raising teens in Taiwan. If you missed Part I in this series, you can read Niger TCK Suzanne’s story here!

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Pssst – are you a Third Culture Kid in love, a married TCK or a brave monocultural married to a TCK? I am collecting some data for a workshop I am hosting for global caregivers on how TCKs can have great marriages. The giveaway is now closed but I’d still be really grateful if you could fill out  this little survey!

Over to you, Suzanne! Tell me a bit about your upbringing and how you met your spouse.
I was raised as a missionary kid in Niger, West Africa. Although I was born in the United States when my family was on furlough, we returned to Niger when I was just 3 months old. My parents were church planters so we lived in a very rural village for most of my childhood and then when I hit junior high age, I went to boarding school in a nearby city. After graduating from high school in Niger, I moved back to the US to attend college. I met my husband Theo there in a random biology study session. We thought we had absolutely nothing in common, but we soon found out that his parents were medical missionaries and had been to Niger several times for medical missions trips (Cue: It’s a small world after all….). We were married and have since stayed in the area of our college. My husband is working towards becoming a city police officer and I am a stay at home mom. We are also foster parents.

How long have you and Theo been married?
We will be married 5 years in May

How has your relationship been impacted by its cross-cultural nature?
How HASN’T it? Ha! I’d say the main way our relationship is impacted is how differently we face our culture. Since both of us have cross-cultural backgrounds, we tend to live less materialistically and have a much broader worldview. Especially at the beginning of the marriage, we often had some difficulties understanding what the other person valued so much and why.

Tell me about a time you had a cross-cultural misunderstanding or differences in opinions. How did you work it out?
We often disagree politically! Since I grew up overseas, I tend to have a more humanitarian heart, and he tends to have a more patriotic heart. Without going into too much detail on opinions here, you can see how some problems might pop up into our discussions! Honestly, this will probably be an ongoing thing, but it is SO important to listen AND hear. I always need to remember that my opinion might not be right, and I can respect and value my husband’s opinions, too.

What has been the best part about being married to a monocultural spouse?
Honestly, the best part is that God has a much greater plan than I ever did. I always thought I would marry another TCK but God always knows better. I NEVER would have imagined my life in Dayton, Ohio instead of going back overseas. But God clearly has directed our paths to each other and to our ministry here in the US.

Alright, then what has been one of the greatest challenges about being married to a monocultural spouse?
Sometimes we are misunderstanding things and we don’t even understand that it’s a misunderstanding. For example, I have always struggled with eye contact because in Niger it is extremely disrespectful to make eye contact with someone you are apologizing to or someone that you respect. Of course, in the US it’s seen as rude to NOT make eye contact. So in my mind I’m respecting him by not making eye contact while he thinks I’m disrespecting him by not making eye contact. And we didn’t even know that we needed to have that conversation to explain things.

How do you keep your cross-cultural marriage from being a constant fight of my upbringing vs. yours?
I think that we both see the value in our upbringings. We see what our parents did a really great job of and we also see things that both our parents could have done better. In some ways, we then implement those things and create the best of both worlds! I think that we both value and respect the way the other was raised and just realize that they are not really comparable! We were raised in two different worlds and we now have the chance to bring the best of both of those worlds to the table!

Did you intentionally set out to marry a Third Culture Kid?
I did! I always thought I would marry another TCK! There is just that automatic understanding and connection that we have. When I met Theo, I was surprised that I was even interested in an “American” boy! Ha! It was so fun to get to meet his family and even though he doesn’t remember living in Africa when he was young, his family did and still raised him with many of the same values.

Would you say your marriage is easier given that you both come from traveling families?
It makes things so much easier! His parents “get it” and my parents “get it” and it is so wonderful having both sides of the family share the same values! I also think that we tend to have a different mindset that most of our American culture, and it helps so much that we tend to think the same way about valuing relationships over things.

Do you have any kids? How does your cross-cultural marriage affect them?
We do! We have a 2.5 year old daughter, Tera (named after the village I lived in in Niger), and a 6 month old son named Hezekiah. We are also foster parents and had one foster daughter for nine months in between our two kiddos (3 babies in 2 years!). As I mentioned above, I think that we tend to live less materialistically and value relationships more because of our cross-cultural experiences. This obviously overflows onto our children and I have already seen them displaying these values. I always joke that my daughter has my African blood in her because I cannot get her keep on any type of shoes at any time!

Which parts of your TCK experience are you hoping not to reciprocate in the lives of your little ones? Or, are you intentionally setting out to create little TCKs?
Honestly, I wish I was doing more. I wish that I was able to give my kids the literal world and a new/additional culture. Sometimes I feel so stuck in suburbia, where my children see people who look and behave just like them 90% of the time.

However, our values are different and we hope that we are living that out in our lives and encouraging our children to do the same. Part of this certainly plays out in us being foster parents and allowing children into our home when most of our American culture deems this “unsafe” “risky” or even “foolish”.

I want to raise my children to value people of other cultures and religions, and to see them as people and not as news articles or stereotypes. I want my children to learn another language and be able to travel. I want my children to value their family and friends over making money and climbing the ladder of “success”. I want my children to run barefoot and spend all summer without running water and electricity. I want my children to learn how to cook from scratch and know how to make it from airport entrance to the airplane before they are three.

While I want all these things for my children, it is always a constant struggle. Right now I’m trying to keep the dear ones alive and sometimes that means McDonalds instead of frying up my own hamburgers. Its certainly a balance and I am not a perfect mother, but I am working on it.

What is one great way for a spouse from a monocultural background to better understand his TCK spouse?
One thing I HIGHLY recommend is for the couple to take a trip to the place the TCK grew up. I took my then boyfriend Theo to Niger and after that trip he told me that he was able to understand me so much better. He was able to see where I lived, hear the language, smell the dust and see why I was so rooted in my expatriate culture as well as my own. He actually proposed to me on that trip and I still cry to this day just thinking of how special it was to me that he chose my “home” as the place of our engagement. This trip was also very healing for me as I was able to officially say goodbye on my own terms. When I left after graduating high school it felt like I was being dragged out of Niger kicking and screaming. even though I knew it was just life happening.

What is your best success tip for marriages like yours not to only survive but thrive?
I think this would apply to any marriage, but communication! We always struggle with saying that we are upset, but don’t explain why. Explaining why can smooth over a lot of misunderstandings! We enjoy making a point of carving out intentional time together…one of our favorite things to do is to play games that ask questions (the game Table Topics is great for this!) of each other such as “What are three things your parents did right and one thing they did wrong?” or “What is one job that would HATE to have?”, etc. These are super simple and fun but really open up communication, and especially from a cross-cultural perspective, it is so valuable to hear the other spouse’s answers!

What are some recommendations you have for young people who would like to be in a relationship with a TCK? Or tips for TCKs who would like to be in a relationship with a person from a monocultural background?
Honestly, go into it knowing that you are very different. Some of the differences will be obvious, but some will be subtle. Be willing to dig and ask questions and learn more about each other. The TCK needs to be careful to not be arrogant and “know it all”, and the monocultural person needs to be willing to broaden their horizons a little bit. Again- if you can visit the TCK “stomping grounds” together, it will be an incredible building block in the relationship.

We know you’re an amazing blogger. Do you have a blog post about missionary life in Niger to share with us? 
My most popular blog post of 2016 was written for missionary Moms, and sums up a lot of what I talked about in here: http://www.suzannehines.org/2016/07/21/dear-missionary-mom/

Thank you so much Suzanne for all the time you took away from your adorable family to share your experience with other Third Culture Kids!

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Hey, are you a Third Culture Kid in love, married TCKs or a brave monoculturals married to a TCK? I am collecting some data for a workshop I am hosting for global caregivers on how TCKs can have great marriages. I’d be really grateful if you could fill out  this little survey!

Calling all Third Culture Kids in love, married TCKs or all you brave monoculturals married to TCKs!

I am collecting some data for a workshop I am hosting for global caregivers on how TCKs can have great marriages. The giveaway is now closed. (Congrats, Sara for winning bestseller At Home in the World: Reflections on Belonging While Wandering the Globe!)

But, but, I’d still be really grateful if you could fill out  this little survey.

Thank you in advance for participating and for sharing this link with your friends.

Results and a three honest interviews with TCK in relationships to follow here on the blog. Watch this space!

Psst…if the idea of this post with more things to add to your to-do list just makes you feel tired and more full of horrid parent guilt, please read my post For weary parents of bilinguals first.

A few fabulous French children’s books to get you started

I tried hard to find French books, written in French rather than those that have been translated…

*Youngest read-with-me collections (0-3 years):
T’choupi, Petit Ours Brun, Babar, Oui-Oui…

*Younger readers might like (3-7 years):
Bon appétit ! Monsieur Lapin, Doudou perdu d’Océane, L’Afrique de Zigomar, Le mystère des Nigmes

*Inquisitive reader topical collections (3-7 years):
Mes P’tits docs, Kididoc, Mes Années Pourquoi… (excellent value for money, books that are re-read through the years)

*More advanced readers may enjoy beginner novels (6-12 years):
Le Petit Prince, Poil de Carotte, Les Trois Mousquetaires…

*Bande Désinées (BDs) or comics:
Astérix, Tintin and the more modern Titeuf (all of which can be found on Youtube as well)

*A few children’s authors:
Philippe Corentin, Claude Boujon, Claude Ponti, Godefroy de Pennart

*Beautiful multicultural books in French:
You can find them in my former post, right here.

*Reading lists:
I loved this sweet but simple reading list from last year. See if you can order them from a library near you!

6 Online Bookstores that will ship worldwide

If you know the title you are after, you can usually find it using one of these sites that all ship overseas, for a price of course:
Chapitre.com
FNAC.com
dlivre.com
Amazon.com

INDIGO
This is a Canadian website with a fun list of French immersion books for your little learners. Indigo ships internationally.

Book Butler
I just discovered this website that sources its products from 50 stores and allows you to locate books, films, music albums or games and pay in one of 6 currencies and ship it to any of the 10 countries, including… South Africa. Who knew!?

But, I don’t have any money to buy French books!?

Book swaps
Find a local book swap or why don’t you create your own! Lots of families are looking for books in English (or other languages) and will send you one in French in exchange. Or, find some ideas to host the perfect book swap at your place here.

Inter-library loans
Fear not, the library is here! In many parts of the States and elsewhere, you can get the inter-library loan system working in your favor. Your local library can ship you a T’choupi or a P’tits Docs book from Chicago to Denver free of charge. Well, thanks to your taxes, I mean! Let’s just not talk about the carbon footprint of your cutesy French board book! Ehem…

Image by Courtney of Carrying Wonder Photography

2 Great French children’s subscription services that deliver worldwide

L’Ecole des Max
User-friendly subscription website that will ship an age-specific French book each month to your address, anywhere in the world. Lovely books, eco-friendly (lighter = cheaper shipping) binding – really cool.

Milan Jeunesse Magazines
You may remember these kids’ magazines from my post on great gifts for multicultural families. We are big fans of the Wakou animal magazine, but I just discovered that they can all be delivered to foreign doorsteps.

3 Online French games for kids

French-Games.net
7 games (and lessons and evaluations) to help your youngster learn French, from Mix and Match to The beetle and The Bee, Pelmanism, Four in a Row, Hangman, Spelling game and The Frog Flies.

Hello World
700 point and click games in French for your little learners. Maybe a bit outdated but very educational (check out the sciences section!) with a broad offering of topics and age ranges.

Duolingo
I kept hearing about this site before checking it out. Turns out, it’s a fabulously user-friendly drill-style website that feels like a game – down to the part where you earn points for completing lessons. The social aspect is quite fun and motivating as well. Chat with virtual buddies, debate on a topic or boast about finishing your “French tree” before them!

3 Sweet little apps for your sweet little French learners

Okay, so, I don’t have any kids’ apps on my phone. That’s because my phone is always full of photos! So, for this category, I will default to the top of the far more organized Sylvia Duckworth’s French apps for Kids list, namely these intriguing ones:

French Words for Kids (Montessori) for $3.99
Fun French by Studycat (ages 3-10) – Free
Qui est-ce? (Who is who?, for older kids learning descriptives) for $1.99

2 Useful websites to purchase French resources

Little Linguist
UK website, global delivery available.
A range of products for teaching and learning French including books, songs, games, DVDs, Flashcards, Posters, Motivational Rewards and Schemes of work for teaching Primary French.

Teachers Pay Teachers
Have you ever heard of TpT?
Here is what my friend Annabelle from the Piri-Piri Lexicon writes about TpT: “TpT stands for Teachers Pay Teachers. It is a marketplace, just like Etsy, for teachers and home-schoolers primarily. Teachers and educators upload and share their materials, workbooks, printables, posters and everything else you might need in a classroom or to teach children at home. The site is incredibly popular in the US and a few other English-speaking countries. But did you know that you can also find French resources on it? If you have school-aged children, it is worth a good look. There are hundreds of great materials for all levels and topics (from geography to seasonal events, from maths to travel journals).” To help you sort through it, my friend has selected her top 5 stores right here. Sweet deal!

3 places to go for free French printables

Fiche Maternelle
Warning, you may get totally lost in this website. You will find in Fiche Maternelle a wealth of preschool printables from French cursive, to preschool biology. You do need to speak French to understand the categories though.

Un monde meilleur
Poking around online, I came across this Belgian portal for primary school teachers. It features crafts, French lessons or online games. Lots of freebies to download here as well.

Pinterest printables
Follow this link to print out a French alphabet, crossword puzzles, coloring books and more. Mind the “Make your own French fry holder” cut-outs that slip into the Pinterest search as it contains the word “French”!

Here are some more helpful resources to get you started on Pinterest. Try typing:
French flashcards
Poésie française enfants (French poetry for kids)
FLE enfants (French as a second language for kids)
Comptines Enfants (nursery songs for kids)
Apprendre français activités (Lean French – Activities)

2 fantastic websites for learning French

The French Experiment
So, you don’t have a French speaker on hand? Go to this website to hear someone read you a handful of children’s classics in French. The enunciation is sloooow, but the vocabulary isn’t dumbed down. I really like this website for its simplicity and good choice of French kids’ lit. Clicking around a bit further, you’ll discover topical French lessons for free too.

BBC Languages – French site
Like most things produced by the BBC, this website is well-done and very attractive, including for primary school learners.  Select your language of study, French, and you’ll also find a fun French BBC style show for your youngsters in the children’s section.

4 Great Instagram accounts for learning French

Older kids may enjoy learning French from one of these Insta accounts:

@LyraFrench (French learning for budding foodies. Gorgeous illustrations and slow, clear enunciation.)
@FrenchEveryday (Everyday French vocabulary. Tap the post to hear the pronunciation.)
@FrenchWords (Words and expressions with their translations)
@GastonMillefeuille (The most adorable little cartoons with expressions, phrases, (play on) words.)

