It's a Mad, Mad, World.

It's a Mad, Mad world, and I'm mad, mad, mad.  This is a reference to a favorite movie on the Pilarski side of the family.  It's a movie that I hate, but I decided that awhile ago.  We've been watching more old movies lately, and I have a different perspective of the world than I used to, so I think I need to give it another chance.

This story needs some background information.  The street in front of our house used to be two-way.  Right in front of our house, it changes to a single lane and when it was a two-way street, cars used to have to take turns to drive past our row of houses.  The intention was to slow down traffic in front of the houses, but the effect was to turn driving into a game of chicken, right in front of little children's homes.  All it took was two drivers with an elevated sense-of-self to think they deserved to be first, and viola. You had two cars trying to fit in a single lane and one would eventually be pushed to the sidewalk shaking his fist while the other zoomed past and usually, both would lean on their horns.  Again, right in front of our house.

Once the street turned to one-way, that scenario improved.  Although for us, it now means we have to drive an extra three kilometers out of our way to get to the same section of the road 500 meters away from our house.  But it was a small price to pay for safety and I'm happy to do it.  Besides, as my neighbors and I all found out, it's an expensive ticket.  No less than 150 euros for driving the wrong way which is more than I can budget for on a regular basis, so we are sure to always drive the right way, even though it's a hassle.  And again, there's the safety thing.

But every now and then, and it's happening more and more lately, there are cars that drive the wrong way.  They come from the neighborhood and are trying to take the shortcut to the road that goes to the Ring.  The road isn't marked as well as it should be, and there are also a lot of people that are in a hurry and just don't care.  It's a dangerous scenario, because the cars driving the right way, drive fast and there is a big blind curve that could result in a really bad head-on collision.

The other day, I was arriving home from school with a car full of kids.  I even had an extra one (the neighbor.)  A car was approaching head-on, driving the wrong way.  We were at a section of the road where only one car fits at a time, I was already passing through when the other driver insisted on coming straight at me.  With a little bit of attitude to let them know they were driving the wrong way (I promise, no hand gestures or anything obscene) I moved to my right when there was a section of road without a parked car.  But I admit, I took my time about it.

I looked at the driver, straight on.  He was a young adult male, about 19 or 20 years old (yes, I occasionally watch police procedure dramas and don't forget that I'm on my second mystery novel).  He was wearing a baseball cap and driving an older dark-gray or black sedan.  There were at least three other boys in the car.   He sped up and as he did, the back end of his car clunked into the back end of mine.  I immediately put the car in park and jumped out  but he stepped on the gas and got the heck out of there as quick as he could.  I squinted into the sunlight but was unable to read his license plate.

I came home and called the police (actually, I made my neighbor do it for me, with my poor french and all) and the police said it would have been nice to have the license plate number (no s&*t sherlock) and to come in to file a report if my insurance needed it.  Sigh.  And then my neighbor said, I wonder if it's the kids that play basketball at the park?  And come to think of it, I have seen a dark gray/black vehicle parked there on a regular basis.  The boys play basketball at the park around the corner.  They always park blocking the drive to the entrance, so it's easy to remember seeing it there.

I spent the rest of the evening being mad about it.  I was mad that there are people that think rules don't apply to them. I was mad that I'm a good person and this happened to me.  And then I turned on the news.   I've been watching the local news lately as 1.) it's a good french lesson and 2.) as expats it's easy to get stuck t in a bubble where we don't know what's going on locally unless we make an effort.  And the lead-in story on the news was about the terrorist in Toulouse, followed up by funeral coverage for the joint funeral of six of the children from last week's bus crash.  That's enough perspective for me not to care in the least about a dent in the back of my car.

Friday, after school, I made AJ come with me to the police station to file a report.  And guess what??  On our way to the police station, we saw a dark gray/black car pulling out of the driveway parking spot at the basketball court.  He thought I was kindly letting him out of his parking spot, when really I was trying to find a pen and paper to write down his license plate number.

After an hour-and-a-half at the police station AJ and I had successfully filed a police report.  We had a close call and almost got turned away, when the flustered desk officer didn't want to take a report that wasn't in french, but we prevailed.  I am grateful that I have a personal interpreter in the form of a really cute 8-year old.  While he was initially excited to see what a police station looked like, I'm sure the novelty wore after the first ten minutes.  But I couldn't have been more proud when, after an hour into it, he turned to me and said "mom, I can see why you made me come with you."

So the car will get fixed and maybe the irresponsible teenager will get a good lesson in owning one's actions.  And now AJ and I can add "visit police station" to the long list of "things we got to do in Belgium."      

Me? A Blogger?!

