Mums and Toddlers

I almost stayed home that day.

I am, as I've explained, a closet introvert. A shy person pretending to be an outgoing one. I enjoying socializing when I'm amongst friends, I can even be the life of the party if the mood strikes me, but jumping into new situation, meeting new people, that's not my thing. And so I almost stayed home that day. Except I didn't. And thank goodness.

We had picked up our lives and a toddling Briton only a few weeks before to move, almost on a whim, to Ireland. I realize that's not something people do every day, or even once in their lives. And it really wasn't on a whim, it had been long in the planning stages, but when it all happened at last, it happened fast. Jobs were interviewed for over Thanksgiving, visas were rushed to us before government offices closed for Christmas, and we had moved within a few days of the New Year. So it felt whim-ish, and exciting, and totally bonkers. And it was all those things.

Except the reality is that once you get past the oddities of being in a new place, life with a toddler is still...life with a toddler. Just because we'd traded our charming-if-a-little-shabby bungalow for a 300 square foot apartment in a 350 year old town house didn't mean we stopped dealing with things like potty training and letter learning and nap tantrums. And as any mother of a toddler can tell you, the key to surviving those years of toddlerhood without going totally insane is finding friends with toddlers to commiserate with, laugh with, cry with, and sometimes beg for a little babysitting so you can go get a haircut from. And so, the fear of meeting new people was pushed aside for the greater need for adult interaction. Which is how I found myself standing outside a very medieval looking door (actually, I think it was medieval, not just medieval looking) with a cheerful sign on it reading "Mums and Toddlers" instead of staying home and sitting on the bright red couch looking at the bright purple cabinets in our furnished flat.

Luckily, the people behind the door weren't shy. In fact, they were the opposite of shy. I'm not sure I've ever seen a toddler as outgoing as the one that rushed toward my (outgoing, but not quite so) son and made him her instant friend while her mother took my coat, got me a cup of tea and some cookies and plopped me down into the group before I could really register where I was. And just like that, I had friends.

For the next 20 months,  until the very day we moved back to the states, these ladies were my people. And Englishwoman, three Northern Irish girls and me, the American. It almost sounds like the start of a bad joke, doesn't it? But it was wonderful. We ate cookies and drank tea and walked miles through parks and streets and neighborhoods with our babies. We welcomed a new baby and heard the news about two more one the way (one of them mine) and talked potty training and complained about picky eaters and did all the things you do when you meet the people you survived toddlerhood with.

There were, of course, hilarious moments.  Misunderstandings that happen when people from different countries come together. I'll never forget to call "pants" "trousers" in front of a Brit again, for example. Because that joke went on for weeks. (Pants = underwear, you can see how that could go terribly wrong) We had vastly different backgrounds, I grew up, after all, without any experience of boarding schools or London flats, IRA roadblocks or the Irish Education System, and they were not peanut butter addicts and had never seen an America toddler birthday party a la pre-jail Martha. But that mattered very little, if at all.

What always astonishes me when I think about that time, what astonishes me still when we visit a new place and meet new people is that no matter where you are, life is just life, friends are friends, toddlers are most definitely toddlers and a cup of tea is, well actually, all cups of tea are not created equal, that's a bad example, but moms are moms. Wading through life, dealing with diapers or nappies or whatever the word is for them where you currently are. Children's shows are equally mind numbing and at the same time memorizing, no matter if it's Barney or Postman Pat or Dora the Explorer in Gaelic (it's a real thing).

It sounds exotic to say I've got friends in Ireland. "Oh my friends in Ireland" I could say, and you might be impressed. But they are really just my friends. Ladies who I would sit down and shoot the shit with any day, even after all these years apart. All because I didn't stay home that day.

-Gillian

In praise of those unlike me

I had dinner in Slovenia Wednesday. Well, not really in Slovenia, but in the warmth of Slovenian friendship.

Bella and Julija, 2012

Over a big plate of čevapičiči (elongated Slovenian meatballs), I rekindled my friendship with Martin Jelovsek. Martin and his parents were our hosts when Cecile and I took a 40th anniversary trip to their spectacular little country in 2012. He is also the sister of my co-worker and friend Ursa Lenart, who suggested the trip in the first place.

All of the above is a long way of saying my heart is sometimes not at my home. I have a longtime fascination with the world beyond our borders and a deep, deep appreciation of the people I’ve met there.

I should probably have a passport from the United Nations. I was born in Germany, but my mother was English while my father hailed from Idaho – although his mother and step-siblings were Canadian. I married into a family of with roots in California, China, Korea and the Philippines. Our reunions are worthy of a Food Network special.
I’m proud to be an American, but my mind has wandered abroad my whole life.

I learned at a very early age that all people are just people, but that they spice up the world with unique words, thoughts and actions. It’s a spice that I crave. My university job has taken me from Mongolia to Italy and filled the spaces between with students and journalists from Nepal to Norway. And I’m ready to go out there for more.

Martin, American cousin Olive, Bella and me

Which brings me back that dinner at Ursa’s house. Martin brought with him his cute-as-a-kitten daughter, Bella. When we were in Slovenia, Bella and I became friends in the most wonderful way – without words. She couldn’t speak English and I was generally stumped by Slovene. But 5-year-olds don’t need language. Bella could pleasantly pester me just as I could gently tease her with the sound we all recognize – laughter.

Bella has grown up a few years and didn’t really remember me until I pulled up a photo of her and cousin Julija on my phone. And then we were back to teasing each other and sharing wordless laughs.

The Great Truth of Internationalism is that nobody does life right, but we all live life well. The sin against that truth is looking at the world through OK-I-can-check-that-one-off lens of a places-not-people tourist. Better to travel with your heart, even if it means just welcoming a new friend from a foreign land.

One day, perhaps, my international friends will so enlighten my spirit that I’ll achieve my dream of getting a new driver’s license.

Place of residence: Earth.

Clyde