6 Cute TV shows in French for kids

Le monde des petits / Comptines et Chansons des Tintounis
This is a most darling collection of classic nursery songs for little children, ages 0-2. We’d often listen to just the audio and dance around the house. Sit them down in front of the screen and drink your coffee warm. Also possible.

Dany le Tigre
Daniel Tiger exists en français, mais si! These gentle, morally driven shows based on the late Mr. Rogers’ shows are translated superbly and are decent enough to leave your 2-4 year old kid watching while you are putting a load of laundry in. No seriously, one time I left the kids with Wheels on the Bus playing and I came back to them screaming because someone had lit the passengers on fire and they all drowned?! (I just read more about this twisted phenomenon today, here!) You can’t even trust kids’ shows today..

Caillou
Please don’t get mad. I was oblivious for a long time that a number of parents find the cartoon character Caillou lame, whiny and grating. Perhaps that is because I discovered this Canadian show for 3-6 year olds in French, I don’t know. I enjoy this medium-length show because all the little things Caillou encounters (sleep-overs, fear of the dark, not eating dinner) are daily occurrences in most children’s lives too. As a result, the vocab is useful and helpful… with the exception for the sometimes peculiar Canadian expressions! Haha!

Didou
Didou (dessine-moi) is a lovely short show for 4-7 year olds who are into drawing. From a carousel to a horse, learn a simple way to draw all the things your kids love, while learning useful French words.

Sam le Pompier
Boys (and girls!) 5-9 years all seem to enjoy the suspense of Sam le Pompier. Conversation is rather robust and fast, but the action and context drives comprehension.

Les Aventures de Tintin
Older children ages 7-12 will enjoy Les Aventures de Tintin, a French..well, Belgian classic actually, contrary to popular belief! Vocabulary is quite advanced, but you can also watch them with subtitles if you are so inclined!

Bonus language hack for when you get bored of the above list: Try the dubbing or subtitling options in French on your favorite Netflix shows.

6 Excellent CDs/DVDs for young French learners

DVDs for learning French:
Little Pim – Little Pim is great for the youngest learners, focusing on repetition and the adorable little panda, present in all the langauge DVDs.
BBC’s Muzzy – I have heard a lot about this children’s language course. It’s supposed to be spendy yet excellent, but I can’t vouch for it personally. Perhaps one of you have tested it out?

CDs to rock out in French:
Holà l’eau là – Contes et Musiques aquatiques by Christine Laveder
Bulle et Bob à la plage – Nathalie Tual
Putumayo French Café CD Upbeat, catchy and excellent recording quality
Songs in French for Children CD  Sweet, vintage, classics.

Find a French teacher for your youngster!

When all else fails, take advantage of our modern era to select a French instructor who will teach you over Skype or Facetime. Websites such as italki.com (and others!) allow you to select a French teacher from 276+, located all over the world. After you find one who will fit your profile and budget, make sure you select one that works with children or teens, and let your kids see the teacher’s intro video so they can be part of the excitement and take ownership of the process.

As I said, French language material has never been more accessible, so what are you waiting for to get started?

Prêt, feu, et c’est… parti!! 

Not learning French? Click on the banner above for a wealth of resources in 14 other languages. Thanks goes to Chontelle from Bilingual Kidspot for organizing this mammoth language resource mash-up!

There’s no single explanation as to how fast you settle in a new country. It takes time to move in. It takes boat-loads of courage to make local friends, especially you don’t speak the language as well as you might like to. And, doesn’t it ever take us changing our own perspective to embrace rhythms of a new culture?

And yet, and yet.

Six months after we first set foot inside our new house.. just about the time we hung a brand new 2017 calendar on the wall, we began to switch to a much easier gear. For about three glorious months, we’ve been bursting with wonder, and savoring these green pastures. As a mother, I am relieved to watch each member of our family not just doing life here, but loving it and dare I say, thriving. What a gift.

So, how do you know you are settling in to your new home? I don’t know if there is some clever metric to evaluate the ease of comfort, but here are 10 ways we have felt more at home in our new country. See if you can identify with any of them…

1. You recover some spare time
There aren’t a whole lot of fringe hours with young kids to start with, but in the thick of an international move, there is initially zero margin to smell the roses. You’re busy sourcing beds to sleep on, setting up dreaded IKEA flat-packs and getting the internet up and running. After six months of unpacking and setting up hot water and electricity, you may find us outside watching kids dig up dirt and eating strawberries with the neighbors. Or, we’re inside painting or dreaming up new films. We’re reading more – which, as I have come to discover, is one of our family’s marker of well-being. Nine months in, and these weary parents are finally able to rip our sleepless bodies out of bed early enough to enjoy the sunrise. To walk around the lake. To ask God for his heart for this land and about our purpose within it. As a result of this spare time, there is a lot less stress in our lives, which is quite simply wonderful.

2. You’re not as fearful about all the unknowns
(..Mainly because there are fewer unknowns). You know how people drive or what things can be left out at night in your part of town. The house’s creaks and squeaks have been identified. Kids know their neighborhood limitations (although, I did find an escapee just standing on a busy country road yesterday!?) or what is expected of them at school. As a result, you’re all sleeping so. much. better.

3. You’re starting to feel more connected to the country’s rhythms
You’re more connected to the local rhythms of life. You are not fully rooted, but you’re not missing all the consignment sales anymore. You might not know what carnaval entails, but you know it’s happening. You know where the fresh markets are more than those first few months. You notice the trees budding and the birds chirping now. Personally, this connectedness makes us feel more present. And more thankful.

4. You feel a budding sense of belonging
You are proud to be able to explain where you live to a stranger, because you have discovered the adjacent streets or landmarks. You know how to find the nearest post office and THE best hot bread. You are also finding some sense of belonging within the local social fabric and you keenly introduce your visiting friends to the neat parts of your new land. You may begin to bump into someone you know at a store, park or other public place. Perhaps nobody will quite understand how special it is to hear their first name called out in a new land like us, the new kids on the block.

5. You are making local friends!
You are spending more time cultivating local friendships than maintaining those in your former country. You may linger at school to chat with other parents. You may walk around the lake with a new friend or venture out to invite someone over for coffee. You have friends to invite to a party (hooray!). Even better, your children are developing their own peer friendships. They have friends to invite to their birthday parties! And, wait for it… new friends are starting to invite us around too. *gasp*

6. You’re experiencing developmental milestones here
Kids’ developmental milestones really anchor you emotionally in a place, because it’s hard to disassociate the event from the place. Now, you’re not just sentimental about the image of a child in a bouncy chair on the counter in your former home. That’s because you are making brand new memories in your new one. The first time Délice spoke French back to me was after one month in French school. Ayo rode a bike in the street in the front of our farmhouse. The first time Amani stood up, it was in our rustic 1820s kitchen. These events grow a sense of home being right here, right now.

7. You know where to shop for the basics
You aren’t just trying to find ways of cooking with the same brands or ingredients as you did in your former home. You know which stores to go to, in order to find the best tissues or the ingredients you enjoy cooking with. Those of us who have moved countries realize that this often means changing the very recipes we used to cook with. You shop like you live here, not there.

8. Language is becoming less and less of a barrier
Depending on where you started in your language journey prior to your move, this one may take a bit longer to fall into place than the others. Our family members have differing French language abilities, but each of us is one notch more at ease when conversing. I’m reading more and speaking more. My husband is being pulled into political debates at lunchtime. My daughter no longer responds to everyone in English like when we moved here. She’s opening up in class and chattering with her “best friends”. Our oldest son’s French is stronger than ever and he loves throwing around fancy words like colchique or cynorrhodon or mimicking the exasperated adults’ rho là là, j’en ai vraiment marre, hein! Even baby is playing around with the French R sound. There is great need for the language the kids have heard since birth, so they use it. Language is less of a barrier.

9. You don’t romanticize life here, yet you are beginning to find a sense of enjoyment
Perhaps you came with a few per-conceived ideas or even some ridiculous stereotypes about how great life would be. Today, you know what real life looks like in this part of the world. And you are able to thrive in this new real cultural context, and dare I say, even find some enjoyment.

10. You’re finally in the system!
You can finally go to the doctor or the dentist to deal with your aches or pains because you are in the medical system. You understand your coverage. You might even have a legal residency status, or maybe a new driving license. If that’s the case, then, well done, courageous one, you are one step closer to feeling more at home!

Pressing on a bit further, into the covered fish market, we could hear the haggling, the laughter and lively relational interaction that told us we were most definitely in another part of the world. Nearing the commotion, my soul came alive.

I grabbed my long black skirt, raising it ever so slightly above the wet ground. I looked up to see fishermen’s toes peeking out from the spread before them. Each fisherman was sitting at his fish-selling platform, showcasing a most splendid variety of fish on wadi mats, those all-purpose woven PVC carpets. Baby sharks, squid, tunas, sordid sweetlips, parava fish and so many more species I know not by name. My cousin settled on a fish that looked like it had run into a wall: the flat nosed white Koffer, the size of a frying pan. We’d take two please – plenty for our festive meal with friends that we’d later eat with our hand (right only!) after enjoying the last of the Omani sweet cardamom tea. The kids wanted to watch the fish being gutted, so they stood on the ledge and watched the gory scene before them that they’ll never forget… Or will they just forget it all?

Because we believe travel is never wasted on young kids, we just returned from the enchanting Gulf state of Oman with three kids ages 4.5, 3 and 1. We have no regrets – apart for not checking that all five passports are valid for at least six months! (Oops.) It was such a phenomenal trip on so many levels. I am convinced that an experience like this is more precious than any thing we could buy them.

But…we all have friends who think their kids shouldn’t travel until they are six because their children will never remember it. Despite the fact that many kids who start to travel at age six have already reached a level of discomfort, which could in fact make it a lot harder when they do come of age, it’s worth mentioning that even young kids can absolutely be given tools to remember their voyage. 

To remember our trip, we invited our kids to make a little scrapbook along the way. We called it their “carnet de voyage” or little travel notebook. It was so much fun to put together, and dare I say that I discovered a few things about the so-called Norway of the Middle East myself.

The little travel notebook is a simple idea, perfect for ages 4-8, but I also made a little younger version and you could certainly think of adapting it to older kids. While terribly simple, these little notebooks have given our children words and pictures to describe their experience.

For once, this tool doesn’t have to cost anything other than the paper and ink you use. You can adapt it to any age or place you intend on visiting. Our kids wrote or drew in it each time their was a little downtime in our travel. On airport floors, during a quiet time, in the back of a car. It can be as detailed and creative as you’d like. And if you are a busy parent like me, you can include a bunch of extra pages to make it up as you go, and even staple it all together on the road. This tired mama is all about simple, non Pinterest worthy crafts these days..

Some of the prompts I included for our 4 year old:

– Draw who came along on this trip
– Draw your itinerary on the world map
– Find your boarding card and glue it in your book
– Cut out the country you are traveling to from the inflight magazine (ehem) and locate the capital.
– Crossword puzzle to find the capital city
– Fill in the blanks: I see a lot of ____. The buildings are mostly _____.
– Get your booklets stamped by the border police / customs (a little tricky, but we got two!)
– A model of a local flag and a rectangle to draw it themselves
– Which types of sea creatures did you see? (Choose from stickers)
– Draw something new you ate
– What is the local currency?
– Draw a local building (an Omani fort!)
– How do you say hello, goodbye and thank you in the local language?
– What was you favorite part of the trip? Draw it.

There isn’t anything like show-and-tell in French schools, but how could you not enthusiastically welcome little travel journals with adorable kid writing in a class setting? I was informed that the little classmates giggled hearing the greeting salaam alaikum after the whole carnet was read aloud. It all sounds so funny, so foreign, but precisely, that’s how to bring the world into the monolingual classroom, amiright?

Of course, our kids are proud as punch by the notebooks they chipped away at little by little. Today, they carry them around in resealable bags so they don’t get wet or damaged. They love them so much that we’ve decided we’d even add some photos of our trip on the blank pages. Maybe of their second cousins. Maybe of the date-farms at the foot of the jagged mountains?

Our children might be young, but they may just end up remembering more details about our trip to the Middle East than their parents ever will..

Update: Read about how these travel journals are helping our kids process their passport country on their first trip to the United States since they moved to France. Priceless, tender drawings revealing how massive the discovery was. Click over to here to read more.

I thought long to myself, glancing over at the table of Sea Shepherd whale activists before looking down at my plate, sheepishly offering a simple “No, I wouldn’t have.”

I knew I owed him an explanation after this response that half surprised both of us. It’s not like we took the decision to uproot our family lightly. But, today, I will say that I had no idea what it would actually entail. You see, while there are sprouts of wonderful things about our new life, it was so damn hard to move into an empty place with three tiny children and hardly any relationships, and immediate travel plans for my husband.

Instead of being exhilarating and full of discovery, our first weeks were marked by sleeplessness and anxiety, a new empty house to fill and the same old little mouths to feed. Our first six months were marked by marriage-stretching decision overload and missing the heck out of our friends and family we’d left. I couldn’t remember what we used to cook before arriving. He couldn’t remember when he last watched a movie for pleasure.

When we were together, we spent our free time tracking down used furniture all over the city. We rented a van to pick it all up and beg new friends to help lift furniture just one more time. We’d step over it in the hall to feed our family before collapsing in bed. And then, when we were apart, his work trips left me even lonelier than before. I wondered if we had made a horrible mistake.

Even as a Third Culture Kid who had grown up here previously, I had romanticized what a move to France would look like. It was going to be a baptism by fire that would boost our kids’ language skills. We’d be giving them the dream life of hearing several languages every day. They’d eat well and find best buddy neighborhood friends. They’d run about in the country and learn to ski before they could ride a bike. Right?

RIGHT??

Maybe in a couple of years.

Because, the real rewards of an international move are rarely immediate.

Particularly amongst internationals, there is a very vibrant “we’re going to soon move for kiddo’s language” club. I know it well. I might even have been a club ringleader. We’re dreamers of that perfect world we’ll soon live in. The members of our club ‘pinky swear’ they’ll see each other on the other side. And just a few of us actually pack up our bags and board the plane. The others ’suffer’ through lackluster aspects of local life with the consolation that “one day, we’ll move to X country and it will all be better.”

But will it?

It won’t. At least not initially.

When you move, every single detail of your life as you know it has to be re-established. Times 110 if you have kids in tow. Given the added layer of culture shock and adaptation, moving internationally it’s hardly for the faint of heart.

Take one normal aspect of any parent’s life: my child gets sick. You have to ask yourself:

Where do we go to the doctor?
Is there a better doc than another?
Who do we call to ask about best doctors in the area?
Will we find a doctor in line with a more holistic approach to health?
Do they take new patients?
When we find the doc, will they agree to accepting the whole family as their new patients?
How do we pay?
How much will it cost?
Do we need to transfer more money into a local account?
Oh shoot, do we need to order a cheque book?
Oh gosh, we forgot to change the address on our banking account.
Do we need an insurance card for the doctor visit?
Do kids come under my insurance?
Do we need complimentary insurance?
Will the doc see our children without local medical records?
On second thought, don’t I need to go to a pediatrician?
Where do we get the prescribed medication?
If a sibling gets sick, can I squeeze them into the appointment?