I've had my first press coverage.  My blog (yes, this one) was highlighted with a review in Rendez-vous magazine.  Rendez-vous is an online quarterly publication of the AWCB (American Women's Club) of which I guess you could say, I am an active member.

http://awcb.org/rv/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=224:blog-review&catid=2:tech&Itemid=4

I've never considered myself a "blogger" before.  But someone else called me it first, and I suppose that multiple blog entries a month qualifies?  When I hear the word "blogger" I have this image that pops into my head of a Gen-Xer tech whiz sitting at a fancy computer with lots to say about the world going on around them.   The last part is certainly true - the part about having lots to say...sometimes it's even more than I expected.  I guess it's time to let go of the admittedly stereotypical image I've created in my mind.

This blog began as a way for me to keep in touch with our friends and family back home in the United States.  I knew that we were embarking on a life changing experience, and I wanted to give them a window into our life here so they would still "know" us when we return - whenever that may be.  Over the years, it has evolved.  Now, I also see it as a way for our new friends here, especially our Belgian friends, to understand more about where we come from.  And maybe even why we think the way we think, or do the things we do.

After doing this for several years, I have unintentionally set a few guidelines and rules for myself.  First and foremost, I respect the privacy of others, namely, my friends.  I am conscious that while I am alright with announcing my opinions and ideas for all the world to see, others that I talk to on a daily basis might not be.

Also, I try really hard to express opinions and observations, without passing judgment.  If there is one thing I've learned over the past few years living in a different culture, it's that there is more than one way to skin a cat.  (If you are using a translation tool to read this, I apologize for the obscure expression).  There is more than one way to accomplish something, and while I might certainly have an opinion to express, it's not my place to pass judgment.  

So I guess it's official.  I am a blogger.  I'll go ahead and add it to the ever growing list.

Four years ago today...

Four years ago today, an American family of four arrived at Midi train station with a lot of luggage and a cat.  In hindsight, the train idea was not very smart, but we got here eventually.  A few weeks later, our dog arrived (jet lag and all) and we settled into our home in La Hulpe.

Now, four years later, we've had to say goodbye to the dog and cat (Monkey's allergies - and his head full of hair for that matter), but we have an extra kid.  And while she may not be Belgian by nationality, she is Belgian by heart.  Miss B's first words were chocolate (ca-ca) and baguette (ba-bette) and they remain her favorite foods to this day (along with frites).  I refuse to let her try a sip of her daddy's beer, because I'm sure, by deduction, that would be a favorite too.

While we might have to work a little harder than we thought to keep them American, our children have embraced life here.  They love their soccer teams (their own, of course) but they also cheer for Barcelona and Man-U (Manchester United) and know all of the players in between.  They speak french much better than their parents (even Miss B) and often serve as translators for said parents whenever the need arrises.  Last year, we even had AJ sit in on his little brother's parent-teacher conference to help us out.

And despite challenges like cultural differences, language barriers and homesickness, we will be forever grateful for the amazing opportunity and life lessons we've learned in our short time here.  We will be especially thankful for the life-long friends we've made along the way.

A Heavy Heart.

My heart hurts.

Earlier this week, there was a horrific accident -- a bus crashed in Switzerland.  It was filled with Belgian students, returning from a school ski trip. More than half of the people on the bus - 28 were killed and 22 of them children.  Twenty-two.   I can hardly even think about it without tears filling in my eyes.

This is such a small country.  That's a lot of kids.  They were 11 and 12-year olds (sixth graders) from two small catholic schools in Flanders.  All of the adults perished, two bus drivers and four teachers.  The tragedy hit the entire country, but it's impossible not to know someone that was personally affected.  John plays hockey with guys from Heverlee, one of the villages.

I know that it's not easy for Americans to relate to school trips like that, especially for younger students.  I never, ever went away for a school trip, except for a weekend retreat and that wasn't until high school.  It's just not something that American kids have the chance to do.

At our school here, the younger primary kids go to "classes vertes."  They don't leave the country, but they do get on a bus and go away with their class for a week at a camp setting.  AJ came back from this experience (his first trip, a few years ago) a completely different kid.  After just four days away, he was more mature, more independent.  This year, our calendar says that the fifth and sixth graders are going to Amsterdam for their trip.

When I take the kids to school in the morning, Miss B and I usually walk AJ and Monkey down to their playground.  Monkey typically needs a bit of assistance, whether it's with his swim gear (on Tuesdays, they take the bus to the swimming pool first thing, and a few weeks ago when I didn't walk him all the way to his classroom, he forgot to take his swim bag to the pool, even though he had it with him) or his gym sack (on Fridays, they put on their muddy boots and walk across the pastures to the recreation center up the road for gym class.)  Anyway, after we help monkey get settled, Miss B and I usually sit on a bench and watch the big kids run and play before we go up to her class room.

