UNITED KINGDOM: On Interplanetary Moms

UNITED KINGDOM: On Interplanetary Moms

alien headphonesI’m driving my daughters to school through a windswept city. The storm last night was long and loud and its effects are everywhere, from turned over bins to broken branches. The traffic is moving slowly.

On the radio, a presenter reads a list of bleak news headlines. Britain, with its large Muslim population, is still parsing the consequences of the Charlie Hebdo shooting in France. Ahead of May’s general election, the main UK political parties are making economic promises. Two climbers have scaled a 3,000ft mountain in America without aids.

The girls yawn – tired from a night of listening to roaring gales – and ask for pop music.

“I’m trying to listen,” I say. “I’m trying to figure out what to write about today.” “What do you mean?” asks Grace, who recently turned 13.

“I have to write an article for World Moms Blog. What do you think I should write about?”

“I think you should tell them that I’m 13,” says Grace.

From the back seat Betty, who is 5, says: “I think you should write – ‘Dear World Cup – ‘ “

“Not World Cup, you idiot!” interposes Grace, who at 13 takes offence often, now. “Don’t call her an idiot,” I tell her, and steer around a large chunk of tree on the road.

To Betty I explain:

“It’s not the World Cup, darling. It’s a website for World Mums to write about their lives.”

“Oh, okay,” says Betty. “Then you should write: ‘Dear World Mums – ‘”

“It’s not a letter!” splutters Grace, who by now a really rather indignant 13-year-old.

“Go on Betty,” I say.

Betty clears her throat and gives Grace a glare, then says, “I think you should write – ‘Dear World Mums, in all of your countries, the world is not just about your countries.’”

Grace opens her mouth to protest again. I shush her.

“- it’s also about lots of planets,” Betty continues. “For example, there’s Kewpicker – “

My eyes meet Grace’s. She mouths: “Jupiter.” “ – and there’s the Moon. And – there are all the stars,” Betty ends with a flourish.

“I see,” I say. “And what do you think is out there among all those planets?”

“Well, there’s aliens, and lots of dark, and lots of rocks,” answers Betty, ticking the answers off on her fingers. “And you have to be very careful not to take your space hat off, cos then you won’t be able to breathe.”

Grace sits up, interested now.

“I used to want to be an astronaut. But then I saw that film, Gravity, and thought – no way!”

“Really? Why?” “Because it was so scary! I realised how dangerous and difficult it is!”

“Yes,” I nod. “But she – the astronaut – still succeeded, didn’t she? How did that bit make you feel?”

“Well….” Grace scrunches up her face and considers. “It was cool that she was a woman. And I suppose it made me feel like it’s worth trying really hard. And that sometimes you have to see past how frightening and difficult things can be, and just keep going.”

There’s a moment’s silence in the car. I look at Grace and smile at her and she smiles back at me, and sits back in her chair, pleased with the thought. I can see her turning it over while we drive in silence for a few moments.

Then, from Betty: “Pleeeeeeeese can we have some songs now, Mummy?”

I turn the dial and a current favourite bursts out of the speakers, all horns and funky guitars and a silly, strutting lyrics. Immediately the girls both start singing along.

When it’s finished, Betty asks: “Do you think there’s music in space?”

What profound moments have come from your fun conversations with your kids?

This is an original post to World Moms Blog by Sophie Walker of the United Kingdom.

Sophie Walker (UK)

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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NEW JERSEY, USA: Charlie Hebdo Massacre: A Call To Unite

NEW JERSEY, USA: Charlie Hebdo Massacre: A Call To Unite

charlie

A year ago, girls, teenagers who wanted an education so they could look forward to a great future, were abducted from their school in Chibok, Nigeria. They were taken away, kidnapped and removed from their family, because they were guilty of having ambitions. All these girls had to defend themselves were books.

What’s left of this horror is parents. Mothers and fathers, grieving for a loss that can never be overcome, hurting from a pain that will never lessen, left to wonder why, and knowing that no answer will ever alleviate their sorrow. Because there is no justification.

A few months ago, Peshawar happened and with it, the world once again, lost its innocence. Over 150 kids massacred, because they were guilty of being the children of their parents. All these kids had to defend themselves were notepads.

What’s left of this horror is parents. Mothers and fathers, grieving for a loss that can never be overcome, hurting from a pain that will never lessen, left to wonder why, and knowing that no answer will alleviate their sorrow. Because there is no justification.

Last week, my home country, France, was the theatre of repeated terrorist attacks. People were massacred because they went to work that day, or decided to do their grocery shopping. A brutal attack, with one side holding weapons, the other pencils. 

