A Long Way to School

My School Bus - In the Eyes of My Son
(c) Amanda van Mulligen

My eldest son recently asked me if I had once also been five years old, like him.

"Yes, a long time ago!" I told him.

"And did you go to the same class in school that I am in?" he asked.

"No. I went to primary school in England," I said.

"Oh! That's a long way to drive," he exclaimed.

I'm not sure at what age he will actually grasp what it means that his mother isn't Dutch and has lived most of her life in England so far.....

Sharing my British Roots

A Place I Once Called Home
(c) Amanda van Mulligen

It's not often that I get the chance to show my kids directly where I came from. To show them my roots. Where I grew up, where I went to school, where I played out on the streets with my younger brother. I'm talking about way back when, in the days when I called England home.

It's been twelve years since the Netherlands became my home. My children have no idea what it's like to live in England and it's possible that they never will.

So this summer, after a holiday in Cornwall, we took a detour to Watford after visiting a friend nearby to take a tour of my British roots.

We went to the flat that was my first 'out in the big, wide world alone' dwelling. A one-bedroom flat I bought along Whippendell Road. It's a hop, skip and a jump from Vicarage Road, home of Watford Football club where I attended almost every home game for more years than I care to mention.

Now someone else's family home
(c) Amanda van Mulligen

Then we drove past the business park I worked in for a year, following the road up to Croxley Green. From memory I directed my husband to the house which was the last family home I lived in before the members of the family I grew up with all went their separate ways to form new families of their own. The house had been slightly extended, built upwards over what was my parents' bedroom. The front door and windows were new. But in essence, the house looked the same as it did so many years ago. A dark blue car was parked under the tree that stands in front of the house, the same place my Dad's Renault stood when it was broken in to multiple times - every time a Phil Collins CD disappearing until my dad got fed up replacing it. The same parking space I used at the end of so many fun evenings with friends.

My former secondary school
(c) Amanda van Mulligen

We turned down the road at the side of the house and I remembered the surprise we got one morning when we came downstairs to find our garden wall blown down after a stormy night. The road was filled with cars, parked on both sides making driving there a slalom affair. We headed past Croxley station, past the pubs on the green where I spent many a social evening and down Scot's Hill to my former secondary school, St Joan Of Arc. It looked the same as it did over twenty years ago. Did I say that out loud? Twenty years? How can it be so long since that school was like a second home to me? How can it look the same as it does in my mind's eye? Awash with happy memories.

Then it was through Rickmansworth High Street where Boots the Chemist still occupies the same space  it did over two decades ago. Natwest Bank has the same home at the end of the High Street too. It seems that in a world of change, some things do actually stay the same.

On to Mill End where we also used to live, close to my former primary school. The house looked in desperate need of updating, some care and love to be poured in to it, but the school looked familiar. Bigger than I remember it and certainly not on the same scale as Dutch primary schools which tend to be smaller but more in abundance than British primary schools. We passed the community centre where I used to attend drama classes. Something that seems incredulous now to my introvert adult self. There was even a picture of my drama group in the local paper, but I cannot remember why. Memories. A car trip down memory lane.

My roots. My life in England. My British upbringing. And what did my children make of it all? All three boys sat in the back seat fast asleep.

How do you share your birth country roots with your children? 

Do Ducks Fart?

Ducklings: can they or can't they?
Photo: (c) The WritingWell

I took my sons to feed the 'local ducks' after school on Monday this week. I had some stale bread. The sun was shining so we dawdled home and took a detour after picking my eldest up from school.

As we approached the oversized pond a pair of black coots and their offspring swam nonchalantly over to us and waited for huge chunks of old bread to be lugged at their heads (my two year old has not grasped quite how small the pieces of bread should be, or that he can throw it gently near the ducks). As my two older boys were throwing slices of bread a larger white duck came waddling over to get in on the action.

My eldest turned his attention to the newcomer and proceeded to throw bread at for the white duck. When the duck had finished his meal he shook his feathers and flapped his wings (when I say he, I don't exclude she - who knows?). My eldest son started laughing,

"Volgens mij mama heeft hij net een poepie gelaten." ("I think that duck just farted.") Then he stopped giggling and looked very seriously at me to ask,

"Laten eendjes wel poepies mama?" (Do ducks fart mama?)