Hmm, maybe we’ll ride out the sickness this time.

But, there is no escaping it forever: each question needs to be answered for the next time.

Similar lists are made for the plumber, the mechanic, the grocery store, the post office.

And then you move on to the daily life questions to figure out where to buy tahini and pita chips. Is the raw milk from the creamery clean enough to give to an infant? Where the heck can I make a photocopy?

For those of us living with a severe case of wanderlust, it’s easy to think life will finally have started once we have moved to a new country. As I see it today, if you are deciding to move just for your kids’ language improvements, you might be disappointed. Because of your lack of connections, your new world may even end up being less multilingual than before.

There are lots of reasons to move and I do know it’s not always a choice.

But, if you do have a choice, moving certainly shouldn’t just be because the grass is greener on other side. Or because you like the sound of the school system over there. Or because you think your kid will get good at your minority language. On some level, it’s got to be about a calling, or at least a solid commitment to a new place.

If you move thinking there are 1-2 things in your life you want to change, you run the risk of discounting the reality and the cost of a move.

Two truths about our move we are left with:
1. Some things WILL be harder and worse.
2. And every facet of your life WILL be upended.

My response on that frigid October night showed me just how exhausted this mama had been after almost six months of sheer decision fatigue.

We’ve been on this side of the ocean for nine months now and I do think my response would be different. However, I would still caution my old self to approach an international move with eyes wide open.

Thankfully, today, questions are slowly finding answers and things are starting to fall into place. We are beginning to get into a rhythm and see the stunning vision for local life. We’re catching our breath, retrieving the wonder and remembering our family’s calling. It’s a beautiful new season of growing world-shaped hearts.

But it’s certainly not without a cost.

Featured image of Denver International Airport on the day we left, courtesy of Simeon.

—-

Y is for… “So YOU want to move for language? The cost of an international move.” It’s a post for A-Z of Raising Multilingual Children organized by Annabelle over at The Piri-Piri Lexicon. Don’t miss all the other inspiring posts this month written by 26 awesome multilingual bloggers that I love to follow.

It’s highly possible TCKs are all around you. They are the expat kids, military kids, missionary kids, navy kids (because, why do they have to be called brats?), but also sons and daughters of immigrants and refugees. Spouses, classmates, penpals, cashiers and presidents.

Whether they be that new kid in your university class or your daughter-in-law who grew up internationally, here are some great ways to care for them.

1. Show that you’re truly interested

Ask good questions about your TCK’s past, inviting them to share parts of their story as you get to know them. Ask follow up questions, showing you truly are interested in what makes them them. Nobody knows how to answer vague questions like: What’s Pakistan like? Rather, try a pointed but open-ended question, honing in on your TCK and their experience. What was the hardest thing about living there? What was your best friend like in Pakistan? What’s the best / worst thing about being here? And once you know them well, ask questions about them like you would of every friend. A friendship can’t survive on the novelty level forever.
Because often they don’t feel understood.

2. Be your TCK’s cultural interpreter

Especially when they find themselves at the beginning of their transition to another culture, help your TCK navigate the terribly choppy new waters. One incredible friend did this for me after being away from the US for no less than twenty years. She quite naturally grabbed my hand and took me to a party and ordered the trendy drinks the moment she saw I couldn’t. She warned me never to eat at local all-you-can-eats and where to find the awesome deals. She was a safe place because she wasn’t afraid to laugh at her own culture. And she never let me stand alone.
Because, often they just want to belong.

3. Introduce your Third Culture friend, for crying out loud!

In a similar vein, find a creative way to pre-empt the awkward introductions for your TCK in new group settings. Plan to introduce your friend, not making too much or too little of their story. TCKs don’t want to be the performing seal. But many of them do long for bits and pieces of them to be known. How many times would I have loved someone to introduce me the way only one friend ever knew how: Hey, you’ll get along with my friend Esther. She lives in Denver but grew up in France and is a total word-geek like you! Instantly, the awkwards vaporized into thin air. I was situated without sticking out like a sore thumb (wait till they here the whole story, later!), and even connected with someone. I was different yet I belonged.
Because they often loathe the question “where are you from?”

4. Help them create a multicultural tapestry all around them

Find an authentic food item or prepare a dish from a place they miss. Find music, a novel, a special item from their country. Not all TCKs are multilingual, but if yours is, gifts in the language they speak, speak to the soul. Other gift ideas might include a map and tiny sticker dots to encourage travel or how about a lovely coffee table book from the places close to their heart. And when they end up having babies, encourage them to create a multicultural world all around their children too.
Because they often miss the places where they have left parts of their heart.

5. Give them the gift of memories

At a going away party, or when they move on, give them a scrapbook or a photo book featuring the people they loved and the places they loved to meet. Or, get the group to give them a parting gift: words of wisdom, a signed traveler’s moleskine notebook, a checker board of self-portraits or meaningful words. These are the types of presents that are priceless to most Third Culture Kids.
Because they often find their sense of belonging in people rather than in places.

6. Help them process and explore their emotions

Over time, you’ll find out where your TCK is in their transition. Personally, I love referring back to Libby Stephens’ guide on the evolution of the Third Culture Kid. Help them process their current stage by unpacking each emotion right to the end. Validate their feelings instead of trying to offer quick fixes. It goes beyond saying – listen more, talk less.
Because they often need YOU to help them process their experience..

Featured image courtesy of Valentina Storti

“European vs. American parenting: You may be embarrassed!”
“Why African Toddlers Don’t Have Tantrums!”

Well intended observations being morphed into gross, shame-on-you blanket statements that spike web traffic while smashing my sense of contentment.

Why does ADHD not exist in France?
Why do African kids never cry?
Why are Asian kids born superior at maths or music?

Sorry but really not sorry: I am calling B.S.

It’s click bait and we all know it.

Not just because the worst case I know of ADHD is a French child, who yes, eats plenty of processed foods and refined sugars. Not just because we happen to know African youngsters who do cry louder than babies and Korean teens who don’t give a rip about mathematics or music.

Sometimes, we forget to take these articles with a big fat grain of pink Himalayan sea salt.

Even my own family members send me articles like this from time to time. Somehow, we still fall for the sensational titles. We want to know “Why French Kids Eat EVERYTHING!” because we’re secretly anxious about our kid who hates his greens. We feel like we’re drowning or failing in this area or that and want to know the someone else with the safety raft. Our curiosity wants to know just how those other mothers do the impossible job of mothering, all right. Possibly even, gulp, how we have done it all wrong this whole time.

Meanwhile the country bashing to assist the other country’s over-the-top praise, combined with our gullibility feeds a deep, dark festering of inner discontent. The exaggerations we read nurture the self-loathing and comparison and shame that so many of us mothers are already prone to.

Are we fit enough to mother anyway??

Can we just stop propagating broad statements and articles without some qualifiers?
And, for us clickoholics, if we can’t use common-sense to know no culture is perfect, let’s do ourselves a favor and stop clicking on what is clearly click-bait. And for the love of Pete’s kid, stop sharing.

There is a big secret all global mamas who are able to dance between cultures know. That is, there is no superior country or culture. Really, and dead serious. Every culture has goodness and life lessons we can and should glean from. And each one has its dysfunction and imperfections. Each is like one part of a body and we sorely need the others to function together as a whole.

Global-minded mamas, we have just got to check our pride-o-meter and resist spreading messages of blind hubris about the countries we love. There have got to be other ways to share that love. Let’s quit sending out stereotypes that tell mothers they aren’t mother enough, because they aren’t in my country.

Motherhood is a lonely enough place without all the bashing.

Globally-minded mamas, we must take the lead on painting a more balanced, more honest picture.

For those of us who share our multicultural life or write about it, then how about doing it from our own perspective and opinion vantage point – using careful qualifiers, remembering mothers in the trenches who on the hard days *shhhh* might not think they are good enough for the job.

I think of the example of an article with a title that drew me in, instead of throwing darts at a sacrificial job that costs my blood, sweat and tears. It was called: How Cultures Around the World Think About Parenting. I get a glimpse into how things are done around the world and a better insight into the legacy (good and bad) of my country’s parenting habits. I don’t leave condemned, believing the absurdity that my kids would be better off with Japanese parents.

It’s a more bridge-building picture in these bridge-burning times.

Less divisive, with less bashing.
More inspiring, and more hopeful.

As with many profound reflections, this one came about at the table, where precious friends asked us how the last few months had treated us as a family. I am not sure any of us expected all that trickled out.

You see, for about five weeks in the late Autumn, we had a really challenging patch, especially with one of our three children. Bedtime strikes deep into the night, anger and yelling fits, aggressive behavior, time consuming tantrums. Like most families, we go through any number of these ailments in a given week, but it was daily and rather extreme.

As waves of house guests came and went, our kid’s challenging behavior left me both depleted and embarrassed for not being able to get my child to eat or smile, let alone say ‘hello’ or ‘pretty please’. I was ashamed I couldn’t handle my kids come dinner time. Time and time again, we left the dinner table with a flailing child over arm. Why on earth was my kid so out of sorts? Was it the many guests? Or the later dinners? Was it ever going to get better?

We were going through days upon days that turned into weeks upon weeks of this bewildering behavior. It felt so darn lonely. I called older mothers. And peers in similar trenches of motherhood. I even remember resorting to good old Dr. Google, looking for parents who had gone through a similar phase. Misery loves company.

“Kids are so tired at this age. Wait and see how fast they adapt!”
“School makes them hangry, it’ll pass after two weeks!”
Oh good.

But for weeks and weeks, it didn’t really pass. I remember one time, trying to peel a yelling kid off a large rock in the school parking lot. Hundreds of kids were happily on their way home. All, except for mine, screaming, neither wanting to go back to school, nor come back home to a loving family. What was wrong with my child?

Right around this time, I came across Cécile Gylbert’s observations on Third Culture Kids (TCKs). While much of her work in Les Enfants Expatriés : Enfants de la Troisième Culture is based off of Pollock’s research, there is a little gem of a segment in her book that piqued my interest. It was a little paragraph about how humans transmit culture and how TCKs assimilate their own and figure out their sense of belonging within the beautiful Third Culture.

Culture is transmitted through us, the parents as most important educators, but also by ways of family, friends, public institutions, secular or religious community and, you got it, through school.

As I see it, school is one of the primary direct diffusers of cultural values and beliefs of a society. And, many beliefs taught at school are shared with families in that community. Reinforcing the same cultural values at home and later at school create a strong sense of cultural stability and belonging. Cultural conflict between home and the surrounding environment, particularly for a child who thrives in the stability of patterns and rules and predictability, has got to then be terribly destabilizing.

I told our friends that night how many of our home values are compatible with the French system. Otherwise we likely wouldn’t have placed them in the local school system. There is plenty of goodness in that place and such passionate a teaching body. We count it as a blessing to have a free preschool, caring about language, literature, nature, science and road safety. Plenty of days, like when they all jump on the bus to go to the theater, or bake together or sled down a hill at recess, I revel in the free gift of quality childcare. It’s just wonderful.

And yet, some of our home values, are simply not shared by the school. Worse, some of the values supported at school are in fact in direct opposition with how we have chosen to raise our kids.

This is not to say that there isn’t a certain malaise on some level for all monocultural kids when they first adapt to school, but boy, what stark home/school contrast we see with all these cultural layers.

Our friends begged for examples.

Where honesty and integrity, self-expression and creativity are celebrated in the US or the UK and oftentimes in our home, those aren’t typically high values in France. At French school, there is a push towards respecting a more top-down authority, developing kids’ autonomy and independence, upholding secularism and critical thinking at all costs, all which reflect values of the Republic.

Embarking on our new journey in France, I knew there would be a discrepancy between our home and community value systems, but perhaps I didn’t expect to see so much difference, so early on. Even at age two.

Our dinner had come to a close, but our friends were still thoughtfully listening to my rambling. On top of being physically exhausted, and mentally adjusting to rhythms of school, I concluded, I think those intense five weeks were more than anything about our kid processing our home value system vs. our new community one they face the vast majority of the day.

Just to be clear, I do not think our preschoolers are going through a crisis of cultural identity confusion. That would be undermining much more significant challenges they face as they return to a passport culture later on in life. But I do think they are already trying to dance cross-culturally with two different looking shoes. They are forging who they are, given two contrasting worlds.

With a tiny bit of hindsight, I can see how troubling it must have been for a preschooler to juggle conflicting sets of beliefs, our parental fretfulness and understand where they belong…

Probably because at night, laying in bed, we recall their ready fisticuffs and worry who they might be becoming, we looked for someone to blame.

I’d openly shown my dismay at teachers who raise their voice.

Or, that no adult broke up a fight in the school yard. Kids fighting like animals for bikes and the strongest bully won as teachers looked on.

Then, there was the ridiculous didn’t-have-to-be fight between Father Christmas and Jesus. “What’s Christmas about?” teachers asked our kids. Our kids told them about baby Jesus’s birthday, and teachers said “we can’t say that word”. They were to believe in the truth of Santa.

Probably because I assumed all humans shared the desire to impart real facts (vs. “alternative” facts) to kids, I dug in my mama bear heels.

Next, we had been over-reactive hearing about some of the grotesque stories read at school and our kid was painfully singled out after telling the the teacher “my parents didn’t like that book”.

Probably because we felt a lack of control, we’d been openly critical, hugely adding to our kids’ instability.

We always say that little kids adapt to a new environment so well – and they certainly do. But it’s so easy to forget all the things that their brains are trying to figure out in the early years.

There isn’t a pretty bow to wrap this post up in at this point in our journey. For us parents, it’s very much a journey of faith to believe our kids will turn out okay and even thrive in an environment so different from home – with all the good and the less good.

What a gift it will be then, for our kids to learn to be comfortable with that “different” so early on. It’s a truth that will be their banner for a lifetime as they fill their sparkly new Third Culture shoes and grow those tender little world-shaped hearts.

Read more articles about the Third Culture here.

It was hard to say goodbye to that table. It was there that I crept to, in the wee hours of the still dark Colorado mornings, long before the house awoke. There, that I journaled and dreamt and prayed. There was my preferred cloth padded chair and a favorite spot to write at our table. Later in the day, that space was shared with friends and their small children over playdates and spilled glitter and spilled milk and raw confessions above the sound of wailing children.

