by Mirjam | Jun 10, 2013 | Being Thankful, Childhood, Inspirational, International, Life Lesson, Milestones, Motherhood, Netherlands, Parenting, Preschool, School, Siblings, World Motherhood, Younger Children
It has been magical.
Waking up to the sound of a little person chatting.
Starting my mornings with a little person crawling in to bed with me, smiling at me, kissing me.
Carrying a child on my hips, making little ponytails, spoon feeding.
It’s been wonderful to watch the world through tiny eyes.
Eye opening to simply be and sing, laugh or dance on random occasions.
Eskimo kisses, random hugging, silly phrases, chasing and tickling.
It has been freeing to lie on the floor playing with toys; to walk down the streets filled with our fantasies.
Kissing dolls goodnight, searching the house for favorite stuffed animals, driving around singing silly songs.
It’s been heartwarming to be the funniest and smartest person alive, at least in your eyes.
The safest place is no longer exclusively with me.
You are going to school now.
You will spend a big part of the day in someone else’s care.
The world is no longer viewed from within my arm’s length.
Catch length, hug length, hold length.
I hold your hand as I take you to school on your first day.
You’re nervous, and you’re gripping my hand tight.
“Mommy, I’m shy.”
“Don’t worry, the teacher knows you are shy, and she will take good care of you.”
In the class room you spot your favorite activity. Your eyes sparkle with anticipation.
You join two other girls and they immediately start a conversation with you.
Our parting is hasty. You don’t have time for me.
There are colorful shiny papers that demand to be cut and pasted.
Hesitatingly I leave the room.
There are no tears, except maybe in my eyes.
There is no dramatic goodbye, as it should be on a big day like this.
As should be fitting, when you enter into a new era.
Outside I pause in front of the window with your father, hoping to catch your eye so I can wave.
Nothing. You are busy, all consumed with your new environment.
The teacher notices us and taps you on the back. We have to settle with a quick wave from you.
And that’s it.
Just like that my child is all grown.
My day is spent in confusion. I am absent, forgetful, and my eyes are teary.
I have the constant feeling that I’m forgetting something, someone.
At the end of the morning I’m relieved to go and pick you up.
I immediately know that you had a great time. It shows.
As we leave the schoolyard, I watch my oldest while he walks in front of me. He’s all long arms and legs and he is Mr. Cool himself. He is having a vivid conversation with his sister. When did they get so big?
I’m holding your hand. You’re by my side. Close to me. Suddenly you start to pull my hand, you want me to let go. Reluctantly I loose my grip and you run away from me, eager to follow your siblings.
The years I leave behind are truly wonderful.
And I know there is so much more to come.
But I hesitate, I try to hold on to this as long as I can.
Now that I still see traces of that toddler in you.
Now that I can still feel what it was like.
When you were completely mine.
This is an original, first post to World Moms Blog from our new writer in the Netherlands, Mirjam.
The photo used in this post is credited to the author.
Mirjam was born in warm, sunny Surinam, but raised in the cold, rainy Netherlands.
She´s the mom of three rambunctious beauties and has been married for over two decades to the love of her life.
Every day she´s challenged by combining the best and worst of two cultures at home.
She used to be an elementary school teacher but is now a stay at home Mom. In her free time she loves to pick up her photo camera.
Mirjam has had a life long battle with depression and is not afraid to talk about it.
She enjoys being a blogger, an amateur photographer, and loves being creative in many ways.
But most of all she loves live and laughter, even though sometimes she is the joke herself.
You can find Mirjam (sporadically) at her blog Apples and Roses where she blogs about her battle with depression and finding beauty in the simplest of things. You can also find Mirjam on Twitter and Instagram.
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by World Moms Blog | Jun 4, 2013 | 2013, Human Rights, International, Turkey, World Voice
I am a Turkish mom, who is raising my 3 kids in the United States of America during the school season and in TURKEY for the summers. My husband and I made the conscious decision to raise our kids immersed in both of our cultures. Growing up in the democratic and secular country that Ataturk founded, I was nurtured in a climate of peace and freedom. I attended college in Switzerland and then in the United States, and I pride myself in being an independent and strong woman.
Ataturk’s western leaning values and teachings of acceptance, tolerance, honesty, hard work, and respect, still guide me today while I live with my American husband, and raise our kids.