This week, I sat and watched the sixth graders on the playground, and I could hardly do it without crying.  There are probably only 22 kids in the entire sixth grade class at our school.  I cannot even imagine what it would be like to have them just gone.  These faces -- while I don't know a lot of their names -- I've watched them grow up over the last four years.  One of the teachers that was killed sounded a lot like Avery's teacher.  He was popular with students and parents, and lived for his students.  He started a blog, just for this trip for his students and encouraged them to post messages for friends and classmates back home.  That's almost an entire class and teacher, just gone.  Forever.

My heart breaks for the parents and siblings of the lost children, for their schoolmates they left behind, and for my adopted country of Belgium.

Heaven has 22 new angels that I wish hadn't been called away so early.  

An American Girl goes to a concert in Brussels: Wilco.

 I've been to my fair share of concerts.  Minneapolis is a great venue for all sorts of music, from outdoor festivals, to First Ave to stadium settings, the whole range.  But concerts here are unlike anything I've ever experienced.

Last week, we went to see Wilco (for those not familiar with the band, their most popular songs are "Box Full of Letters" - late 90's, "Heavy Metal Drummer" - summer 2003 and more recently "I Might" from their new album, The Whole Love.)  I've seen Wilco preform before.  One of my top ten favorite concerts of all time was Wilco at the Orpheum (or maybe it was the State Theater - I get them confused) for the Yankee Hotel Foxtrot Tour.  Last week, we were twenty feet away from them at the Ancienne Belgique.

Anything at the Ancienne Belgique (for my Minneapolis friends, think First Ave) also makes it easily onto my top ten list.  To get to see a band that has steadily gained fame in the United States, but is not as well known in a foreign country, like the Counting Crows or Wilco, means you get to see them in a club venue like they would have played in the United States before they were well known.

We've found the best seats (well, not seats, spot to stand) in the entire club.  The first balcony, as close as you can get to the stage (which we got just moments before they went on stage).  From our viewpoint, not only were we twenty feet away from the band, but we had a bird's eye view of the entire floor.

And wow.  Concert goers here are so different than in the United States.  They are conservative, to say the least.  Their spot was their spot.  No one tried to move closer to the stage.  They were almost standing in straight rows going back from the stage.  Personal space was completely respected.  No one moved.  Not very many sang.  That's not something this Minnesota Girl can relate to.  They clapped and cheered, of course.  And after an hour or so into it, when Wilco frontman Jeff Tweedy asked if everyone was having fun, people shouted a few different songs, but that was about it.

It's not necessarily a mosh pit kind of band, but looking out over this crowd with such a respect for personal space, I wondered if there had ever been such a thing as a mosh pit within these walls.  

Now I'm not out of control by any means, but I hopped a little, and I bopped a little, and I definitely sang along.  Some songs, I sang more loudly than others.  At the brief pause before the final set, I turned to the Dutchman next to me and asked if he had ever seen them before.  Twice, he answered.  And then he said "you obviously have."

As an expat, I am thankful for a lot of things.  On that night at the Ancienne Belgique, I was thankful for the chance to see a favorite American band, in a small European venue.  I was thankful to have a good babysitter that meant we could venture into Brussels for a night out.

But I was mostly thankful that the lyrics were in my first language and I could easily sing along -- which was something I'd never even thought about before.

The Culture of Food.

Is there really anything more cultural than food?

I can't believe that I am still talking about this article, but there was one last point the article raised, and it's worth mentioning.  The Wall Street Journal parenting article talks about snacking and specifically, raised an example about two families traveling together, one from France and the other from the U.S.  In the American family the children helped themselves to the refrigerator whenever they wanted.  The author raised a point about delayed gratification and tied it into patience.

But it is so much more than just that.  I agree that Americans could stand to learn a little bit about delayed gratification.  The immense amount of credit card debt is evidence of that.  But thanks to the economic crisis of the last few years, us Americans are already getting a tough lesson in that department.

But with respect to food.  Maybe snacking is a sign of an inability to delay gratification.  But is that really a function of parenting failure or is it more that Americans just have a different culture with respect to food?  So maybe, the conclusion should instead be that the attitude towards food in one culture or another lends itself to better parenting within that culture.

In the United States, in general, food is very casual.  We are also a culture that "is on the go," so our food is also, "on the go."  There is an emphasis on doing things fast.  For example, the aisles in the grocery stores are filled with quick dinner ideas and "minute meals."  There are all kinds of fast food options, some more healthy than others.  Even sit down restaurants encourage diners to eat within an hour so as to "turn over" the table.  I know, I used to be a waitress.  And after watching a few seasons of Mad Men, I also think that sometimes, U.S. advertisers makes us think that we need to have all sorts of specialty products in order to make a fast dinner. By living for a few years without some of those fancy products, I've realized that cooking something fresh, or even all from scratch can be just as fast.  But I digress.