Putting that table up for sale was all about the price to ship it across an ocean. It would be foolish to keep it. And thus, our Denver table was the last of our household items to be listed “for sale” the week before we left. Instead of describing the item in the ad, I described the life enjoyed around this table with a photo. Hardly had I posted the ad, a notification popped up in my inbox. The buyer couldn’t have cared less about the price. In her words, there was clearly so much “positive energy” in that table, she needed it immediately. Sure enough, she collected it, right in the middle of our last supper. “Where will we eat now?” the kids worried as we dusted remaining crumbs off and waved goodbye.

We don’t see the table in terms of an object that has good or bad energy. To us, it’s all about the table’s emblems and sharing a meal, to share life. There are all the parallels we see in the Bible about life in the every day act of breaking the bread, and living a lifestyle of thanksgiving. Found at the table, is a marriage of food and faith, filling the empty stomachs and soothing bleary souls. And more symbolism, that we ourselves are still unpacking.

Over the Christmas holidays, we commissioned Tall Mountain’s brother to build us a new table. We’d talked about it for a while. The brief: a large, rustic dining table to be made out of imperfect wood lying around the property. The planks my brother-in-law found were as imperfect as our very lives, with holes and scrapes, concrete splatters and warped grain, all planed together and sawed down to make one majestic piece you can’t stop marveling at.

Hosting 43.5 people from all over the world and all walks of life this past month at our farmhouse kitchen table, we knew my brother in law’s labor wouldn’t be in vain. There were the newlyweds who were figuring out cross-cultural marriage. The family overcoming grief of a loss of a child. Neighbors, invited in for an apero. Parties for the babies. Drinks for the grandparents. Pastas with the old college friends. There we were too, processing our new life in the ‘old’ world. Or the New Years Eve crowd feasting on paella and voicing defining moments of 2016.

Very symbolically, the 2.5meter table was inaugurated on the last day of 2016, albeit still unvarnished, a little unstable and not quite finished. That’s how the table will always be: an invitation despite the mess, the chaos, all the imperfections that tell us we aren’t perfect enough to host. The table was set up, right there, under the fresh artwork my visiting friend had made for us that morning. Not knowing the significance of “The Table” in our lives, she wrote out the passage in the Bible: “He brought me to the banqueting table and His banner over me is love.” Paint was still wet as our New Year’s guests shared our table.

On my brother-in-law’s final day visiting us, he was still staining the table a warm dark oak color, which looks like the rich, brown shade you’d get from walnut brew. “Was that intentional? ” Asked our next guests, knowing all about the majestic walnut tree near the farmhouse that gave its color to the beams in our house hundreds of years ago. Not intentional, no, but perfectly fitting for all the folks who will join us at our table in our new dwelling place.

So, here’s to 2017, our year of the table!

It was 27c / 80F yesterday in Colorado and my friends are doing their best to rub it in!

Well, folks, the region around Geneva is a spectacular place to live year round, with one exception: in November! It’s grey, it’s grim, it’s nasty wet and cold. As others were busy gawking at the wonders of the supermoon in front of a clear sky, here was my bleak headlamp view:

Yeah.

Could even this landscape in all its shades of grey be an exercise in finding wonder? As I ran, I thought about the sights, the scents, the sounds around me that were every bit enchanting:

Rich wood fire aromas pouring out of old houses.
The speckles of snowflakes sparkling in front of my headlamp light.
The way that one spotted horse sleeps standing up – how do they do that anyway?
The catering orders arriving on several people’s doors.
Beauty, LIFE, warmth is all around. Maybe I just have to open my eyes a bit wider…

Stiiiill, it’s gonna take a bit more effort on my part to get my kids out every day in November this year!

While we anxiously wait for the mountains to be covered in white skiable stuff, we tentatively venture out into the greys. And then, we keep discovering awesome indoor play places in Geneva and neighboring France. Some are on the Swiss side, others on the French side of the border since we live so close to Switzerland.

Here are 5 of our current favorite indoor kid-friendly play places in the Genevois so far!

1. Maison de la Créativité, Geneva, Switzerland
Each room of this historic house has been converted into a fabulous space for kids under six years of age and their parents to play. Very European: The rather philosophical, sometimes scientific approach to creativity. The manager who gives a detailed tour to each person who enters the building. The limited opening hours. And, the fact that there is no parking. Families (mothers dragging three kids and all the things) are invited to clear the brain and walk for ten minutes from the car to the Maison. Still, we love that the themes rotate regularly: Make your own stamps from scraps and rubber bands, build a tree-house using real wood and bolts, dress up like yo mama, tinker with lights inside laundry machine drums.  At 3CHF per kid, it’s the best bargain in town! Love this place!

2. Vitamparc, Neydens, France (74)
Expansive aquatic park built by someone with plenty of vision. The water park consists of a splashpad for tiny tots, a 28c lazy river, an indoor-outdoor swimming area and lots of little slides for little and big kids. We like that kids under six years of age swim for free! The complex also features a massive climbing wall, an indoor play area for kids, a gym and spa, a Migros store, a toy store and a few eateries. A lovely summer-winter family-friendly refuge!

3. L’Ile de Tortuga, Vétraz-Monthoux, France (74)
France’s largest indoor playground, and a direct competitor to another one down the road. This one boasts a few activities for 1-4 year olds in addition to several for kids up to age 12. It’s clean, it’s massive, it’s fun. For an extra euro or two, kids can go on an aerial pedal helicopter monorail, ride bumper cars and try their hand at the suspended ropes course. There is WIFI access for parents and a decent snack bar with some in-house prepared menu items.

4. Musée d’Histoire Naturelle, Geneva, Switzerland
Located right over the border in Switzerland, MHN is a wonderful museum for all ages. The grounds are home to a sustainable world exposition and very climbable rocks. Once you have managed to get the kids indoors, take your time discovering two kilometers worth of wildlife and rocks, because… you can come back any time! It’s free of charge. We especially loved that kids could grab an age-appropriate notebook that was like a museum quiz. It had our four year old hunting for odd dinosaur facts and in the end, learning so much.

5. Ludothèque Monts et Merveilles, Saint Jeoire, France (74)
Public libraries around us are pretty miserable, both in terms of selection and opening hours, so I won’t include any here. That said, we love the idea of borrowing toys! That is the concept behind the “ludothèque”. Some of them, like our local one, even host second hand toy sales and game nights! Super fun. Check one out near you next time you are in France or Geneva! As always, it pays to call ahead to check they are open as websites are too often outdated. Haha! Vive la France!

Ludo image courtesy of onzain.fr

For years I’d envied the little French small town kids for their fairy-tale childhoods, frolicking carefree in fields of green, picking wild mushrooms and preferring a pungent Reblochon cheese over an ice cream sundae.

Now it’s our family on the frolicking side of the ocean. Why then, is it that just a few months in, the fairy-tale seems so distant? It’s as if the grind of daily life constantly clouds over the scene. Our endless to-do list reads: fix the lawnmower, get a pair of sweat pants for cold weather soccer practice, take the car in for maintenance, and on and on and on.

The glorious autumn mornings are still there, beckoning ever so patiently. The mysterious cottonous haze plays light games throughout the valley and it drapes delicately over the farmland. The majesty of it all is right there. Where’s the wonder?

Sometimes it’s like I’m standing outside an aquarium, struggling to access the bulging treasure chest on the other side of the glass. I am just peering in, wanting to touch the sparkling gems. I want to crawl right inside and stand in awe at the stunning underwater seascape. But life with young kids seems to constantly pull me away. Hey, folks, I’m over here wiping butts and playing home referee. I’m watching my step, or I’ll trip over these toys. Don’t you see? I’m busy folding massive piles of laundry so kids have something to wear. So I can think. So I can be creative and breathe.

The irony is that meanwhile, I’m getting old and grumpy and losing hold of the wonder right in front of me.

Due to the way motherhood was designed, you don’t get long seasons away in monasteries to come back refreshed and focus your mind on the beauty. You’ve got to access it, right there in the storm. Hair is disheveled by the natural elements, the throat is hoarse from the strain, and yeah, post pregnancy, your pants even fall off from all the changes in our center of gravity. It’s a choppy existence, akin to a precarious trip across the ocean in a blow up ducky boat. But I am quite sure of it, those mothers who can still find the wonder between the wild whitecaps, will never grow old.

It’s almost as if I have to scribble a “don’t lose the wonder” reminder on a post it note, stuck to the plastic boat handles. Because, friend, I’m sick of holding my breath throughout motherhood and letting the beauty slip by. I want less survival and more wonder in my life.

That’s what I just did in my car, by the way. I just scribbled, “don’t miss the wonder” on a bright piece of paper. It’s my reminder to find life between the whitecaps of rushing to school and slogging it out at the grocery store.

Choosing wonder is an intentional choice. You’re either present or you’re not. You either have the sparkling house or you’re right there in the action, part of the wonder. You’re taking the photo, or you’re inside the frame. You’re watching kids, or you’re right down at their level, seeing the magic they see.

The wonder is right here. It’s watching those flappy hands and widened eyes. Listening to a young child pray for their classmate through a precious lisp. Wonder is found when we get down on our knees and look at life through their eyes. When we overlook the painfully late bedtimes and snotty noses because they are asking earnest questions about life and death, and we’re watching them fall into deep slumber.

When I think about whom in my life is young at heart, it’s never about age. The youthful ones are those who never stopped being curious about life. They still get excited like children free of shame. They refuse to be embittered by life’s disappointments and they know to value childlike wonder through it all. I don’t know many old people like that. But that’s the type of granny I want to be.

And so, this winter, we’re getting outdoors.
We’re going to places with few snacks and little entertainment.
We’re going to be listening to snow crunching under foot.
We’re choosing wonder and we’ll never grow old.

Fancy joining us?

Featured image courtesy of my friend at Delight Photographies

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This post concludes the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below.

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

I hope you have enjoyed following the journey and look forward to welcoming you back for posts on other topics around the Third Culture, cross-cultural transition, multicultural and multilingual bridge-building life.

The film director and family were staying at our place between the London film premiere and a London award ceremonies (yeay!). Our kids were on holiday, and we had been too tapped out to plan a getaway. So, we played hard on the farm for a few days. They had discovered our tree house and zipline, painted and played Legos and wrestled. Together, we had explored Annecy playgrounds and massive bubble making. It was time to escape the rain on the forecast and for the Californians to see something different. Okaaaay…More honestly, after wading in moving boxes, building IKEA shelving units, transitioning to school-life, and adjusting to so many new rhythms, we were eager to switch gears and see something different as well.

We’d tried in vain to escape and relax all summer. Here was our chance: finally a fellow family up for traveling with younger kids. Why are such families so hard to find? It was over breakfast one day that we decided to book a few nights in Italy. Starting that night! The guys clicked to reserve three hotel nights and we all sang: we’re going to Italyyyyyyy today!

After plenty of obstacles including a dead rental van, sickness and packing for ten people to leave – nothing was going to stop us – we ventured to the other side of the Mont Blanc tunnel. My glorious childhood memories were shattered at the sight of the Italian border town Courmayeur resembling a ghost town this time of the year. Onward to the sea with our multilingual crowd it was! We were that unlikely group mixing Mandarin-English-French, muddling about in Italy with some rusty high-school Italian. A brief moment in time where I got to live the Third Culture DREAM.

We lingered for a good part of one whole day in the Genoa aquarium and took in the fantastic old town built on a hill. What a beautiful experience to travel with a relaxed, more contemplative group. There wasn’t that rush to “do all the sights”, we were just content noticing the little pregnant sea horse or the tomato shaped frog, the street performer and the ancient alleys. Making up for sub-par Italian carbs that day, we stuffed faces with the most exquisite gelato I have ever had at Romeo Viganotti Gelateria. It was just incredible. Dark beer or Gorgonzola and walnut flavored gelato, anyone? Coffees were also pretty delish for the most part.

One of the days, Tall Mountain and I used the old napping hack to get kids to sleep in the car and we decided to explore Camogli, a small fishing town further along the coast. The kids didn’t sleep en route of course, but sometimes it’s much more magical not to have the journey all mapped out, isn’t it. We poked necks around the corner of a narrow alley to discover a peaceful beach surrounded by bright yellow and orange buildings and church bells ringing. Giddy like kids in a candy shop, we ran down to the black stones and sand and stripped kids of their clothes. I couldn’t for the life of me peel the smile off my face seeing our children spontaneously splashing about the ocean, at this point, so late in October. I chose a beach stone of remembrance to mark that special time of unexpected grace and rest. It’s this gorgeous brown rock, lying there amidst all the black stones. We finished our wonderful visit strolling with sleeping kids, sunsets and fresh fish at a nice restaurant (please, please don’t wake up now, kids!) and phenomenal sunsets. Ironically, that was the only decent meal we had in Italy. The only thing missing was our friends, feeling poorly back at the hotel. So sad.

Stomach bugs, a lost voice, conjunctivitis, poor restaurant choices.. There were plenty of unwelcome surprises to our trip. THIS, my friends, is when it matters that you went with a family committed to touring around with younger travelers. There are so many unexpected breaks with kids: potty, pukes, nursing. We went with the flow, choosing when to take it easy, when to split up, when to bring sick kids along and when to cancel a trip to touristy perched cities, the famous Cinque Terre. Yesterday, our whole group splashed about one last time in Santa Margherita Ligure, another fishing town further down the coast before road-tripping home to France.

Despite the unexpected, I return rested and rejuvenated and ready to tackle life here. We’re not drained by our guests, rather we’re sad to see such gracious friends leave. That’s the best. Ayo is pretty bummed to come back to “boring old France” saying “but…Italy was so much more fun with so many things to do!”

Our friends left to the airport this morning with heaps of memories of an adventurous time. And with a bag of pastries. Because French croissants are still the best.

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PS: The oldest boys puzzled the morning away today, asking the best questions and noticing all the little things about about where we had just been: Italy is like a boot. We played in the Mediterranean sea yesterday. California is on the coast too. It’s on the Pacific ocean!

Perhaps my world-schooling fantasy isn’t just a pipe dream. Maybe it’s just that holidays are for world-schooling!

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

Alright. Why don’t you start by painting a bit of a picture about the first time you came to France and what it was like.
I had met a sweet gal and we’d been dating long distance for 2 months with a nine hour time difference. It was time to see what it would be like living in the same city, so across the ocean I flew. France was, well, fairly far from my mind. I came for the girl, and that girl happened to be living in France. It was more of an afterthought really.

So, you lived in France ten years ago. What are some notable differences this time?
France moved from an afterthought to a central focus. Whereas last time the croissants and wine were a nice bonus, this time they were front and center in my thinking along with all the other aspects of this country that I’ve become more familiar with. I studied the language for a few months that first time living here, but for more than 4 years I’ve heard the language daily as you speak it to our kiddos. So there is a lot more familiarity with the French language.

How do you feel about your kids developing a Third Culture Kid identity?
I LOVE IT. I’m married to a Third Culture Kid and she’s pretty amazing, partly thanks to the gift of her TCK identity. I want this for our kids. We need more TCKs in the world…I think they are uniquely equipped to be peacemakers, bridge builders, empathetic and astute.