We love taking our kids to Istanbul every summer. We have extended family and friends who welcome us. My oldest son swims in the Cross Continent Swim Meet each year. Where else in the world can one be in Asia and Europe within minutes? The kids spend the summers playing with their second and third cousins, and making new friends. We are exposing our kids not only to their own culture but also to others by traveling to historic sights, living world history, and showing them how all different religions, and ethnicities live in harmony in the same country. Although the religion of the population in Turkey is predominantly Muslim, it’s government is secular, and Turkey is a home for all religions and ethnic backgrounds. Everyone is free to practice what he or she believes. Well I should say everyone WAS free…
As I am sure most of you are aware by now, what started as a peaceful “save the tree” protest last week, has turned into a Revolution. Turkey elected a prime minister more than a decade ago, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, who has over the years leaned increasingly towards autocracy . He wants to build malls over parks, as a way to fill his pockets, demolish art centers and theaters, and build mosques to force his brand of conservative religion down everyone’s throat. He has sent his forces in to use tear gas, beat, throw illegal chemical compounds, and to imprison others whom he regards as threats to his Islamic régime. As the laws of the land do not seem to apply anymore in the country, I fear for my own children’s future, my niece who is in Istanbul, my family, my friends, my fellow citizens safety, and then I fear for the whole world’s safety. The new growing Turkey that has brought together worlds of religion, cultures and worldly growth is suddenly showing inordinate levels of intolerance.
I am a Turkish American mom who wants raise her kids in a world with peace, love, and tolerance in harmony. The world needs to know what is going on in Turkey right now, and to know that this is not the country that the Turkish people are used to, and apparently, based on the uprisings going on now, it is not the way they wish to live. It is no longer just about saving trees or the park, but about regaining democratic human rights.
This is an original guest post written for World Moms Blog by Ebru who grew up in Istanbul, Turkey, and now splits her time between Istanbul and the United States of America.
Have you been following the story of the uprising in Turkey?
World Moms Blog is an award winning website which writes from over 30 countries on the topics of motherhood, culture, human rights and social good. Over 70 international contributors share their stories from around the globe, bonded by the common thread of motherhood and wanting a better world for their children.
World Moms Blog was listed by Forbes Woman as one of the "Best 100 Websites for Women 2012 & 2013" and also called a "must read" by the NY Times Motherlode in 2013. Our Senior Editor in India, Purnima Ramakrishnan, was awarded the BlogHer International Activist Award in 2013.
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by Tinne from Tantrums and Tomatoes | May 27, 2013 | 2013, Belgium, International, Interviews, Life Balance, Living Abroad, Tantrum and Tomatoes, Working Mother, World Interviews, World Moms Blog Writer Interview, Younger Children
Where in the world do you live? And, are you from there?
My current home is in Belgium, in a rather small village near Mechelen. While I was born here my father and mother relocated to the Grand Duchy of Luxemburg shortly after my birth. From there they went on to what is now the Democratic Republic of Congo and then next Rwanda. We returned to Belgium because of the unstable political situation in Rwanda and I have lived here ever since.
What language(s) do you speak?
In addition to my native Dutch I also speak French, English and have a rudimentary knowledge of German.
When did you first become a mother?
I became a mother four years ago when my eldest daughter was born. Then a mere 17 months later I gave birth to her little sister a.k.a. Baby Napoleon. (more…)
Born in Belgium on the fourth of July in a time before the invention of the smart phone Tinne is a working mother of two adorably mischievous little girls, the wife of her high school sweetheart and the owner of a black cat called Atilla.
Since she likes to cook her blog is mainly devoted to food and because she is Belgian she has an absurd sense of humour and is frequently snarky. When she is not devoting all her attention to the internet, she likes to read, write and eat chocolate. Her greatest nemesis is laundry.
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by hjunderway | May 20, 2013 | Being Thankful, Child Care, Childhood, Cultural Differences, Education, Expat Life, Family, France, International, Language, Life Lesson, Living Abroad, Motherhood, Multicultural, Parenting, Preschool, Relocating, World Motherhood, Younger Children
Looking back to my pregnancy as an almost mom to my one and only son, I literally had everything prepared for the first nine months of his life before his eyes ever saw the outside world.
Diapers and clothing gently washed and neatly lined up by size, ready for each growth spurt, each passage from newborn to infant and beyond. I bought “What to Expect….” for the first three years of his existence, pouring over every detail and mentally preparing myself for each developmental stage. I was ready for it all.
My planning served me well for the first three years of my son’s life, and then we up and decided to move to a foreign country. The “What to Expect” books were packed away in long-term storage in the United States, and along with it, my sense of direction as a mother.