"I imagine so," I replied, blindsided by the unexpected question.

Before I became a mother, I had never contemplated whether a duck passes wind. It has never come up before in any conversation I have ever had. It's not a topic du jour. Now it's a question I am pondering in two languages. I told my son I imagined a duck could fart (though I didn't use that word with him - it's not a word a bilingual five year old needs to add to his vocabulary - his Dutch vocabulary is already more than sufficient on this subject....) but actually I don't know. So I googled it. I wish I hadn't.

I do now know that a Duck Fart is a cocktail (and a nice sounding one at that) but whether ducks actually fart.... none the wiser. I read on one site that they don't. They can't get rid of gases so if you give them gassy food they explode...... Another site assured me that ducks do indeed fart - why on earth else would there be bubbles in the water around ducks? *sigh*

I would like to be able to go back to my curious son and give him the correct answer. So.... question of the week:

"Laten eendjes wel poepies?"

What If My Kids Had Been Born in England?

I've been thinking. How different would my children already be if they had been born in England instead of the Netherlands. So, instead of three little Dutch boys with a British mother, they were three little English boys with a Dutch father.

The most obvious different is that their first language would be English, and not Dutch which is the case with my eldest. My school going 5 year old speaks better Dutch than English (whereas it was the other way round when he was a toddler because he was home with me) and now has a Dutch accent when speaking English. In England, they would not currently be bilingual.

But what about culture things? Or experiences? How would they be different if my children had been born and raised in England?

Food
Well they certainly wouldn't have eaten sprinkles on their bread had they been born and raised in England. They wouldn't have eaten so many pancakes, and certainly not under the label of "dinner". They probably would have a better selection of healthier meal choices (read not everything fried with chips) whenever we eat out had we been living now in England.

My boys would know what a crumpet was without a lengthy explanation about a bread type thing with holes in it. Scones would be second nature. Hot cross buns at Easter time would be taken as a fact and Christmas crackers wouldn't be such a novelty.

Culture
Had they been British born, they wouldn't have had such a fine collection of orange shirts between them. They wouldn't have a clue what a Beesie was, seen an orange German helmet or seen a prince throwing an orange toilet. I can't imagine I will live to see the day that Prince Charles takes part in a toilet pot throwing competition, and I guess the real question is this: why on earth would he?

They wouldn't have scouted around flea markets on Queen's Day. Sinterklaas would have stayed a stranger.

None of my kids would have experienced being transported around on the front or back of my bike as past age eleven I cannot even remember owning a bike in England, let alone thinking about ferrying kids around on one.

Jip and Janneke would be an unknown couple. Dikkie Dik would never have become a familiar feline face and Nijnte would be called Miffy. They would have grown up with the bird on Sesame Street coloured yellow going by the name of Big Bird, instead of a blue bird called Pino.

Education System
My eldest would probably be wearing a school uniform (thus saving the knees on his day to day trousers) and I would likely be transporting him to and from school in a car. In England, he also wouldn't have already been a fully fledged member of the local junior school at the tender age of four.

They would be addressing their teacher as Miss Smith instead of Juf Krista if they were in the English education system and they would be unlikely to see their teacher in jeans unless on a school trip.

Television
I'm going out on a limb to say that I assume my sons would not be so exposed to poop humour in England as they are in the Netherlands. They would know the voices of famous actors such as Tom Hanks from watching children's films in their original language, instead of Dutch dubbing which is (rightly) used for kid's programs. They would never have heard of Bumba, K3 or Kabouter Plop. They would never have seen Charlie and Lola speaking Dutch or Makka Pakka singing in Dutch.

Outdoors

This is what I call hills - something my Dutch boys are not familiar with

If my boys had been born and were being raised in England, they would most certainly know what a real hill looked like. As it is they think a speed bump is "high".

For my little Dutch boys an old, traditional windmill is commonplace, not something special. If they had lived in Watford like I did, a windmill sighting wouldn't be a weekly occurrence.

I am not convinced my eldest would have already had ice skates on and been on natural ice had we been an "English" family. And they wouldn't have been ferried around on bikes as babies.......

As my boys are still only little, there are lots more things we will come to experience that will make their lives here in the Netherlands different to the one they would lead in England. Some are positives (after all, Dutch children are the happiest in Europe), and a few are negatives.