How do you approach cross-cultural transition that is different to your Adult Third Culture Kid wife?
I’m American and my identity culturally is a bit more straightforward I think, which in some ways makes the transition easier for me. Or maybe it’s not easier, but less complex. I know I’ll go through culture shock and have the aspects of tension between my home culture and this culture. But I’m approaching this transition as an American living in a foreign land. I don’t feel a need to become French, nor will it ever happen. I’ll learn from this place, but retain my cultural identity. My Third Culture Kid wife gets to deal with a different sense of home, less tied to a culture. So I think her transition is more complex and nuanced as she knows this culture much better and it was “home” for a long while.

How good is your French today and how do you feel that affects the way you do life in France?
It’s not great. I’m not too bad at baby vocabulary having heard it for 4 years, and a few expressions do roll off the tongue. But overall my vocabulary is terrible and don’t ask me to write anything. I’m pretty good at following a basic conversation and getting by, but any real improvement in my French is probably going to require some serious study…which requires time…which I don’t have at the moment!

Not having the language would be much harder in other parts of France, but we’re so close to the expat hub of Geneva that we can exist fairly well with English speaking relationships. Apart from that, I’d be withering on the vine and probably even more desperate to study French immediately.

Where would you put yourself on the culture shock curve, four months after arriving?
Probably somewhere between the honeymoon and hostility stages. Loving the food here (croissants!! yogurt!! wine!!), the stunning beauty of this part of France, the early stages of some friendships. And I’m here with an open mind for the most part, but still battling some frustrations and judgment of the “different”.

What is the absolute best part about life in France?
The French understand healthy rhythms of life. They eat well. They vacation well. And generally don’t seem to kill themselves for their career. They prioritize relationships, which take time. So maybe I sum it up by saying that I love the way the French people relate to time. It seems really healthy to me, and it’s something I hope our family can learn from. It’s one of the reasons we moved here!

How about something that is the hardest for you to come to grips with?
It takes patience. Everything feels like a bit of a struggle when you are a driven person used to accomplishing lots of things quickly. Classic examples are getting a repairman to come by when you need them, or having the right paperwork for any kind of legal/immigration/financial appointment, or needing to do some quick shopping later in the evening. None of it happens easily or quickly.

Ok, so what is your greatest fear about our life here?
I really haven’t thought about this much. But my initial response would be that we take too long to ease into the healthier rhythms of life here in France. I don’t want to keep driving ahead like we do in the US. I want to cut back and enter this new season of life or I fear we’ll miss out on some of the greatest gifts this season in this place have to offer.

And of course, what is your greatest hope?
I hope we truly “live” and are present here. I want to be a local person who is globally minded. In past seasons I’ve struggled to really enter into the community we live, either because I’m traveling so much, or my work colleagues are around the globe and not related to our local context, or because we didn’t know how long we’d be there. I hope we get rooted here in this community.

A bit of fun, if you had to describe yourself in terms of a French cheese, what would you be?
I think at the moment I’m probably a Comté. Hard, savory, better when aged. And of course, fairly competitive with it’s Swiss distant cousin, Gruyère!

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

Over here, I can hardly write one post in advance, let alone a month’s worth of daily content. But, what I can promise you, is that when I do post, it will be something I know I should be writing about. It’s often confirmed after the fact by an email from a reader. Or before the fact in an article I stumble upon or a voicemail from a friend.

Today’s entry is no different.

She bows before Him, a humble servant, asking for guidance, wisdom and discernment.

I went to write about a few thoughts about our grand vision for this season and how we’re putting our Mr. Achiever and Mrs. Planner identities aside for maybe the first time in our lives. Just before I clicked over to my blog, I came across Julianne Powers’ series, brilliantly branded “31 Days of Writing Naked”. On day 20, she writes about “guidance” and leaves her readers with a beautiful poem she wrote a decade ago. It struck such a chord.

Patience I’ll grant you in times of great yearning. I’ll give you a heart of careful discerning.

We moved across an ocean this past summer, with just a piece or two of the life puzzle in hand. Deep down, I think we were hoping for the move to uncover more pieces and unveil the big picture plan.

This road will get rocky, your feet may get sore. I’ll be taking you places I’ve never shown you before.

But it’s like some kids lost a bunch of the pieces, and the vacuum cleaner swallowed up a few more. We sure don’t see a crystal clear path before us –  be it in terms of our housing, our work situation, our finances, our local community and just about any other aspect of life here yet.

“She stands before her God and King, desiring to serve Him with her everything.

She bows before Him, a humble servant, asking for guidance, wisdom and discernment.

“Guidance,” He whispers, you already have. Just stay right beside me and follow my path.

This road will get rocky, your feet may get sore. I’ll be taking you places I’ve never shown you before.

You will be tempted to swerve; to the right, then the left. Trust that I am leading the way that is best.

My child listen closely. You must not lose heart! For never will I leave you and never will I part.

Wisdom you ask? You’ll be pleasantly surprised. It will come when you least expect it to arrive.

Wisdom is something that takes time to gain although growing in wisdom isn’t hard to obtain.

Patience I’ll grant you in times of great yearning. I’ll give you a heart of careful discerning.

With her head bowed before him, her eyes wrinkled tight, he gazed on his child with great joy and delight.

“Oh daughter of mine, your prayers have been heard. Keep trusting in me and remain in my word.

She opened her eyes and was moved to sing praises to her God and her King, the rock of all ages.”

Julianne Powers

We don’t have the five year plan, the masterplan, the white paper.

You’ll just find us over here, walking one baby step in front of another.
We’re trusting. And it feels new and frightening. But somehow it’s also freeing and exciting.

Featured image courtesy of Carryingwonder Photography

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

Until tomorrow, I will have been each time with my child to the little friend’s home, and enjoyed a chat with the mother, while vaguely helping a kid tie a shoelace, or tell mine to share more Legos. While our conversations were always interrupted, I cherished the time to get to know another mother. And, I was also there to see what the kids played with.

Tonight, my husband and I found ourselves wrestling with this new “kids only” reality. While we’re happy at the prospect of a new friend for our son, we don’t love the fact we know absolutely nothing about the family or home environment we’re sending our kid to. Also, selfishly, in which context then, will I ever get to know the mother?

Back to the main issue. I’ve read all the polarizing articles about how great it is that French mothers have time to get things done during kids’ parties because their kids are awesome and independent, and conversely how US mothers supposedly love to helicopter parent their big babies. I can put myself in the shoes of each culture looking in on the other in disdain. But, it’s all so different when it’s your own son. So different.

I don’t fear domestic violence, bullying or not trusting my kid to speak up for himself. What I fear most is over-exposure given his young age (and older siblings in the house). I am aware that it’s a very subjective classification as to what you’d consider over-exposure. But that’s probably the point. You might or might not view it as over-exposure depending on your family values. We’re extremely careful about exposure to things like pornography, guns and gore and dark, witchcraft type things. Our four year old is growing up fast and we won’t be able to protect him from everything, but gosh, we’d love to help interpret what he sees instead of throwing him in at the deep-end.

In the past few months, our little boy has gone from pat-a-cakes, duplos and sand castles with mama not far away… to finding himself alone, surrounded by teens playing violent video games or reading stories about an ogre biting a boy’s head off. We’ve heard about all the little stories after the fact and have found ourselves caught off guard and reactionary instead of able to prepare him for situations he might find himself in.

I think I will still drop him off at his friend’s house tomorrow, because the mother seems really kind. And it’s our son’s very first chance to have fun with a friend his age, which is like a dream come true. Also, because solo is kinda just how it’s done here. But it isn’t without a bit of anguish and lots of prayer that we entrust one of our most precious possessions into new hands and a world with plenty of unknowns.

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

Today, the children were sent home with a scrapbook to show the family what they have been singing, reading, drawing, cutting. They brought home their napping blankets and pillows and water bottles for thorough washing. Time to rid them of head lice, c’est les vacances! It’s time for All-Saints holidays to begin.

The kids were just getting the hang of the rhythms but still, most everyone is quite happy for a little break. (Moms be all, shucks for three pairs of eyes watching me go to the bathroom) A cough, goopey eyes, a runny nose – the kids all have something and seem to have had something or other since September. Time for a bit of R&R. Either that or time for a chickenpox party. “One case of varicella!” the sign on my daughter’s classroom window proclaimed.

This year, there is a national vacay crisis because the two weeks start mid-week, making it a pain for holiday rentals or say, for divorced parents to sort out custody and time off. I’m not quite sure how your average working family does it either. Asking around, one friend is putting her son in an eight day soccer camp. A neighbor invited her in-laws to come to town. Other folks in a bind turn to the local centre aéré – a local theme based holiday childcare option. Kids learn to ski, or do crafts or performing arts.

The hubs left town almost exactly as school let out, so, as you can see, we are pretty much rockstar holiday planners. It might all work out in the end: after a few chill days with little on the agenda other than a couple playdates and getting back to health, our friends arrive in town. Maybe we’ll use it as an excuse to discover our vast backyard a bit more.

Featured image from Ecole Saint-Jacques de Compostelle

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

Délice hadn’t lost consciousness, but as far as I could see, her gums were mangled up. It was hard to see what was going on between the clots and split lip and shifted teeth. Had she lost teeth? I honestly couldn’t tell. My gut told me I needed to take her to the ER.

This, friends, is how I found myself, just eight weeks after moving, trying to figure out where our nearest hospital was and how the emergency services work. With all these stairs in our new house, I should have listened to all the expat recommendations to memorize new emergency numbers, identify hospitals, and preferred doctors, but it was too late now.

I stuffed a wad of kitchen towels inside my frightened daughter’s mouth and tires spun on the gravel as I tore out of our drive. I flew over the speed bumps, paging my husband in Jakarta to call me immediately. I needed to find out how the heck I was to pay for a hospital visit. What papers should I show? At this time, I didn’t even own a carte vitale card, the king of all medical transactions in France. Was my daughter insured under my policy?

Upon arrival, we were met by a stone-faced middle-aged admin assistant with a monotonous voice. She’s the same one you find at American post offices. And German Landesamt offices. Without looking up, she offered us a tissue box and took down my daughter’s date of birth and full name. Thankfully, she didn’t want much. I just had a passport and my small business owner registration number that my husband just texted from Indonesia.

We waited a while for the triage nurses to call our name. A number of people were waiting too. A few patients walked around, and the lucky few sat on cheap plastic chairs in a hall that was bare but for the vending machine. We made it to the triage nurses, sitting behind a counter. They took down basic information about the incident and made an educated guess about her weight before letting me administer the pain killer. Back to the hall of boredom we went.

Finally, we were called back to wait for the doctor in a room behind a sliding door. The pediatrician greeted us and blew up his glove to make Délice a balloon. He couldn’t for the life of him tie the knot. I told him not to bother, but he tried and tried again until the glove-a-loon was sealed.

It was all part of the very relational provider to patient exchange. Délice, clearly not between life and death, was already warming up to Doc. She let him check her out. He felt for broken bones and wiggly teeth. He told us there wasn’t much he could do about baby teeth and we may well lose two of them. We were to feed her purees for a week in case there was a chance the teeth might stay put. I thanked him and we left. Without ever signing a paper.

About a month later, mail arrived from the hospital. It could only be the bill. We shuddered as we opened the envelope. A cover letter informed us not to worry, that the ER invoice amount can be lowered if we opted for a complementary insurance. And there, I read on the pink invoice: montant à payer 9,66 EUR.

Sure, we were left to clean up our own blood off her cheeks, and wait for glove-a-loons to be tied up – hospitals aren’t bright and attractive to kids or handing out presents to their littlest visitors.. but what a breath of fresh air not to go broke over hospital care. Medical offices are rarely places to write home about, but healthcare is good and wow, so low maintenance.

Since our 11 USD hospital visit, I smile each time we receive mail a few weeks after visiting a medical practitioner. “Honey, we might not make it through this year. We just paid 1 Euro for that x-ray” I’ll say jokingly. We’ve had a number of expenses in setting up shop on a new continent, but medical costs are thankfully not one of them.

Featured image courtesy of ActuSanté

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

As long as my husband and I have been together, we’ve always had family on the other side of the world. Somehow, though, I can never seem to get my act together fast enough to ship letters or packages with the departing postmen. This year, given the endless costs of an international move, I vowed to get my act together. You see, if I could only get myself organized, our house guests would save us literally hundreds of Euros in Christmas postage.

This October, we got pretty lucky to have a postal delivery flying straight to each side of the family. So, before All-Saints holiday, Halloween or Thanksgiving, it’s Christmas in October around here. I wasn’t the only person with Christmas shopping postal fees on my mind. A bag or two of hand carried Christmas gifts arrived from the US a week ago and now sits in the corner of the office waiting for colder weather. Or until curiosity gets the best of little hands.

Our purchases still have to fit into a suitcase, so Christmas gifting is kept light and small. This keeps presents simple and more symbolic, which suits most of the family perfectly. In a way, the small token of affection seems even sweeter and more purposeful when you live far apart. And, it’s special if you can find something you might not be able to find on the other side of the world. There are fewer and fewer items like that (thanks a lot, China!).

Today, Amani and I zipped around town to nail down simple gifts for my side of the family before my brother takes off tomorrow. It took about a year off my life to shop and make it for school pick ups, and wrap, and deliver in time for their departure – but how cool to be almost done with Christmas shopping in October!

As I raced to wrap gifts for nine family members over the lunch break, the older kids kindly took it upon themselves to approve of each purchase. Of course, they also decided it would be an appropriate time to start their own Christmas wishlist. For starters, our four year old asked for a drawing of a firetruck from his sister for Christmas, please. So, rather pragmatically, he drew it himself and wrapped it for her to give it back to him. For her gift, he would wrap his old football to give to her since he has a spare one anyway.

We have yet to tell them Christmas is a little ways away still…

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

In that long, drawn-out process, I don’t want to overlook all the brilliant characters we met when we first arrived, or the scores of stories bursting with details that made life so tiring, and all the many guests that have bridged the gap from old life to new.

Right from the beginning, we noticed that out of town guests had that magical ability to splash our weary new world of labor and toil with bright, bold color. We take on our friends’ excitement as they delight in the freshness of the bread or the abundance of flowers in a medieval town.

We’ve toured a bunch of the sites around us in the past months, and it is never ever as vibrant as when we bring along a visitor from out of town. Yesterday, we took our VIP guest, my father-in-law, to Gruyères to see where the famous Swiss cheese is made. We finished a fantastic day at the well-known Cailler chocolate factory. It might remind you of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, where the kids got to stuff their faces with as much chocolate as desired at the end.

