Hm...

Jules: I like you Mom. I like to sit on your knees always always always.
Lea: You cannot sit on Mom’s knees when you grow up.
Jules: Then I will grow down.

That Thing about the Pie

Whoever came up with the saying “You can’t eat the pie and have it too” was not only grammatically challenged, s/he was right. You see, something usually has got to give no matter how good the deal seems. However, it is not always apparent what that ‘something’ is, least of all if you’re the one enjoying the pie.

We have been enjoying the pie for quite a while. Homeschooling. We have had all the freedom and time in the world to explore; there were no schedules to abide by, no exams to pass, and no curricula to dutifully stick to.

Learning up to this point has been free, unencumbered and enjoyable. And no matter how eagerly people in the past have tried to point out that we were supposedly missing out on ‘something’, we were one happy group of larks.

But it looks like we are finally coming to a point where our freedom will have to give way to the culturally overpowering system of British formal education. In a class society like this one, eyebrows are constantly raised, and noses pointed upward at non-conformers (unless you have the funds and/or arrogance to back it up).

I never really cared because I know it is not only reprehensible but also futile to measure people by the school they attended, the badges they have obtained, or the number of A-pluses on their report cards. But Zoë is beginning to be more aware of cultural norms and the expectations that go along with them.

At eleven, she wants to be like everyone else. She wants to enjoy the walk to school with her friends and join in on the complaints about her teachers and the terror of the next upcoming exam. She has all but forgotten about her time in Germany, where she was sidelined and walked home from school alone every single day.

I SO get her.

Five Seconds

Sure, more money would be swell and a couple of touch-ups to the rear façade would be welcome, but if you asked me, what I really need, I would say it's time. Time, and that tad bit of youthful energy, would make my life ever so much more enjoyable. But, I guess, I shouldn’t complain, because more important than time, money, energy (or that lifted bum) is health. Whenever I am about to forget that, I am sorrowfully reminded.

My friend has been doing admirably well with her treatment, but it has taken a toll on everyone in the family. Worries, pain, the change of routines and a complete overhaul of short-term plans and long-term aspirations are some of the gloomy companions of disease. I try to be more aware these days, aware and also humble. After all, what is a truck load of time worth if it’s delivered to you in a hospital bed?

I have been thinking about life quality lately. Apart from health, I have realized that the other important factor is a close network of family and friends. Having moved around a lot, there have been times when my relationships with those dear to me were put to a test. And I have, at times, envied others for the help and support they were able to count on from their families, while Matt and I had to steer our ship alone through the shifting seas. But throughout it all and over the years we counted our lucky stars as friendships prevailed and family ties were reinforced.

Now, let’s say you are through and through healthy and can count on a handful of die-hard fans and family that stand by you, including maybe a significant other, some well-adjusted kids and/or couple of cats, why is it still so hard to lean back with a smile for longer than five seconds at a time?

Because it is. That’s just how we are, how we’re wired. We are eternally geared towards wanting to climb that next step, reaching a new target and rounding yet another corner. It’s what keeps us all whirling and twirling day in and day out. And yet, what really counts are those five seconds of clarity...where life is good. In between it’s all a daze.

Not Dior

Admit it, when you think of the Brits, the very first thing that comes to your mind is probably several galaxies away from Miss Universe and fashion shots. But what’s the second thing?

When I told one of my friends that we were moving to England, her first thought was, “School uniforms!!!” She had me baffled. I was still thinking of pink mohawks and crooked teeth.

But as it turns out, she was right. School uniforms are big here, in fact, too big and invariably uninspiringly black, blue, grey or green.

Like oversized shoe-boxes, they encase the little bodies with a pair of gangly legs dangling from underneath them, like with one of those ridiculous bookshelf cows that were popular a couple of years ago.

It’s pitiful...well, definitely nothing like the Royal Guard, anyway.