But sometimes I wonder what impact being born in England would really have had on their lives, their personalities, their youth, their memories of growing up. Would their lives have taken a different path? It's an interesting train of thought!

What differences would have been evident if your children had been born in your birth country instead of the country you now call home? 

A Strange Begin: Sleepless Nights and An Ambulance,

Photo: (c) The Writing Well

When my youngest son (our third) was born last October, the kraamweek (the week after the birth) didn't quite go as planned. We came back from the hospital on a Friday morning and our interim kraamzorg was stood at our front door to meet us. The first day home went as planned. Lots of rest, help, and time for my eldest two sons to meet their new brother.

The night however was a different story. Our new addition cried a lot at night. By that I mean unless he was being held upright he was crying. As soon as we laid him down his eyes sprung open and he began to scream. That meant, with labour and the birth included, I hadn't slept at all for three nights. I was a little tired to say the least.

Saturday night was a repeat of the night before. Four nights without sleep.

Then on Sunday morning I felt a little strange. It felt as if I was on the verge of slipping away into a dreamland, whilst lying in my kraambed. My kraamzorg (a trainee) came to bring me breakfast, was shocked by how I looked and flew back down the stairs to alert the experienced kraamzorg that all was not well upstairs. They both came charging back upstairs. I was conscious of everything that was going on around me but could not respond. No words came out, my head wouldn't move. My blood pressure was high and I had what I can best describe as the shakes. The kraamzorg called the midwife, who arrived quickly but then struggled to get an accurate blood pressure reading. Due to my unresponsiveness she called an ambulance, informing them not to come with sirens and lights.

A few minutes later I heard a siren getting louder and louder and my insides curdled. My eyes told those in the room that I was horrified with the arrival of an ambulance with "bells and tooters" blazing.

The next fifteen minutes were amongst the strangest of my life. Two ambulance personnel, a male and a female, began loading equipment on the bed. The room was a hive of activity with 2 maternity nurses, a midwife and my family milling around trying to help and get a grip on the situation.

After tests and questions the decision was made to take me to hospital in the ambulance, back to the maternity ward for checks. One of the ambulance crew said it seemed like I had gone in to shock. A birth and four nights with no sleep seemed a viable reason for this....

Somewhere amid the commotion I began to return to the land of the living and could communicate once more.

And so I made it downstairs with help from the ambulance personnel and my husband, and I was loaded on to a stretcher outside our house. Which is when I noticed that the arrival of the ambulance had attracted a sea of onlookers in the street and surrounding houses...... My husband took the baby in the car, as he would stay with me in the maternity ward to ensure that the breastfeeding could continue. My eldest sons stayed with kraamzorg until friends got there to look after them. It was chaotic, upsetting and stressful - for us all.

It was only the second time I had ever been in an ambulance. The first time was to accompany my brother when he had a serious asthma attack when we were out in Watford, England one night. It was certainly the first time I had ever been in a Dutch ambulance. By the time we were driving to the hospital I was compos mentis again, and well aware of the drama of the past half an hour, hour - who knows how much time had passed.

Photo: Pam Roth

Once we arrived at the ambulance entrance of the hospital we seemed to whizz through corridors, past a sea of faces waiting their turn in queues in various departments, until we arrived in the maternity ward. Familiar faces came to help me from the stretcher to a bed and started hooking me up to an array of machines.

Lots of tests ensued from a gynaecologist and a neurologist and I had a few more 'attacks' like I had had that morning. The result was that I had to stay overnight in the hospital. I was devastated - it wasn't how the kraamweek was supposed to be! The kraamweek following the births of my first two sons are etched on my mind as wonderful weeks, a treasure trove of precious moments. And this time I ended up separated from the rest of my family, my husband home worried sick looking after our eldest sons who didn't understand anything that had happened, and me unable to properly care for my newborn.

Aside from a near collapse (luckily a nurse was holding on to me) walking back from the bathroom, the night passed without incident and the next morning I was allowed to return home. Kraamzorg returned. The kraamweek recommenced. The rest of the week passed without incident, but the sleepless nights continued.  So we turned to an osteopath.

He diagnosed our little one as suffering from silent reflux. He was having a rough time of it, hence the sleepless nights. I'd like to say that we got referred to the paediatrician, given medicine and all was well but the reality is that we struggled at night for many months and have only really had peace at night during the last month.