And the violence continued with news of over 2000 killed in Baga, Nigeria.

What’s left of this horror is parents. Mothers, fathers, grieving for a loss that can never be overcome, hurting from a pain that will never lessen, left to wonder why, and knowing that no answer will ever alleviate their sorrow. Because there is no justification.

Mothers, fathers of this world, our families are being hurt beyond comprehension. Pencils are fighting bombs, words are matched with weapons. These violent attacks are not about gender, race, religion, background, or opinions. They are about pulverizing families.  This is a call to unite.  We all have a responsibility to do everything in our power to preserve our families and help others do the same.

We are all Chibok girls. We are all Peshawar. We are all Charlie.

How do we, global parents everywhere, teach our children to cherish and preserve their families? How do we unite to show them that violence is never the answer? 

This is an original post to World Moms Blog by Nadege Nicoll.  She was born in France but now lives permanently in New Jersey with her family. Nadege also writes a daily blog for moms who need to smile at everyday life. She can be found on Twitter, Facebook and her website www.nadegenicoll.com.

Image creation by author.

Nadege Nicoll

Nadege Nicoll was born in France but now lives permanently in New Jersey with her family. She stopped working in the corporate world to raise her three children and multiple pets, thus secretly gathering material for her books. She writes humorous fictions for kids aged 8 to 12. She published her first chapter book, “Living with Grown-Ups: Raising Parents” in March 2013. Her second volume in the series just came out in October 2013. “Living with Grown-Ups: Duties and Responsibilities” Both books take an amusing look at parents’ inconsistent behaviors, seen from the perspective of kids. Nadege hopes that with her work, children will embrace reading and adults will re-discover the children side of parenthood. Nadege has a few more volumes ready to print, so watch this space…

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LESOTHO:  First Impressions and Back Again

LESOTHO: First Impressions and Back Again

lesothoIn 2002, my international investment banking career in Singapore had left me drained.  I needed to find the physical and mental freedom to return to my first passion, which was development work.  I left my job and embarked on a solo backpacking journey, looking for peace and inspiration.  By the time I circled around sub-Saharan Africa and ended in Lesotho, I found both.  I have never looked back.

My very first impression of Lesotho came from the high peaks of the Drakensberg mountain range in the eastern part of the country, where the autumn air was cool and crisp.  Dirt roads wound through small villages dotted with tradition rondavels made of stones or mud, with thick thatched roofs. The vast mountain plains opened up into a broad blue sky and brilliant, high-altitude sunshine. Our hiking trail climbed up rocky table mountain tops and down into freezing cold streams that cut through house-sized boulders, groves of thirsty willows, and into caves of prehistoric paintings.  Lesotho, tucked completely within the walls of South Africa, seemed an ideal natural treasure to me.

Fast forward thirteen years.  After living in Vientiane, Laos, for two years, last November, I arrived back in Lesotho.  This time, I had a family in tow.  My husband is in the U.S. Foreign Service.  The rhythm of our family life consists of an international move every two to three years, with trips back to the States for home visits and language training in between.

Where I once turned to travel to help me change my life, what I now seek at each new destination is stability and conetinuity for my family.

After 22 hours of travel, we arrived in the capital city of Maseru, which is situated in the hilly western lowlands. The air is again cool and crisp, although now it is springtime.  The backyard of our new house is full of bright yellow birds, endlessly flitting back and forth to complete their work.  The males are busy constructing round grassy nests, which dangle festively in our trees.  If a female doesn’t accept the nest, the male bird tears the entire thing apart and starts all over again. The kids and I have named one “Butternut”, and we admire his tireless work everyday.

Maseru is a small city with a growing suburban sprawl. There are barely 300,000 people in the entire urban area. The buildings are low, the traffic flows, and only a couple of noteworthy malls have popped up within the past two years. “First impressions” this time around are mainly focused on the business of getting on with life for our family–new school, new friends, new job, new supermarkets, getting the internet set up, figuring out a car, and obtaining household help. Luckily, it’s been quite easy to get everything that we need. As far as Western-style life needs go, there are plenty of products here that are brought in from South Africa and beyond.

With our basic needs met, we’ve been exploring beyond the city.  I still find Mother Nature calling at every turn. Within Lesotho, you can go hiking just about anywhere.  Cross a bridge and stop to hike down to explore up the river.  Head up a hill to find herdsmen tending livestock. When it rains, we hike in the mud (the kids’ favorite). When it’s hot, we cool down in streams and waterfalls. The nearby children find us no matter where we go; the adults are not engaging but very courteous. Fortunately, the personal safety issues prevalent in most of South Africa are not as concerning in Lesotho yet, and most of the expats we’ve met are comfortable exploring the countryside.