That’s what made the day so sweet (pun intended) for the little kids. But for us big kids, it was really neat to discover our new home a bit more. A drive around the lake with TM’s father was eye-opening as he would notice all these little details that we take for granted: a castle on a mount, rolling hills with red and orangey leaves, a rowing team out on the lake, a bakery that is open so late..

Having lots of visitors from our past life has infused our place with life and laughter over the past months. In our relative isolation, friends and family who visit are normalizing sounding boards. They give us bright, new perspective on our newfound life. But, I would be dishonest saying it’s only been a positive at this point in our adjusting. Of course, visitors are also going to stunt your “intentional local investing” if you stop your life to entertain, play tour guide or dwell on past memories. That’s why we try to invite guests to come along and just “do life” with us.

Perhaps more surprising yet – it’s in the presence of those who bring the memories of your past with them or say, notice kids tripping up on an English phrase, that I see how much in limbo we really are. I’m not sure all our visitors are prepared for that. I’m not sure I am prepared for that. Their sheer presence reminds you of a disconnect between past and present.

Personally, I’m finding it rather destabilizing to reconcile the person I had become in order to thrive in Colorado, with the person I am becoming to accept our new realities in France. My driving is different, my values have shifted, heck even my morals have slightly adjusted. So, it’s a weird readjustment to engage with visitors and then when they leave, to switch back to the realities of local life we face. I’m left to tap back into the tedious process of “being all in” here. No longer there.

We’re already undergoing the chrysalis. We’re not quite who we were before. But yet, we’ve not quite arrived here either. I do take it as a significant indicator that we are starting to feel ownership in our new home.

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

After that, I joined my son’s Autumn nature walk. It’s the first countryside walk of four, to observe nature as it changes around the year. Ayo was pretty stoked for me to come and lucky me, it’s still cool to hold mama’s hand. Besides loving holding my first-born’s hand, being active in the class is such an excellent way as newbies to take the temperature of what’s going on in (and out) of the classroom. It’s a great way to understand student dynamics and teacher interaction. Particularly this year, when things are so new for us and we have so many questions about what is cultural vs. a normal part of being in school, we’re eager to participate as teacher’s aids every single time we’re physically able.

Our long walk today involved observing the trees, naming the trees, collecting leaves and acorns for the class “observation” bags, but also stopping to talk to a local farmer and ask him about his sheep and check what was still growing in his garden. Later on, the children sat down, backs toward the most spectacular backdrop of plunging mountains, mostly oblivious to the glory of the scene amidst the Autumn morning sunlight. Dozens of three and four year olds were given pencils to draw the fiery red tree before moving on. At the clearing, the kids learned the names of the closest mountains and village churches, before rolling down the hill back to school. Kids will be kids, in every country of the world.

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

Life isn’t terribly different these days. We’re still surprised when it’s already time to leave to the airport or the train station, and all those limbs still have to get into the car. However, we now drive to another country for the drop offs. And, big Champagne doesn’t know its way terribly well in downtown Geneva yet. At this point, I still rely on GPS to find my way, and nerves are a bit frayed looking for street parking that won’t cost a fortune.

Last night, I let the kids bring all the toys. Sometimes it’s easier to get little bodies in the car that way. We had a rabbit and a teddy bear. A doll diaper bag. All the doll accessories. A rattle and a teether and a pacifier. Markers and a book. And a backpack stuffed with wooden chopping fruit.

Can we all get in the car now?

I ran back for all the snacks, the water bottles, the coats, the hats. I needed all the bargaining tools to swing by the Nespresso store to get some coffee capsules on our way to the train station. We were in dire need of coffee, you see.

It was going to be tight to make it before closing with three kids armed with toy bags that would put Father Christmas to shame. We survived the terrible rush hour traffic and after reversing on the main road to dive bomb into a perfect parking spot, I gave my progeny the familiar pep talk. Ok, here’s the plan! We have three minutes to park a car, walk across that street, and make it to that store with the N on it. You see it? No tantrums, no lagging behind. Understand?

After answering all the questions like which store I meant and how yes, three minutes have become two, I strapped a child to me (poor third-born) and we flew across the busy Place des Florentins. We were the store’s terribly unwelcome surprise, puffing and panting with small children in tow, as the security guard was walking to the door to close the blinds. Hello! *pant, pant* We want *pant* to buy coffee!

The kids giggled from all the adrenaline and raced around the store as I quickly placed an order. We couldn’t take advantage of their discount for using a Swiss address. And, we couldn’t get the freebies for ordering from the French website since we don’t have a French credit card. A typical international family’s dilemma. I bit the bullet and made a big order in Swiss Francs and the kids were paid off with a little chocolate for not wrecking the store. We thanked them for their kindness and left.

At this point, I did make a questionable U-turn pulling out of our parking spot.

We might or might not do those kinds of things in France to save time – you know, when there isn’t a car in sight. Despite my sweet time saver, Swiss rush hour traffic screeched along. I bit my nails, concentrating on not missing the left turn toward the station and wondering if I could avoid paying for parking. We were going to be on time for pick up at the train station!

Of course, all the minute parking spots near Geneva station ended up being taken. I needed to make my way to the entrance of the underground parking garage directly behind me. I looked both ways. And both ways again. No cars. Super safe. And so, this frazzled mama pulled another crazy U-ey on Place Cornavin. Perfect! But, this time, three cops were walking towards my car.

They were so calm that, for a split second, I thought they were moving in on some fierce drug lords in the street behind me. And then, I realized they were coming for me. Ohhh shoot. I should never have done that in Switzerland! I muttered under my breath. What’s wrong, mama? Are you in trouble with the police! squeaked a little voice in the back of the car with way too much excitement.

The closest policeman told me to turn off the motor and hand over some paperwork. Proud of myself for having the papers on hand, I dug for my French car registration paper and gave him an American driver’s license. “Wow, crazy to have the parking garage positioned there. I bet people do that all the time, eh?“ I said, not realizing how quite how crazy I sounded. “Actually, they try to avoid doing what you just did” he responded.

“Oh that’s true. Such a terrible move. I am so so so so so sorry! I will never do that again in my life, I promise!  I’m just a busy mama, trying to pick my husband up from a work trip and I am so sorry!” I begged and I thought I saw the tiniest baby smile appear on the corner of his face. I must have looked like a right mess. He continued taking photos of my papers.

By this time, I remembered that so many of these legal papers are in one’s maiden name in France, so, to follow suit, I whipped out my British license. I shouldn’t have done that. It was in my maiden name but expired because, classic us, I don’t have a current British address to renew it. I was just hoping he didn’t look too closely.

“What? How long have you been here and not have a local driver’s license?“ he asked.
“We’ve just been here four months, sir. We’re in transition.” I responded
“Another ID!” he ordered.

I opened up the hatchback to rummage through a messy bag of snacks and diapers to locate the pile of passports we usually have on hand for these constant border crossings. I was hoping mine was in the stack. I saw four blue ones and not my red one. Oh, well, American it was today. He watched closely as I found each kid’s passport before mine. “Oh, that’s the baby’s! Ah, yes, that’s the other baby’s! Hehe, the other baby’s!” By this time, the second cop wanted a better look inside the car. “Holy cow” [replace with French equivalent] “you have so many little people in there!” she said. I saw it as my olive branch “Yeah! Ya see!?” I sheepishly pleaded.

First police officer now wanted to make sure he got the full story right. “So, you are driving a French car on a British license, living in France, with American passports and pulled over here in Switzerland?” “Pretty much” I said with a closed mouth smile.

I really deserved to be ticketed then, as well as a couple times before, but somehow, the officer found empathy in his heart to let us go pick papa up. Such a relief.  We collected our favorite traveler and the kids ratted me out right away: “Maman got in HUGE huge trouble by the PO-LICE, papa!” Yes, yes.

The drive home found me so frazzled. Lighting was poor and my adrenaline was pumping fast. There was the kid running out in front of my car. The swerving to avoid someone backing up from an alley onto the mainstreet. A tram sounding a bell as it was about to barrel into my car…

We go in and out of Switzerland all the time. But this time, I couldn’t wait to get to the other side of the border. Just goes to show how much more France feels like home these days.

Featured courtesy of Roman Schmitz
Geneva pic courtesy of my friend Vicki Chen

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

“What are the types of the things you bring back from the US when you go back?” we asked them. To our surprise they said “Nothing at all.” “Ok, how about chocolate chips, maple syrup, jeans?” we asked. “Nope. There is absolutely nothing we want from America. And, if there was, we could get it here”. I don’t think I have ever heard an expat answer this question that way. I love it and it stayed with me for a long time. I interpreted their answer as a striking marker in how far they have come in their cross-cultural adjustment.

We all know those friends who travel to far flung places and post their razzle-dazzle adventures on social media. But really, they hide behind their familiar peanut butter and Dr Pepper soda hidden in their suitcase, not wanting to engage too much locally. The peanut butter and soda are comfort items, maybe like my daughter’s little rabbit “doudou” she brings to school. We feel a little uncomfortable in our new environment, so we need to bring something from home. It’s not only the occasional traveler who does that. I filled my cases with food stuff from home when I went to university because British food was so scary at the time. And expats often talk about their “stash” they keep to live comfortably away from “home”.

For the record, we’re the first ones guilty of the stash thing. Last October, we flew over a full case of Whole Foods 365 brand roasted Chipotle salsa. It had become our favorite salsa to have alongside a quesadilla, with a most perfect balance of strong roasted flavors and spice. The thing is, though, that salsa tastes so darn funny here. That tortilla based meal doesn’t quite taste so Mexican with bland Emmental cheese and puffy Old El Paso never-go-bad-because-the-shelf-life-is-five-years-long tortillas. And our salsa pushes the wannabee Tex-Mex into the French-Mex ridiculous. We find ourselves laughing at how out of place this salsa is and how dumb it is that about 11 jars sit idly by in our pantry. How will we use them before they go bad? It’s just that the salsa was part of our routine shopping list on the other side of the ocean. We just assumed we’d need it in France as a staple too.

I don’t think that bringing over a jar of green chilis or turtle wax is wrong. It’s just that the case of salsa misses the point of moving our family here.  Of course, it’s been more than uncomfortable to give up about 70% of our well-used recipes we used in Denver, because ingredients just don’t taste the same.

Thing is, we know we’ve gotta shop like we live here, not there, to get the full experience. We can’t pour chipotle salsa on our plate every day and think we understand the flavors of the land. And so, we need new recipes for our local ingredients (an exhausting process). Because, over the past months, our shopping list regulars have switched from the salsas and tortillas to lovely liquid creams and raw butters, buffalo mozzarella and smoked bacon lardons.

French Mexican image courtesy of Magounssaloon
Quesadilla image from Epicurious

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

I was born on a lovely snowy day in Colorado, bearing a Kiswahili peace-maker’s name, Amani. Mama said my labor was the hardest, but she also sipped on a latte on her way into the birth center. I’m told that by the third birth, it’s more like an interesting coffee date away from the crazy siblings.

My oldest brother was still three years old when I made my appearance. My big sis, just shy of two. Today, they smother me with all the kisses, but really, they do love to sit on me too. Yeah.

By the time I turn one, I will have lived half my life in North America, half in Western Europe. I won’t remember living in the States and mama thinks it won’t happen, but my English is gonna sound a little peppered. Not like location makes a huge difference to my current view from the baby carrier. Milk tastes a little different here and my room has become a bit more bare. But that’s about it.

Mama said she had to sell my lovely hand-me down blue bathtub because it wasn’t worth shipping across an ocean. Supposedly, it wasn’t worth repurchasing, we could get by without one. Same story for the baby monitor, the jumper, the walker, baby toys. My toys! Then, there were the pregnant friends who took sissy’s crib. Thanks a whole lot, family. I was sort of waiting in line for a real bed. My new farmhouse room consists of a knock-off travel cot plopped down in the center. That, and a mattress in lieu of a rocking chair.

You can skip my room in the house tour. There’s seriously not much to look at. When guests come, the extra mattress even gets ripped out of my barren room and I get nursed on the floor. And my baths are, woah, well, I just hold onto mama for dear life in thrice recycled bath water. What must it feel like to be squeaky clean?

Life’s always been a rocky ride for me. I sleep where I can, when I can. And when I can’t, my fierce grip holds on tight to mama. Otherwise strange things happen. People grab me. Anyone with a free hand grabs me. Or, worse, they leave me in the middle of nowhere, where I graze on beads and discarded Lego pieces.

A few weeks ago, I was left sitting precariously, right there in the preschool corridor, bobbing forward like a drunken sailor. Large masses of kids raced by as mama yelled, I’ll be back, little man! Mama needed both hands, she said. Thanks for the boost to the immune system, y’all.

Okay, so, I’m not really suffering. I’m smiling my way through this life I’ve been given. My parents (not the little ones) kiss my wide-opened grins and willingly inhale my smells that proclaim: “real-life happens in this home”. In all the upheaval of the months past, mama and papa are the first to say that I am in fact, their beautiful gift of peace. I’m their ever-present reminder to slow down the rhythms of life as my family today knows it.

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

We left all the projects in quite some state of disarray to go over to that apple juicing party with the neighbors I had mentioned. TM made muffins (apple muffins, naturally) for the party, which turned out to be a bit of a cultural faux-pas. Of course, no French person was going to chow down a muffin between the breakfast and lunch hours. And certainly not standing up, without a table. I realized this, the very moment I handed our neighbors the dish. *face palm*. Oh well.

The kids ran out the door ahead of us, always up for a good party. As expected, the neighbors and a small group of friends from around the village pillaged each orchard of apples and pears. All bruised fruit but the most rotten and decrepit made it into the wheelbarrows. Fruit found its way back to the juicing station made of a wicked machine to shred the apples and a glorious traditional, wooden juice press. Everyone pitched in to pick and juice and bottle. And everyone tested the most succulent apple juice batch, alternating juice swigs with a delicate Gewürztraminer to clear the palate. TM brought a few guys to our place to chop off our sour grapes and try them juiced, and a few more hands tweaked the DIY sterilizing device back in the neighbor’s basement.

Kids were nowhere to be seen for a good portion of the time. They reappeared to dunk glasses into fresh juice, to relieve full bladders or clean a scraped limb. Eventually, when about seventy liters of fruit juice had been bottled and there were no more empty bottles to fill, the equipment was washed down.

Nobody was in a rush to leave. “Time for lunch!” someone shouted. We napped kids in our empty home and on went the party, into the late afternoon hours. We chatted with folks over the apéro, where we discovered our muffins, of course, and waited for the barbecue lunch at the humbly set outdoor table. Our neighbor told us that this was the 13th year they had juiced together. Wow. And they had invited us into that sacred space of friends coming together. How honoring was it to us newcomers, to be invited to join in. It definitely got me thinking about how readily I would open up a special party to new kids on the block…

What an experience.
So thankful. And windblown.