We've come through the other end - and the most amazing thing about all this is that our youngest son is a smiley, giggly, happy little boy - despite the less than easy start in this world.

Photo: (c) The Writing Well

Weaning Your Baby - Are there Cultural Differences?

I've spent the last few weeks up to my eyeballs and in pureed carrots, courgettes, broccoli and sweet potato. Not to mention chicken and fish blended until they are unrecognisable as edible substances. Yep, it's weaning time again. My only consolation is that this will be the last time I will be knee deep in mushed greens.

Baby weaning - are there cultural differences?
Photo: Alfonso Romero

I was talking recently to a Dutch girlfriend on the school playground after we had dropped our kids off at school and I told her that the kitchen and the blender were patiently awaiting my arrival to make batches of chicken casserole for the smallest member of my family. She expressed some surprise at the news,

"You make your own food for weaning?" she asked.
"Yes.... I did it for my two eldest too," I replied.
"You don't just give ready made pots to the baby?" she asked incredulously.

Erm, no. Later when are are out and about with him he'll get jars of food because it's easier. For now though I'd rather make my own stuff for many reasons (and if you want to know what they are: cost; I know what is in it; it's fresh; I can cook in batches....).

I mentioned my exchange on the playground to my husband later and he said giving ready made pots is the Dutch way........

Of course, there is always an element of personal choice when it comes to feeding your baby but it got me thinking. Are there trends and norms where weaning is concerned in different countries? Is is really the Dutch way to give babies jars of food from the outset? Is home made food for babies more popular or the norm is some countries but not others? What types are food are given first in other countries?

The Dutch are keen to get bread into babies as soon as humanly possible, I have noticed that.... but have you weaned a baby whilst living abroad? Was it done differently than in your home country? What advice did you receive locally?

I would love to hear your experiences of weaning overseas - and I am curious to hear from other Dutch mothers what they give/gave their babies as first foods - homemade or ready made?

You Know You're An Expat Parent in the Netherlands When...

Being a parent abroad means facing situations that you probably wouldn't face if you had stayed in the country you were born in. Being an expat parent means adapting...... Here are twenty things that make me realise I'm a Brit parenting in the Netherlands.

1. You actually consider a home birth as a viable option.
2. You think you can give birth without the help of pain relief.
3. The whole idea of a maternity nurse spending a week in your home directly after the birth of your child is inconceivable. You reluctantly commit to her coming a few hours a day (half of your entitlement) but make sure everyone knows you are giving in begrudgingly. When your second is born you sign up for your full entitlement and dream up elaborate ways to get more hours out of your maternity nurse.
4. When the well-baby clinic recommends your child eats six slices of bread a day you involuntarily take in a sharp breath.
5. Your three year old speaks Dutch better than you do. 
6. Your five year old actually corrects you when you speak Dutch.
7. You are floored by the way your toddler can roll their "r's" and say "Scheveningen".
8. You're amazed because there is no complicated school enrolment system* for your children. You fill in an application form and the school informs you within a week or two if they have a space for your child or not. You can't believe it can be that simple.
9. When your child starts school you have no idea how the school system works because it's not the same as the one you grew up in. 
10. You cannot get to grips with the idea that eating in a pancake house is "going out for dinner" and still see those Dutch pancakes as eating dessert before the main meal.
11. You stop calling your GP for every minor ailment your kids get because you know the answer will be "Take paracetamol and if he's not okay in three days come back."
12. There is more paracetamol in your medicine cabinet at any one time than you would conceivably use in a year in your own country. What's more you have paracetamol for every possible age range and for every orifice and  - you're not afraid to use it.
13. Your kids cycle better and more than you do.
14. The phrase you use most whilst walking to and around the local playground is "Watch out for the dog poo. I said WATCH OUT! OK, you can clean that when we get home...."
15. Your children eat sprinkles on bread for breakfast.
16. Your child brings home a different friend book to fill in on a weekly basis. But of course your child cannot yet write so guess what you spend your weekends doing....
17. You wouldn't dream of driving to school. Instead, you join the masses and walk or cycle with your child to school.
18. You have an impressive array of attachments for your bike, including a bike trailer and child seats.
19. You race to the nearest lake when the temperature drops so that your children can wear their ice skates.
20. Your child has a tendency to find the idea of poo sandwiches hilarious. 