After the scant two-and-a-half months that we’ve been here, we are already feeling more settled.  And while we all miss what we’ve left behind in our “old” life in Laos . . . and Mexico. . . and the U.S. . . ., we begin anew to embrace what we have and to anticipate what gifts our new country holds.

Is there a change in your life that you’ve made or would like to make? What have you left or would like to leave behind, and what have you found or hope to find?

This is an original post to World Moms Blog by our mother of twins writer,  Dee Harlow, currently living in Lesotho. You can also find her on her blog Wanderlustress.

Photo credit attributed to Damien du Toit. This photo has a Flickr Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-ShareAlike license.

Dee Harlow (Laos)

One of Dee’s earliest memories was flying on a trans-Pacific flight from her birthplace in Bangkok, Thailand, to the United States when she was six years old. Ever since then, it has always felt natural for her to criss-cross the globe. So after growing up in the northeast of the US, her life, her work and her curiosity have taken her to over 32 countries. And it was in the 30th country while serving in the Peace Corps in Uzbekistan that she met her husband. Together they embarked on a career in international humanitarian aid working in refugee camps in Darfur, Sudan, and the tsunami torn coast of Aceh, Indonesia. Dee is now a full-time mother of three-year old twins and continues to criss-cross the globe every two years with her husband who is in the US Foreign Service. They currently live in Vientiane, Laos, and are loving it! You can read about their adventures at Wanderlustress.

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WORLD VOICE: Keeping Family Ties Across the Ocean

WORLD VOICE: Keeping Family Ties Across the Ocean

“Maracas Bay Beach, Trinidad & Tobago. Photo by Lazette Nichols”

Maracas Bay Beach, Trinidad & Tobago. Photo by Lazette Nichols

Looking out of the plane window onto an endless ocean below, I thought about how long it took me to make a journey back to my father’s home country of Trinidad and Tobago, a pilgrimage long overdue.

It had been 30 years since I set foot on the island. My dad grew up in Trinidad and Tobago in the 1930’s when it was still British and roads doubled as donkey trails. The last time I was there at age 13, I was grieving over dad’s sudden death the year before and my cousins took us to see the American comedy hit Ghostbusters. This time, I was racing to Trinidad with my mom because of an email telling us that dad’s sister, my Aunt Cynthia, was in the hospital after a stroke and things looked dire. She had even received last rites. No one expected her to last until Christmas. My phone rang and Mom unexpectedly asked: “How do you feel about going to Trinidad…like, right now?”

As far as I know, there have been only two women in the world ever to be given the name “Cynthia Chang-Yit”: my aunt and me. A typo in an immigration office somewhere between China and Trinidad inadvertently gave my grandfather a unique last name.

Sharing the name made me proud that she was my special aunt and godmother. She always visited us for major family milestones…weddings, graduations, memorable Christmases, and – of course – Dad’s funeral. She seemed elegant to me, appearing every few years in our Minnesota winters bundled in the same fur coat. (Why buy a new winter coat when you live near the equator?) Her eyes crinkled when she smiled at my childhood silliness. I loved how my room held her powdery scent during and after her stay. I liked to usher her to my room so we could sleep in matching twin beds. The super-glued sign on the door back then read, appropriately, “Cynthia’s Room.”

It’s rare in life when one is actually faced with answering the rhetorical question: “If you knew you could see someone you love for one last time, how much would you pay for that chance?” I still don’t precisely know, but it suddenly became clear that it’s way more than the cost of a last-minute plane ticket to the Caribbean.

I boarded with luggage containing black funeral clothes as well as a swimsuit. I didn’t know what would happen. Would I attend her funeral? Sit for hours in a hospital? End up at a beach playing in the surf or staring pensively in grief? The only thing I knew for sure was that I wouldn’t have to wear snow boots.

My family has a very global history and I personally speak out to Congress about global concerns regularly, so why did it take this long to get me back to the islands? How many years went by as I dithered over when a “good time” to go to Trinidad would be? Lack of money, lack of vacation days, exam schedules, babies, a general unease with international travel…there was always something in the way. I’m reminded of the saying, “If you want something, you’ll find reasons. If you don’t, you’ll find excuses.” I eventually have to admit that I didn’t want it bad enough because – let’s face it – there is never a “good time” to go. Like all things in life, it simply has to be a priority or not. When I look at my list of excuses, they’re only the protests of someone not wanting to step out of her comfort zone. I have American friends who travel to see their families in Japan, Brazil, and Malaysia with babies and toddlers. These folks are neither particularly wealthy nor adventurous. They just place a higher value on the bonds of family and showing children what it means to be from the places where their families began.