—

This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

Many French people certainly know lots about cheeses and about meat cuts you might never have heard of. It’s probably fair to say most people enjoy eating. Many love to eat well. But for lack of time and energy, today, plenty people are not pouring over stoves and scrutinizing food labels or mixing rare spices in their kitchens like their grandparents perhaps were. The average French consumer our age does the bulk of their shopping in grocery stores. Some even drive in, using online ordered services. *Gasp!* Families here are, like the rest of the world, quite simply busy. Like them, we try to make it to an open market for some novelty food on a very good day. But mostly, we race into stores called Casino, Super-U, Intermarché or Géant to stock up for the week on food.

We did these grocery runs each time we visited France over the past years living abroad, and it was always fun to return to the States with novelty products: licorice sticks (in the bark), crazy scented shower gel, fleur de sel, and chocolate, chocolate, chocolate! Of course, we never forget the chocolate. Always on our bucket list was: “go to the grocery store”.

Today, we walk the same aisles we did when we were on vacay, with more skepticism. Returning to France for good in June, we noticed that in fact, mainstream grocery stores also have so many processed foods, so much packaging, so many sugary yogurts and bright colored candy, it’s dizzying.

A most unlikely thing happened to us in America of all places, known worldwide for obesity and poor eating. That is that we grew so much in awareness about the food we put on our tables. After six years of learning about food sources, we had pinned down the most reasonable places to shop for each item to obtain the highest quality food. We’d have a rotation of stores to source our groceries from, and we would end up making things we couldn’t justify paying for: quiche dough, cinnamon rolls and even fresh pasta or croissants on the rare occasion. Being in the US and having a child with gut issues, grew our love of cooking and taught us a lot about nutrition.

Blindly, I assumed that coming to France would imply that our grocery bill would be drastically reduced because we could trust food products more. After all there are no GMOs allowed in Western Europe, right? I hate to write it, but it’s sadly the same bottom line that motivates the French food industry to conceal pesticides, nitrates to make ham look pink or to stock Vietnamese frozen shrimp injected with CMC to make them look bigger.

And yet, in our experience, there isn’t that much general awareness about the health cost of the shortcuts made by putting minute-dinners on a table. I look over and shopping carts are loaded with all the things that make life convenient. We get it. Families don’t have as much time as they used to. They are busy and many are thankful for the convenience. So are we!

In all honesty, after an hour of shopping, my cart is no better off. It is screeching along, nearly empty, as we try to make sense of labels and prices in a new place. And our trust and morale is at an all-time low. We keep trying little organic shops, grossly overpriced in exchange for flavorless Birchermuesli and bruised apples. These stores look as if they are sustained by a few wealthy grannies shopping there. They smell like vitamin supplements and stale buckwheat. We leave depressed, trying to scour the big box retailers once more, for cheaper clean options.

Here is where the story ends on the high note, the Prince Charming marrying Cinderella as it were. We had heard rumors of a large organic store a bit out of our way, with massive selection of gorgeous, fresh, local ingredients.

One evening we made it a family outing (spot two mistakes there) to check it out. Oh my. It was possibly the coolest store we have ever seen. It was not ridiculously overpriced, and offered such a wide range of quality products. And, to celebrate its first anniversary, everything – everything was 20% off. Guys, that doesn’t happen often in this part of the world.

It was getting late as we checked out. We raised eyebrows at how low the final bill was. We giggled all the way to the car until we noticed the massive yellow -20% sign out front. Whaaaat!? We gave each other the all-knowing look as we were unpacking things into the car. We fed crying kids some cheese and a freshly purchased apple and we went back to stock up on non perishables. We felt like we had just won the jackpot and smiled all the way home, with the knowledge that yes, even here, there are really neat places to shop for quality food. You just have to keep digging. This also means that somewhere, there must be a movement of consumers demanding to know more about the food they eat, too.

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

My French is pretty solid, near native. I understand most subtleties and nuances of Molière’s language. You’d probably not pin me down as a foreigner if you heard me make a call to the insurance company. But to me, my language feels painfully rusty. It feels like a vintage locomotive, squeaking along for the weekend tourist outing. The confidence I’ve lost by being away for nine years will come back, but meanwhile I feel like such a dummy when having deeper conversations. It’s like I’m speaking with a hairball stuck down my throat. Yesterday, I was chatting with my new soccer mom friend. I was trying to explain In Pursuit of Silence, the latest film the hubs is working on and how cool it is that the theatrical release will take place the next few weeks in Paris and London. I couldn’t for the life of me explain the film distribution process to her. I stuttered all over the football field. I felt like a right dunce as my new friend patiently waited for me to clear out my hairball.

Speaking of feeling like a dunce, Tall Mountain is feeling all the duncy feelings. He collected his car from the mechanic’s and was greeted with the familiar and ever so humbling squint. It’s the “I think you’re speaking my language, but I am having to concentrate real hard here to understand!” look. TM usually returns home, using a foreigner’s accent in English to imagine what his rudimentary French must sound like: “Me come collect car! Where pick up?”. It’s so painful for the master communicator, man of perfection and excellence he is in English, to feel like a baby all over again.

Yesterday, I recklessly put his name down as our daughter’s preschool class volunteer. The kids were making a pear-chocolate Charlotte cake, a chocolate mousse, and a classic yogurt cake to celebrate the October birthdays. I thought he would get all the warm fuzzies of being a hero in Délice’s cooking class. Instead, he lost a night of sleep, tossing and turning over the stress of how handicapped he feels by his level of French. Immersion is the best way to learn, but boy, it’s so uncomfortable and so humbling.

In contrast to his papa, our eldest son Ayo isn’t feeling much discomfort at all. Since going to school, his “r” sounds are becoming so beautiful and pure. And he is even raising eyebrows and adopting all the other quirky French mannerisms. He loves playing with the language. I hear him talking to himself saying “bon, ben voilà quoi” or “bon, euh, hein?“, those awesome phrases meaning everything but mostly nothing at all. A teacher in the school called our neighbor (gotta love small town life) to tell her how phenomenal Ayo’s French vocabulary and syntax are. That he speaks a more correct French than his monolingual peers. Of course, that was really honoring for me to hear as a not quite native mama. And, since we’ve been learning French in a bubble until this summer.

Middle child Délice understands everything perfectly too, but she is still responding to me mostly in English. However, her English is now riddled with French interference. She’ll say: That’s at me! Instead of: that’s mine! Or, I want the toy blue! My girl is a genius code-switcher and speaks perfect FRENGLISH using the most efficient word in the language of her choice, not really caring who she speaks to. She’s not a performer, which we love about her, and so she will only switch languages when you really don’t understand.

Our kids still use English together on the playground, however, they both assured me last week that “French is way easier, maman!”.

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

Still, returning to France after almost a decade away has forced me, our in-house Third Culture Kid, to view this familiar place through a new lens. Largely, we’re living a brand new adventure, with new circumstances and family dynamics.

One way we are approaching this season differently, is to actively challenge naysayers we encounter almost daily. All those foreigners who have tried to set up their own business in this country, or apply for residency or how about a bank loan, will know what I am talking about. There’s not always, but there is quite often a negative undercurrent to life’s to do lists in France.

We keep reminding each other that, wait, we are called to be ‘yes’ people in a ‘no’ culture. Some will say it’s so American or idealistic, because we all know it’s awkwardly counter-cultural to be ‘yes people’.

Nobody is skating around in the grocery aisles to ask you how they can go the extra mile to help you here. In fact, if you call a store to ask if they have, say, pita bread, they might well say ‘no, we don’t have any’ because they can’t be bothered to look. I don’t see this as a bad thing, necessarily. I see it as a sign we need to find different ways to go about our questions. And the onus is on us to be a bit more resourceful. Obvs, we keep having to watch our attitude so that we don’t allow negativity to pervade our own hearts.

You can get down so fast hearing the dreaded “mais non, c’est pas possible” before you even finish your question. But our life experience in this land tells us, the “no, it’s not possible” is rarely the final word.

I’m not entirely sure how long we will have the perseverance to keep digging until we find the yeses. But they are there and we believe we have been called to walk this new season of life, with confidence and creativity. Not in fear of hierarchy, obstacles and the ‘nos’ that lie before us.

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

When I think back to the most obvious time in life to make new friends, it was in those lycée years (French high school), in my small graduate degree class or when I had my first baby. The first two situations were intense and stressful and you rallied around the people you’d end up spending the vast majority of your waking hours with. In that first baby stage, you’re vulnerable and not too busy. You’re experiencing the transformation of your body, your couple, your career, your dreams. You’ve quite possibly  chosen a similar birthing model, based on shared values.

Today, I sorely miss those friendships made during that sacred birthing time in the US. There is a big hole the size of a crater my friends have left behind when we moved to Europe. I can hardly bring myself to look back on the photos at this point, it hurts so much. Those friends have weathered the storm of early motherhood with me. It’s those few friends who knew why I was late for a playdate, why my hair was a mess, why my kid was finishing off a fit in the car. I was known. And, in a way, our mothering has grown up together. Our kids had become each other’s playmates.

It’s hard to start from scratch in a new place, with people not knowing how to size you up. My husband and I were chatting about which women around me I could get along with best so far on this side of the ocean. Is it with the women who have the same number of kids? Similar interests or personality? Or women who have made the same career vs. work-at-home vs. stay at home choices?

We came to a hypothesis that you’ll most likely find the most in common with women who have made similar professional choices. After all, we have made dramatic choices that have steered the course of our life for at least 5-8 years. I’ve chosen to be at home for my kids’ young years. Work fits in when kids nap, when they are asleep or at school. Not the other way around.

The thing is, there aren’t many stay-at-home or work-from-home mothers in France, or in this region in general. So, we look for other things in common. Maybe I should befriend mothers of several? But the mothers who have lots of kids tend to be busy. I get it. Really, I do.

Okay, so maybe it’s about striking conversation with mothers of kids who speak a different language at home. Or, parents of kids in the same school, in the same class or soccer team. Wait, when did that happen, that my friends are the parents of my kids’ friends?

There’s an apple cider party planned for this weekend on our street. Our three lovely neighbors are planning on bringing a few friends from the village and everyone will raid each other’s gardens to pick apples for juice and cider. It’s in the middle of our street, it couldn’t be more convenient. It’s at this type of social event that we feel we get to know the locals best. We said we’ll be there.

The other day, there was a spontaneous invite to an all evening 40th birthday barbecue at the neighbor’s. It wasn’t on our radar and we didn’t know more than the two people who invited us, but we graciously accepted the kind invite. An hour later, we tucked one baby in bed and headed over until the older kids were stumbling over their feet and slurring words.

This Sunday, our international church in Geneva that draws people from all over the Geneva and Vaud cantons, as well as neighboring France, suggested service be held in homes scattered across the region. We’d drive 40 minutes to the location closest to us. Yes, yes, sign us up! The drive is so worth it for the relaxed lunch, meaningful conversations, playdates with new little friends.

A Korean choral studying at La Scala opera school in Milan was looking for a few beds for the night so they could perform in neighboring Switzerland. Oh sure, come on over. Can the neighbor boy come over for English lessons? Sure, why not. Let’s do it.

Unless we absolutely cannot, we say ‘yes’ a lot in this season. We are just that eager for relationships in a new land.

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

The idea is to go deeper into one topic each day for a whole month. It took me until today, October 3, to join the challenge. Honestly, because I wasn’t sure I would find time to write every day. Also, because I really can’t write with kids swarming around me. It’s only thanks to school that I have a free hour per day to get a baby to nap, to do laundry, admin stuff and sort the chaos left behind in the leaving for school wake. If I am lucky, I have about one half hour window left to write before lunch pick up. So, on the days I can find time, I’m going to jot down some rough and ready, unpolished thoughts about my topic: 31 Days of our family in global transition.

I chose this topic because we uprooted our family of five this past June from Denver, Colorado to a little mountain village in France. As you can imagine, transition is the lens through which I see a lot of motherhood these days. I hope my topic doesn’t sound too much like navel-gazing. This will double up as my journal since I probably won’t have time to write in both places.

Well, this morning marks one full month of two of our kids ages 4 and 2 being in the local, public preschool. Today, our family’s rhythms revolve around school hours and school holidays, like the rest of the world. It’s sorta crushed my world-schooling pipe-dreams but on the whole, the change has been largely positive for us. I love getting up with purpose: getting this ship sailing, somewhere faaaaar far away from me for a few hours. In the mornings, the kids don’t have time to spin their wheels and squabble. They just have to chow down a massive breakfast as they aren’t fed any snacks for about five hours. And magically they arrive at the parking lot fed and with no stains on their clothes by 8am. Ha. Ha.

There has been plenty of adjusting to the rhythms, but most of all, the challenge is adjusting to the French schooling approach. As they arrive home, the kids do feel a bit more aggressive until we have established that hey, hey, ‘we treat each other with kindness in this home’. It’s not just the kids fighting for a piece of territory in the school. To us, the parent-teacher meeting felt more like a riot, unraveling until exasperated parents just left the room. It’s in those moments I feel the most different culturally. For better or for worse, we parent differently, we argue differently, our home functions differently.

As far as adjusting goes, part of me wonders if I am just hyper-sensitive as an Adult Third Culture kid coming back “home”. Perhaps I know too much about the French schooling system and how it can be pretty tough if you don’t fit in quickly. Another part of me thinks it’s so healthy for the kids to grow a thicker skin and it’s good not to be in an over-affirming environment. Maybe I am just making too big of a deal out of this whole thing. But wow, could they not just yell a tiny bit less into those little impressionable faces?

One of our kids is just thriving like it’s nobody’s business. But then, I see what they do in a class of 29 others and I wonder if that child is actually just bored in a French monolingual class. I wonder if the teachers have enough foresight to diversify curriculum and let them learn by playing.

The other child of ours leans on the much more independent side of the spectrum, totally uninterested in performing. While we know to love and value the spunk, there are all these questions in the private garden of my heart about this child, wondering how this will all pan out in a system that demands you fit the mold. This child “said two words in class the other day!” I was told. It spoke volumes about how the chatterbox doesn’t quite feel comfortable, and may in fact be a little more lost than the sibling. Will they find their way?

Regardless, the kids do have each other and we rejoice hearing they run into each others arms at the récré (recess). They hold hands and even trip together on the playground. They help each other up and ask if the other is okay. THIS is one of the thrills of having two kids so close in age.

There are legitimate questions about our schooling choice, and then mostly, there are all the neat things about this small town French school life. I am coming up for air for the first time in the past four and a half years of motherhood. And I am able to take some more professional work on. The teaching team seems very passionate. The kids are in split grade classes, so the littles are learning from the bigs and the bigger kids care for the younger ones. As for my daughter, she will be cooking close to 40 recipes over the course of the year. At age 2, she got to go horse-riding the other day and will go to the theater next to watch a classical play. She goes on four field-trips just to see a landscape in each season and note the changes. A famous guitarist comes to play for the kids. An artist presents the history of art and teaches them to appreciate artwork. My son goes on walks around the village learning about how to watch out for cars and bikes. I arrived at pick up one day to see them walking back to the classrooms chanting: “3 kilomètres à pied, ça u-se, ça u-se! 3 kilomètres à pied, ça use les souliers!” He gets home and sings classic nursery songs all day long. It’s so fun to watch.

