It Takes a Village

One the books that I read as we were planning our move here, Take Your Kids to Europe, was written by parents who took their kids on an extended vacation in Europe, for close to a year, I believe, and they covered everything from the logistics of planning and budgeting for such a trip to what is best to see with children.

But the part that most struck me was when they discussed the family dynamics that develop on this sort of journey, and what happens to a family when the kids become one another's only playmate.  In their own kids, they saw they developed a closeness and understanding and respect that you just couldn't get otherwise. That. I wanted that.

Although we for all intents and purposes moved here--we set up a house and filled it with furniture, and Dennis has his job and the kids, their school--I feel like we've been treating this trip more as a really long vacation. We've really been apart from the world these last few months.  We have a few friends and are on nodding acquaintance with many others, but we've been quite private.  And particularly during our first couple of months here, the kids, with a language barrier to breech, were really isolated.  And, inevitably, they sought each other out for comfort and for play.  They still fight, but over all I do think the kids seem calmer and happier and kinder with one another, particularly discounting the stress that her demanding school adds to Ella's life.

Aside from the forced companionship, I'm sure part of the reason that they're finding some peace is that Dennis and I have been giving so much of ourselves to the kids. They always fight most when they're vying for our attention, but now they have it, in spades.

An accommodating daddy, pushing Joey the
entire half-mile home.

And Joey, particularly, has been basking the situation.  The kids have a fairly firmly established oldest-to-youngest pecking order, and I'm afraid I don't pay much attention to Joey when his siblings are around, but when Ella and Alex head out the door, it's all about Joey. And he expects it.

He revels in being able to pick the pace and the activities. He has his little established routines that he's created.  He always takes a drink from that fountain, and he always picks a flower from this yard, and he always hops up from his stroller and runs up the hill, just there, to wave down at me. 

Which is all well and good if you have the luxury of four unscheduled hours to pass each morning, but, I'm seeing, it starts to be a problem when you try to fit other people into the mix. 

We went with our new friends to the top of Üetliburg this morning: they wanted to take their first ride on the S-Bahns, and we were happy to accompany them. And we had a great time on the top of the mountain, for it was a beautiful, summer-like day, and the kids had the run of the quiet equipment.  But Joey's stress at having to accommodate someone else during his time really showed, especially towards the end of the trip.  The little baby we were with needed to be changed and fed, and I had to hurry, too, to make lunch for Ella and Alex.  But Joey had conflicting daisy-gathering plans just then. 

Oh, he threw an epic temper tantrum when I picked him up, and then was absolutely furious about being brought inside.  "Back outside! Back outside!" he wailed, and then he actually ran out the open door to the porch and pulled himself up, with his little arms, to the top of the railing, finding superhuman strength in his fury.

You know, I think I made myself forget, or didn't allow myself to think about, how very nice it can be to have other moms around.  My friend offered to nurse outside and take Joey with her while I gathered lunch together.  Oh yeah. I forgot what it was like to have a little backup during the day.  As soon as he was away from me (and with someone he wasn't quite sure about) Joey's anger, of course, evaporated.

Although it did resurface when he came back inside and told me, over and over, "Go seep! SEEP!" Now what did that mean?  Did he want to go back outside? Did he want something to eat? Seep? Could he possibly mean a seeping diaper? Did he need his diaper changed?  And enraged, frustrated Joey finally got behind me, pushed me to his room, and pointed at his bed. "Go. Seep."

Oh. Sleep. Yes. An excellent idea.


What would I have done without her?  Well, probably I wouldn't have gone to the top of Uetliburg so close to noon, but it was a such a gorgeous day and I was happy to be out of the house...and besides, a mommy needs a friend, too, sometimes.

Now, if only I could find someone in this village to sit with Ella at night and to teach her cursive and her times-tables.

Just different enough from D'Nealian to
be really quite annoying.