I really need to “schedule” my blogging now; time has become such a precious commodity. I don’t know how it happened but all of a sudden I’ve turned into a proper American Super-Mom. The girls have swimming lessons (swim lessons) twice a week, Karate twice a week, F has a dance class, E a riding class and does Brownies every other week. I am the taxi, the supervisor, the master of the schedule…. and on top of that, I’ve volunteered to help out in the library, read in class, and might run an after school yoga club (so please give me a medal). But I’ve found that while they’re swimming or karateing, I get a few 50 minute chunks of time where I just sit and watch them, and what better than to use that time to get some writing done (or work, if it comes along, but I need to put in some time and effort to get that sorted).
E has just joined the Brownies, which I so hoped she wouldn’t… it’s run by Ice Cream Mom (if you remember, the one at the school luau who wouldn’t let the boy have a second ice lolly although they were all melting in the sun anyway). But her daughter is in E’s class, and the two have become friends, so there’s nothing I can do. I will buy the vest, iron on the badges, come and help out at meetings, and accompany the children when they go carol singing. But I will NOT go and sell cookies door to door. I WILL NOT. I am totally ready for a confrontation, and I don’t care if Ice Cream Mom hates me but that is something I will not do. I don’t know why this whole thing makes me squirm so much, really. We had a preliminary meeting in the park yesterday, and it struck me how uncomfortable the whole scenario made me feel. For me, as a German, the whole concept of a group of girls (the “troop”) has slightly awkward connotations, and then of course the bloody vest is brown, for god’s sake. My mum is going to have a fit when she sees Elise in it. It kind of freaked me out a bit, but maybe I should just pretend I’m English, and the English don’t have any problems at all with organised youth groups, parades, marching along in order… have they?! Anyway, I guess I’ll get over it. I’m sure she’ll learn some useful things. And I will not put any more effort in than the minimum required. So there.
I’m loving today: The fantastic laid-backness of the Americans. Frankie was kicking up a fuss because her swimming teacher was a man (well, boy) and not a girl, I was sooo embarrassed, but this guy was so brilliant with her, and he can’t have been more than 18! Just knew what to say and do (I wish I did).
Transcontinental Overload 