We have spent the last year attempting to navigate our way through life in France when French isn’t your primary language, when there aren’t any grandparents to lend a hand, and when all that is familiar becomes a distant dream.
When we arrived in France, my son was 2 years, five months and together we plowed through understanding new social norms, French cuisine, and more recently, the education system.
We did this without a manual, and did okay without it. There were times when I just wanted to type in “raising an American boy in Paris” in Google to look for tips and clarity on what we were doing wrong (or right). If there had been a manual or how-to book, I would have read it 1,000 times and given copies to all of my new expatriate friends with children.
I wasn’t sure that we were doing right by our son when we entered him into a French school at age three (standard practice in France), when the teachers and students couldn’t even pronounce his name correctly. I wasn’t sure that we were doing it right when potty training took a huge deviation and we faced mounting laundry that took forever to dry on racks in our living room.
I know I wasn’t sure that we had done right by our son when he had a meltdown at a friend’s playgroup,hitting and kicking anyone and everyone who came into his path. When I had to pack him up early and head home, I may have had a meltdown myself. Again and again, I was looking for grand gestures in my son’s behavior as proof that he was adjusting appropriately to living in a new country, and I couldn’t find any.
Why do we always look for the grand gestures? Without a guide, we often get caught up looking for the big things and forgetting to spot the small ones.
For example, at 6 months of age, I knew that my son wasn’t able to crawl because he hadn’t developed enough upper body strength to support his head, which was off the charts developmentally. I knew this because the books and doctors told me so, and therefore I had an appropriate course of action to get him back on track. Having a guide instilled in me a parenting confidence that I knew my son and that we were doing everything right, but by whose standards?
Now, a year later and closer to preschool age than that of toddler, I find myself discovering more and more of the small indications that my little one is doing just fine transitioning in our new life abroad. I see it when my son doesn’t realize I’m watching and instead of saying, “Look, look!” with excitement, he yells out, “Regarde, regarde!” (Look in French.)
I see it when he stops to hug a strange toddler crying in the playground, or when he asks me if we can take an airplane home to see his grandparents and cousin. I see it when he takes my hand to cross the street but instead of letting go immediately, he gently slides his thumb repeatedly across my knuckles, something I’ve done to him a thousand times. As time goes on, he becomes more and more self-assured and more at home being who he is. And no manual could have prepared me for that.
Has there been a time when a manual or how-to book couldn’t help you effectively parent your child through a unique situation?
This is an original post to World Moms Blog by Jacki, an American expatriate mother living in Paris, France.
The image used in this post is credited to the author
Jacki, or “MommaExpat,” as she’s known in the Internet community, is a former family therapist turned stay-at-home mom in Paris, France. Jacki is passionate about issues as they relate to mothers and children on both domestic and international scenes, and is a Volunteer Ambassador for the Fistula Foundation. In addition to training for her first half marathon, Jacki can be found learning French in Paris and researching her next big trip. Jacki blogs at H J Underway, a chronicle of her daily life as a non-French speaking mom in France.
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by Sophie Walker (UK) | May 13, 2013 | Being Thankful, Childhood, Cooking, Family, Food, Home, Inspirational, Life Balance, Motherhood, Parenting, Sophie Walker, Traditions, UK, World Motherhood, Younger Children
The sun is shining through the trees at the bottom of the garden and dancing dappled light on the kitchen window. It gilds the pot of basil on the sill and warms our faces and illuminates the dust of flour in the air around us as Betty bends to her task.
She stands sturdily beside me, elevated on a kitchen chair, wrapped in a bright plastic apron. I have tied her hair up – though untidy tendrils still make their way across her cheek – and as she leans over to check her progress I have to resist the urge to kiss the perfect dimple in the nape of her neck.
Betty and I are baking. With nimble little fingers she is sieving the flour and baking powder, tap-tapping it against her palm like a tambourine and watching the clouds of white fall into the bowl. From time to time she looks up at me and grins, exposing the sweetly crooked front tooth that is the result of falling on her face mid-dash down the garden path a year ago. Betty does everything at a dash: most of her toys have to have wheels just to keep up with her. But today, she is by my side and she stays there. It’s Wednesday: our baking day, the day I don’t go to work. So here we are, elbow to elbow, delighting at our creations and the alchemy we work.
This is just as new to me as it is to Betty. I have always cooked, rarely baked. I have produced breakfasts, lunches, dinners; steaming layers of lasagne (“with GREEN pasta, Mummy!”); round, ripe tomatoes stuffed with rice; home-made turkey burgers with a secret parcel of melted cheese inside; roast chicken, roast lamb, roast beef; fat, gleaming omelettes; pancakes on feast days and naughty nuggets and chips on holidays and just-because-we-can days. But baking: that was for people who had time. I provided proudly but quickly and efficiently and then I got on with the next thing on my list.