If that last paragraph got you jealous, read the first part again. I can tell you there is no perfect world. And the grass always always seems greener on the other side.

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This post was part of the #Write31Days challenge, on the topic: Our family in global transition.
You can read the other posts written this month, by clicking on the links below!

1 – French Preschool
2 – Making friends in a new land
3 – ‘Yes’ people in a ‘No’ culture
4 – How language affects transition
5 – Not all French people are foodies
6 – The apple juice party
7 – I’m the third-born
8 – French-Mex ridiculous
9 – Busted by the Swiss police
10 – Educational field trip
11 – Visitors: the good and the bad
12 – Christmas in October
13 – A good place to get sick
14 – C’est les vacances!
15 – Playdate anguish
16 – The five year plan
17 – The Q&A edition!
18 – Holidays are for world-schooling
19 – The Granny I want to be.

It could be that the article struck a chord because we all see a gaping hole in ethnically diverse children’s literature and children’s lit. written by non Caucasian authors. Or, maybe the post was just a practical way to reserve some colorful books at the library. Regardless, I thought it was time to share some of our francophone finds as I’ve been wanting to get our hands on some lovely French-multicultural books for a while now.

Since we are living in France now, we’ve been able to access a few options – even in our small town library. Here is a selection of the most beautiful multicultural books in French we have found so far*. I tried to focus on books that are written in French rather than ones translated into French. Oh, and, this time round, there’s something for all ages. Enjoy!

Le livre qui parlait toutes les langues
Authors: Alain Serres, Fred Sochard
Publisher: Rue du monde
Age group: 4-7 years
What makes this book so beautiful: Adorable book featuring a main story-line in French, but each page highlights one other language. In that sense, it is a translated book, which is not usually my preference, yet this time the other language blurbs serve their purpose to tickle little ears with 19 other languages. We had fun trying to think of people around us who spoke each language. The hardback comes with a multilingual CD, so thankfully you don’t have to try to invent the Berber or Persian segments!

Les Riches et les Pauvres
Author: Pascale Hédelin
Age group: 6-8 years
Series: Mes p’tites Questions, édition Milan
What makes this book so beautiful: It’s a colorful book that addresses critical questions for little world changers from what it means to be rich, to how to help the poor, to what it looks like to be under-privileged in a developed country – making this a book not about ‘wealthy us’ versus ‘poor them’, but also about underprivileged families on our own doorstep.

Même les mangues ont des papiers
Authors: Yves Pinguilly, Aurélia Fronty
Publisher: Rue du monde
Age group: 6-8 years
What makes this book so beautiful: It’s bright, it’s written from a completely different cultural lens using a creative oral storytelling style. It’s all about the desire to escape to a better world that sends child protagonists hiding in a mango truck headed to the port. They are caught, but the young migrants don’t have papers, unlike the mangoes. A read that is so close to home it’s sobering, yet critical for our times.

Maison d’ailleurs racontées aux enfants d’ici
Authors: Caroline Laffon
Publisher: De la Martinière Jeunesse
Age group: 7-14 years
What makes this book so beautiful: Gorgeous photos draw the reader into the vast differences in housing around the world. This book won’t send you nodding off with long history lessons. It’s practical and visual. Discover how Maassai huts in Tanzania and Kenya are really made, how they are built by women and how huts circle tribal flocks. Perfect choice for budding civil engineers!

La Route des Costumes
Authors: Frédéric Maupomé, Kristel Riethmuller
Age group: 9-12 years
What makes this book so beautiful: I fell in love with this book, which is like an atlas that takes you on a trip around the world through traditional costumes. It could appeal to young girls who love to design fashion outfits. On this page, you land in Yemen, where you learn that women wear a Sharshaf and what it looks like. You find out where Yemen is located and why men carry around a sword on their belts…

Atlas des inégalités
Publisher: Milan Jeunesse
Age group: 10-15 years
What makes this book so beautiful: Creative atlas type book, with a topic per page, all focusing on inequality around the world. Older readers learn about dominant cultures, why some kids can’t go to school or truth about water shortage. A lovely book you want to own so you can read it bit by bit.

Touareg des Neiges
Author: Nabil Louaar
Age group: young adult, adult
What makes this book beautiful: However, I am drawn in by this rare Third Culture Kid (TCK) book in French. It features an Algerian TCK figuring out his identity, torn between city life in the French Haute-Savoie region and his North African cultural roots and loyalties. I haven’t finished it yet, so can’t vouch in its entirety. I can’t wait to finish this book!

Other articles like this:
Beautiful multicultural books for children
Great gifts for multicultural families

Following those endless hours that turned into years of rocking and soothing and feeding and cleaning and feeding more, I’m seeing a flicker of light at the end of the tunnel. The bleary eyes of motherhood are starting to make sense of the letters before me…. s c h o o l. School!

This month, it was finally time to send not one but two of our children, neither of whom have known one day in daycare, to French Maternelle. I think of Maternelle as Preschool – made up of the Petite Section (actual preschool), Moyenne Section (pre-K) and Grande Section (Kindergarten) in the US. While Maternelle isn’t mandatory in France, opting out isn’t very common.

After so much intentional deliberation over the schooling options back in the US, we simply dropped both kids off in the free elementary school in our village of 1400 denizens (and possibly as many horses). After moving from Denver, Colorado three months ago, the kids longed for friends and we just barely kept our heads above water. We were trying to be their playdates, resident cooks, and movers and farmhouse repairmen. And somehow get some bills paid in there too.

So, the week we set foot in France, we had made a special appointment with the school to register the kids. There were no special “welcome kids!” banners or long forms to fill out asking us about developmental milestones. We were simply asked to hand over our EDF electricity bill (the king of all proof of addresses in France), birth certificate, and proof of polio and DTaP vaccinations. In fact, come to think of it, we never signed a paper or showed our own IDs. The headmaster simply showed us around three rooms and handed us a single sheet of paper with school hours saying: that’s it, see you on September 1!

On that first day, we held them tightly by the hand and brought them in with one tissue box, one pair of slippers to wear when indoors, one stuffed animal and a water bottle. That’s what the paper said to bring. We savored our allotted 20 minutes to clip on name tags and give pep talks and one more kiss on those tiny little fingers.

It was a tiny bit terrifying.
And *ehem* a whole lot liberating!

Hear it from me, a highly intentional parent who has made huge career sacrifices to pour every part of me into these little eternal souls. A wannabe home-school mama, because everything in me wants to protect my kids, to teach them to think outside of the box, and for evil academic institutions not to cramp our travel style:

Never ever have I enjoyed my kids like this. Never have I done more with them than these past weeks of two of them being in school five days a week. Never have I felt so accomplished. It’s amazing. Why didn’t anybody tell me this was coming so fast?

While the physical time with the older kids is shorter, I’ve been given back quality time with them when I’d normally be cleaning alongside them, or running errands with them. I’ve been given time with baby Amani to lay next to him and snuggle or let him claw my eyes out. Even with a baby at home, and four daily round trips to and from school with three kids (that’s the equivalent of putting 24 children in carseats) and a long lunch break at home, I can handle new work projects and ‘old house’ problems. And did I mention how thankful I am for school?

Now to adjust to the system.

Since the birthday cut-off is December 31, with no option to hold children back a year, our Christmas baby is THE youngest in the school. She is still just two years old. Thankfully, at this little village school, each class has split grades so the older kids can help the younger ones and the younger ones can learn from the older ones.

There is no picking and choosing in French public schools. Five mornings a week are mandatory for my daughter in preschool. And my son, who is in the following grade must come back for four afternoons as well. That’s a heck of a lot of time spent at school, which is why we chose for them to come home to eat. It’s not like you’re allowed to bring your own lunch to school anyway.

Now we know why French kids supposedly eat everything (gotta love ridiculous generalizations): they are starved at school! The children are offered no snack from their breakfast at 7:30am until lunch appears on the table at 12:00. One of my high-metabolism kids was so ravenous on the first week, they were reported to be rolling on the ground with a belly ache. The next day, the child was inconsolable, so I was allowed to exceptionellement bring in a few raisins. They rationed out three raisins, debating what time wouldn’t ruin their appetite. This was to be a tide-me-over until the child had adjusted.

Every day for the first week, parents put their kids’ slippers on, refilled water bottles and then dropped wailing kids off with pacifiers and stuffed animals. Please leave now, said one teacher to a broken-hearted parent, and then closed the door.

Up till now, we’ve thought much of our parenting was quite in line with the French way of doing things. Until now, when it was our kids behind closed doors. And until we witnessed an incident involving a teacher yelling and getting physical with a kid.

My husband and I, amidst our own journey of cultural adjusting, are struggling with the drastic loss of control in a school system that generally doesn’t invite a whole lot of parent involvement. It’s a tricky thing, when you are new in a country, to know when to let the teachers get on with their work, and when it’s important to speak up and be appropriately counter-cultural when your gut feels something is wrong.

As our resident French-but-not-French person, it’s become my role to understand how things work in the school and ensure the kids are thriving. We know that the French are highly relational people and so I choose to linger and chat with the teachers. I express my gratitude for their work and I ask earnest questions about what is going on in class. And, you can count on me to be among the first to offer to accompany the children on their trips outside the school. I also want to observe for myself. Not in a helicopter way, but just as an invested parent way, until I see the kids are in good hands. One day as my daughter started a gym class, walking on little beams and jumping into hoops, I lingered outside the large glass windows, watching how the teachers held little hands. And how the little ones looked up to their teacher. Because, trust is such a hard-earned thing in a new land.

What keeps us putting those kids’ slippers on and handing them over to their class teachers is the goodness we do see.

A teacher who spends time working on a skill with one of our children.
Hearing that our kids are looking out for one another on the playground.
For the rotating workshops like art and music, or foreign language and road safety.
The kids humming new songs and reciting a poem.
The boost in the kids’ French skills.
For baby friendships and for our babies growing world-shaped hearts.
For the controlled risks like those cute scooters they get to use in the schoolyard.
For all these cool new opportunities called swim lessons and ski lessons and pony riding.
And for the sane mother.

And so, by faith, we keep walking forward. One step in front of the other.

This article originally appeared in the Summer 2016 issue of Hello, Dearest – a magazine published by Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPS) International. Check out a range of fantastic articles on Hello, Dearest online too.

TM had three work trips planned over the summer, which admittedly intensified the moving stress. As on cue, things tend to unravel about three days into each trip.

During his last mammoth trip, one child was rushed to the hospital after falling down some stone stairs, my smartphone was stolen, ferret-like animals began breeding in the roof above each room and kids were woken up each night with sounds of woodworm munching away at the wood. Welcome to life in the countryside!

Add on: setting up life and costs everywhere we look, and vehicle purchases, and finding furniture for us and for guests to stay, and figuring out how to maintain the property. Plumbing issues or a boiler bursting on a Sunday morning and being first responders at a road accident that same day. That’s keeping it short and sweet: no wonder our nerves are fried.

Thankfully, TM planned a staycation after his last trip so we could recover. Not entirely true – we couldn’t figure out how to find enough time to plan a short trip to the beach. Regardless, we’ve really tried to use each day to crawl an inch further out of the trenches. We’re frantically waving our white survivor flags, proclaiming that the light is at the end of these trench-tunnels. It has been a helpful time to recognize how much the intensity of all the newness, the differences of life as we once knew it and the lonely new beginnings have really affected us.

I finally found a moment to sit on the terrace under the lush grapevines, to reflect on our transition roller coaster since preparing to leave Denver. It did me good to notice the vines overhead had been bulging with fruit. I hadn’t had the time to take in details like that in a while. Under the lush, bulging grapevines, I wrote out all the things that have transpired, the emotions we’ve felt, and the painful questions we’ve asked over the past months. With great disbelief, I barged into the house, where Tall Mountain was keeping wild children from pouncing on me, and cried: ’no wonder we are so tired, babe, we’re going through text book culture shock!’

I never would have thought we would be stepping over suitcases sprawling with clothes, still 80 days after we landed. Or that the pool maintenance companies would take ONE-HUNDRED-AND-TWENTY days to respond to our initial requests to open the pool. Save your breath guys, summer is pretty much over.

Despite living pretty much in paradise, so many of the little things are starting to bug us and we’ve found ourselves growing critical:
– Why can’t French pool guys just take their vacation when people don’t need pools? Don’t they want our money?
– Why does the doctor need my neighbor’s approval on us being a good family to take us as new patients? That’s ridiculous.
– Kids here eat so much sweeter than we thought. Why is healthy food is so expensive? Can’t they just..

Once I realized we were in the thick of classic culture shock, I was able to place where we were on the culture shock U-curve, straight past the “honeymoon” phase, dropped right into the “hostility” U-bend. Actually, the famous culture shock U-curve feels so terribly simple to encompass so many complex emotions, don’t you think?

Here is my take on what the Culture Shock road map should really look like (click to enlarge):

I added those jagged lines to my graphic, the ones that resemble stomach lining, because it is a wild roller coaster of emotions, hardly just an experience of sliding down a U-bend and back up to victory.

I also added the path choices you have when you feel in that dark, frustrated place we’ve been in quite a bit: will we thrive (green) or dive (red)? What if we chose not to observe and listen, and get lost in the dark cloud of withdrawal? We all know expats who have been down that path and couldn’t wait to get home. You don’t usually mention that trajectory on the standard culture shock curve.

And, the curve is a nice idea, but how on earth do you climb back up from being in a hostile, frustrated state of despair? I wish we ourselves had all the answers on how to expedite the process, but at least on paper, we know it will take time.

We also know that, to not only adapt but thrive:

– we need to become better observers and listeners and keep our minds open to a different way of seeing the world
– it is okay to ask for help (sometimes burning through all the favors from people you don’t know so well: Errr, excuse me, but can we borrow your trailer to take our massive IKEA boxes to the tip again? We promise we aren’t normally so needy!)
– we need to be invested locally as much and as soon as possible (How about starting in the football club, buddy?)
– we will probably have to be the ones to invite people to our homes before we get invited into theirs
– we owe it to ourselves to focus on what is in our control and focus on the bigger picture
– we have to stop fighting the natural rhythms if we want to enjoy life here. Every government structure is closed for a two hour lunch break, so let’s go hiking!

Starting a new life on the other side of the world is a painstakingly slow process and the ongoing struggle isn’t very fun. But it is ripping out all sorts of demands and expectations and replacing them with strong new growth in our family. They are sprouts of increased faith and patience and oneness.

It’s the beautiful transformation you kinda want without the struggle.

Featured image courtesy of Max A.