What I've noticed about living here, is that meal time is more formal.   Restaurants here never, ever rush people through a meal.  In general, dinner is late, so that families can eat together once everyone is home from work.  The focus is on sitting together, having conversation and enjoying the food.  Wine is almost always served at dinner (not just for special occasions or on the weekend) and it's also not unusual to have wine or beer at lunch.  It's not that we don't have special family dinners together in the United States.  But in my family growing up, we were on the go during the week and focused on our family time (and enjoyed our dinners together) over the weekend.

For lunchtime, lunches are typically smaller here, usually I send a sandwich, juice and a piece of fruit.  The lunch boxes here are easily half of the size of those in the U.S.   But the children also take a snack to school, to have in the middle of the morning.  I usually send something fun, like a waffle or cake - which reportedly is what all of the other kids bring for snack time.  There is also a snack in the afternoon, and again it's usually a time to have cake or something sweet.  This doesn't really spoil dinner, because again, dinner is served much later.  In general, portions are smaller (in part because food is more expensive) and children are encouraged to clean their plates.  I was raised on the clean plate theory, and with prices here, I more than understand the concept of not wanting to waste food.

But how does one take the best of both cultures, and use it to be a better parent?  Personally, I try to take some of the best ideas I've observed and learned from living in the culture here, and apply it to our family life with the idea that we are still Americans, and some day we will be again living on U.S. soil.  I'm not sure if it makes me a better parent or not, but we are living through an immersion experience and it's always good to have options and try new things, right?

If I send something sweet as a snack for school in the morning, then usually the dessert in their lunchbox is a piece of fruit or applesauce (which is also considered dessert here.)  Once a week, the kids have hot lunch at school so they can get used to eating something different, under different cultural requirements (i.e. they usually have to clean their plates.)

I never require my children to clear their plates at home.  Our rule is that they have to try at least one of everything.  IF we were going to live in Europe forever, I would be a card carrying member of the clean plate club.   But I know that some day we will probably be living back in the U.S. With the giant portion sizes in the U.S., I really want my children to learn to listen to their own bodies, and be able to recognize when they are full and stop eating.  So we don't always clear our plates here, and I don't feel the least bit guilty about it.

When John isn't traveling, we try to always eat as a family, even if it's a little bit later than we are used to.  We are lucky, because with John working from home, his "commute" is to walk down the stairs.  Although, that time in the evening (between 4 and 6pm) is usually his busiest due to the time difference, and it's his best time to be on the phone to the U.S. so sometimes it's hard for him to break away.  We try to aim for between 6 and 6:30, sometimes it's even later.

But the later we eat, the crabbier my kids get if their bellies are hungry.  Besides, as Americans, in our to-go, non-delayed gratification culture, we LOVE our snacks.  I don't want to give that up.  And again, if we are going to eventually move back to the U.S., then my kids need to learn responsible snacking.  So at our house, the kids have an after school snack, like a yogurt, or maybe a cookie or treat.  Especially if they had fruit in their lunchbox.  As we get closer to dinner, the healthier our snacks get.  Sliced apple, or cucumbers.  An orange or piece of cheese.  The closer we get to dinner, I choose snacks that I wouldn't mind them actually eating for dinner.

I also almost always make popcorn when we have family movie nights.  I grew up with that and it was a special family tradition.  I'm excited to make that a tradition in my family now.  Not to mention, I make really, really good popcorn (if I do say so myself.)  I've been told on more than one occasion from several different people that it is "so American," to allow that.  But guess what?  I'm American.  An American that LOVES her popcorn with a good movie and I will never, ever, give it up for anything.  

So to wrap up this entire discussion on the incendiary Wall Street Journal article.  I think it's easy to make a declaration that one culture or another is superior.  It's easy to conduct studies, gather opinions, and form conclusions.  Living as an expat in another culture opens a window into different ideas, such as restaurant culture and mealtime.  The author of this parenting book (Pamela Druckerman) was lucky to have this opportunity.  I feel lucky every single day (even the tough homesick ones) because I know that I get to do something that not a lot of people have the chance to do.  But as a fellow expat, who is also a writer and considers herself a good American parent, I suggest that Ms. Druckerman, in authoring a parenting book, also has a responsibility.  Not just to present the cultural differences that make the french better parents and declare opinions sure to incite and inflame passions.  But also to tell us Americans how to apply those concepts within the confines of our own culture.  I sure hope her book does this, because the Wall Street Journal article surely didn't.