“ 'Aunt Cynthia' with the author’s daughter. Photo by Cynthia Changyit Levin”

‘Aunt Cynthia’ with the author’s daughter. Photo by Cynthia Changyit Levin

I’m happy to tell you that my mom and I were able to see Aunt Cynthia. As of today, she is at home and still hanging on. She could not speak nor move much when I saw her, but I was rewarded with the recognition on her face that I had finally come to visit. Her eyes crinkled a bit when I held a puppy up for her to see, knowing our shared love of dogs. She gave me exasperated looks when I asked if she liked the current Prime Minister or told her I hadn’t yet tried the local beer. I got the chance to sit by her side to read her the paper, put lotion on her hands, show her pictures of my daughters, give her flowers, sing her Christmas carols, and – above all – tell her I love her.

So, what is my takeaway from my long-overdue trip? Will I become a world traveler now? Will I visit my Trinidad cousins every year with my kids? Honestly, no. I’m still basically the same person who needs a push to use her passport. But I think I can find a happy medium between recreational globetrotting and never going at all. It’s in that middle ground where I found the beautiful experiences of standing on a beach with my mother where my father brought her as a newlywed, consulting with my cousins about our shared family recipes, and sitting at the side of someone who needed me.

 Did you ever have the chance to say goodbye to someone you loved before they died, or missed the chance by not making the trip when you could have?

This is an original post written for World Moms Blog By Cynthia Changyit Levin.

Cindy Levin

Cynthia Changyit Levin is a mother, advocate, speaker, and author of the upcoming book “From Changing Diapers to Changing the World: Why Moms Make Great Advocates and How to Get Started.” A rare breed of non-partisan activist who works across a variety of issues, she coaches volunteers of all ages to build productive relationships with members of Congress. She advocated side-by-side with her two children from their toddler to teen years and crafted a new approach to advocacy based upon her strengths as a mother. Cynthia’s writing and work have appeared in The New York Times, The Financial Times, the Washington Post, and many other national and regional publications. She received the 2021 Cameron Duncan Media Award from RESULTS Educational Fund for her citizen journalism on poverty issues. When she’s not changing the world, Cynthia is usually curled up reading sci-fi/fantasy novels or comic books in which someone else is saving the world.

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NETHERLANDS: The Gift That Keeps On Giving

NETHERLANDS: The Gift That Keeps On Giving

DSC_0034I had a little ritual with my son when he used to be little.
Sometimes when snuggling I would sit him down and tell him a little story.
I would tell him about the biggest most precious gift I ever received.
It has been ages since I told him that little story,  but I still remember my son’s eyes turning big in anticipation as I got to the end of the story, revealing what the gift was.

“The gift was you,” I said.

And I proceeded to tell him how happy the gift made me and how loved he was.
No matter how many times I told him the same story, he never got tired of hearing it.
And I never got tired of telling him the same story.
I had promised myself very early on in life that if I ever had children, I would make sure they knew they were loved. As far as I was concerned, they would never have to deal with low self esteem or feel unwanted.

For most of my childhood, I spent time excusing myself for being me.
I tried to change myself, copy others, or suppress things that were typically me.
I apologized a lot. When you spend that much time being aware of what you are not supposed to be, you’re under a lot of pressure.
I used to bite my nails almost to the point of bleeding and I was shy and clumsy.
I broke things, I fell a lot, I bumped into things. It was a hard task, trying not to be me.
Today when I look at my middle child, who is almost like a copy-print of me, I laugh at my attempts.
That kid is so present, so alive, so wild, so loud, so emotional, so outspoken, so amazing.
There is no way to tone that down. And what a waste would it be to do so.
My kids have taught me that it is okay to be exactly who you are and that the flaws and the twitches are what makes a person unique.

My kids have helped me accept myself. I see myself when my daughter is persistent. I see myself when my oldest child gets emotional, I see myself when my kids do silly dances and I see myself when one of them nestles on the couch and disappears in a book.

It doesn’t bother me that my daughter feels too shy to speak around strangers, or that my son is difficult when he feels overwhelmed. Nor does it bother me that my daughter is chaotic and would forget to bring her own head to school, if it wasn’t attached to her body.
I see me.
Whenever I look at my kids, really look at them, my heart bursts with love.
I have always promised myself that whenever I had kids, I would give them the space to be themselves.
What I never expected was that through my love for them,  I would learn to love and accept myself more.
And that is truly a gift.

What gift have your kids added to your life?

This is an original post to World Moms Blog by Mirjam of The Netherlands. Photo credit to the author.

Mirjam

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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