What Betty and I do now is different. I watch her tap the egg oh so carefully on the rim of the mixing bowl before gripping it with both her little thumbs and attempting to prise it apart. Her approach is not working, so she grips it harder with her little fist and the egg crunches and splatters into the creamy whiteness of the blended butter and sugar. She makes a sound of consternation and looks up at me. I laugh, and she relaxes, and together we pick out the bits of shell. We are both learning to be patient, to enjoy the process as much as the outcome. She is so entranced by what happens when she stirs the ingredients together that she forgets to fidget and want to run. I am so entranced by her absorption that I forget to worry about what’s next on the list.
Week by week we work our way through her favourites. My baby daughter has my heart already but week by week I give it to her all over again in every offering: tender yellow vanilla-scented cupcakes that she decorates with butterflies; sturdy banana and cherry loaf; chocolate chip cookies that expand so alarmingly while cooking that we shriek and slam the oven door shut quickly and giggle. We make flapjacks, shaking oats and raisins into the mixing bowl and I smile to see her eyes widen and her hand wobble at the weight of the golden syrup we spoon in next, inhaling the bitter metal smell of the glutinous mass, our mouths watering.
Sometimes Betty gets tired and pushes the bowl back over to me to mix. Sometimes she rests her head against my side and curls a small arm around my back, sucking the first two fingers of her other hand as she watches me turn the mixture over and again and back on itself until the lumps are gone and the components blended. Then she stirs to help me transfer it into multicoloured cases, or buttered tins, before setting about licking the spoon clean, rosy pink tongue lapping like a kitten’s.
When our cakes are baked and ready, our kitchen smells of love.
This is an original post to World Moms Blog from our contributor in the UK and mum to 2 daughters and to 2 step-sons, Sophie Walker.
The image used in this post is credited to the author.
Writer, mother, runner: Sophie works for an international news agency and has written about economics, politics, trade, war, diplomacy and finance from datelines as diverse as Paris, Washington, Hong Kong, Kabul, Baghdad and Islamabad. She now lives in London with her husband, two daughters and two step-sons.
Sophie's elder daughter Grace was diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome several years ago. Grace is a bright, artistic girl who nonetheless struggles to fit into a world she often finds hard to understand. Sophie and Grace have come across great kindness but more often been shocked by how little people know and understand about autism and by how difficult it is to get Grace the help she needs.
Sophie writes about Grace’s daily challenges, and those of the grueling training regimes she sets herself to run long-distance events in order to raise awareness and funds for Britain’s National Autistic Society so that Grace and children like her can blossom. Her book "Grace Under Pressure: Going The Distance as an Asperger's Mum" was published by Little, Brown (Piatkus) in 2012. Her blog is called Grace Under Pressure.
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by hjunderway | Feb 27, 2013 | Competition, France, Running, Younger Children
When my legs felt like lead, I thought of them. When rain and snow pelted my face, I thought of them. When I closed my eyes and wished it was over, I thought of them. 13 charities. 13 reasons to keep on moving.
In September of 2012, still battling the war against the baby weight I had gained in pregnancy and losing (my own “baby” now three and a half), I decided that running seemed like a good idea. Except that in September, I had never successfully run a mile in my life, not even once. I needed a goal to keep me on track, a motivational tool to push me out the door before the sun rose on cold fall days in Paris. Armed with the idea that a half marathon was “completely possible,” I set out to find the most interesting, and difficult, half marathon I could find. A race at the Great Wall of China was first to leap out on the page, but as I scrolled down further, there it was: the 2013 Kilimanjaro Marathon in Tanzania.
Later that evening, I said to my husband, “I’m going to run the half portion of the Kili Marathon in March,” and my husband, slowly raising his eyebrow said, “That’s great, but shouldn’t you run a 5K first?” (more…)
Jacki, or “MommaExpat,” as she’s known in the Internet community, is a former family therapist turned stay-at-home mom in Paris, France. Jacki is passionate about issues as they relate to mothers and children on both domestic and international scenes, and is a Volunteer Ambassador for the Fistula Foundation. In addition to training for her first half marathon, Jacki can be found learning French in Paris and researching her next big trip. Jacki blogs at H J Underway, a chronicle of her daily life as a non-French speaking mom in France.
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