*except in Amsterdam.....

11. You don't call the GP....
Photo: Andrzej Gdula



What have I missed? What makes you realise you are parenting abroad, which ever country you are parenting in?

Breast is Best - But Put It Away Please!

Breast is best but nearly half of Dutch people
would prefer not to see breastfeeding mothers
near them in public
Photo: Carin Araujo

There has been lots of press coverage in the Netherlands recently about breastfeeding: the lack of acceptance in public places for breastfeeding, the lack of facilities for breastfeeding mothers and so on. If you take a peek in pregnancy and birth forums the topic of how to discreetly breastfeed your baby in public generally comes up. Many women feel uncomfortable doing it outside the home (me included) but it remains a necessity for most unless you choose to become a hermit for months on end. After all, it is a generally accepted message that breastfeeding is the best, healthiest way to feed babies. So shouldn't it be encouraged as much as possible?

I speak from experience when I say that trying to find a warm, dry, quiet place to breastfeed is a challenge in itself - and that whilst a baby is screaming for a feed.... I have ended up in an office in a first aid hut at the Efteling, a changing room in Peek & Cloppenburg, a dark corner at a table in a pancake restaurant, a toilet cubicle and a far flung table in a restaurant in Blijdorp, a woody hill in a French theme park and the front seat of our car at a service station or side of the road more times than I care to mention. The concept of a place to breastfeed a baby seems lost on many places, even if they are geared especially to children......

The only place that springs to mind where breastfeeding mothers are well catered for is Euro Disney in Paris where there is a heated room set aside, with chairs, for those mothers who wish to feed their babies in relative calm and peace. I have noticed that my local H&M in Zoetermeer also has an area for feeding but I have never been inside (I think you have to go and ask for the key). But in general facilities are poor if you want to breastfeed your baby in public areas.

How are breastfeeding facilities where you live? Is breastfeeding in public encouraged or frowned upon?

• Tips and info on breastfeeding (US Government) 
• UK Law and information about breastfeeding in public

Brainy Bilinguals

Are you making sure your children
learn at least two languages?
Photo: Mokra

According to a recent headline on NU.nl, bilingualism is the new crossword puzzle. In short, bilingualism promotes a higher level of concentration and aids memory function. This is the conclusion from research done with groups of teenagers in the United States.

Knowing and using two languages keeps your brain sharp - in the same way that doing crossword puzzles does.

This latest research adds to the already substantial confirmation that bilingualism is good for the brains!! Another reason to make sure your children grow up maintaining your home country language, whilst learning and using the local language too!

It's Children's TV - But Not As We Know It

I grew up in the age of the Flumps, Fingermouse, Bagpuss and Bod. It was a fantastic era of children's TV. Or so I thought until I showed my eldest son clips on You Tube. He was quite amused by The Flumps, unsure about Bod but quite taken with Fingermouse. I, however, was quite shocked to note, firstly, how dated the programs look (they seem so modern and crisp in my mind's eye) and secondly just how rubbish they seem now. With the exception of Bagpuss of course, who remains fabulous, even if the picture quality isn't.

Anyhow, the main point is that children's programs change over the years. Of course they do. But the difference from country to country is also quite staggering. Take the Netherlands for example. Dutch children's TV is different to much of the programming you would see on CBBC.

There is of course a fair share of kid's TV in the Netherlands which is taken over from the BBC and dubbed. "In the Night Garden" is a good example of this. But many programs are of course Dutch, and unlikely ever to reach British viewers of the BBC.....

Kabouter Plop is one such program - it is such a typically "Low Lands" program (it's actually Belgian but popular in the Netherlands too) but I'm not sure what it is about it that makes it so. Before some bright spark points out they speak Dutch in the program.... that's not the only thing that makes it very Belgian/Dutch.

Photo: Wynand Delport

Children growing up with Dutch TV will also notice that Big Bird from Sesame Street is not yellow like the English speaking version, but in fact blue. He's also not called Big Bird but Pino.... in fact many of the characters are different in the Dutch version.

The other thing I notice is that there is a fascination with poop when it comes to children's entertainment in the Netherlands. Don't ask me why.

So, here's the question... what do your children watch on TV in your host country that they would never see on TV in your birth country? Does kid's television differ wildly between your host and home countries?