Aussie B'days - Strange New World

We've celebrated childrens' birthdays in four countries by now and there are certain comparisons to be made.

The cake is a hit worldwide.

I don't think anyone will argue that birthday parties have gotten out of hand in countries like the USA where parents are expected to invite the entire class of 25 to 30 kids, have a themed party with clowns and jumping castle, or take the kids hot-air ballooning, anything to beat LAST year's party and keep up with the other 25- 30 parties your kid has been invited to attend.

When we were in Geneva, my best friend's daughter attended an exclusive international private school - as only Geneva can do - and not only were parents expected to fork out 40 to 50 dollars in a gift for the birthday child but often also had to invest in an elaborate princess costume or other themed outfit for the party.

I used to wonder how children like this would ever face up to reality but then realized that children growing up in such bubbles of privilege seldom ever have to.  With such wealth, the American expats - usually seen as figures of privilege in other countries - were having a hard time explaining to their kids why they couldn't have the 300 dollar jeans their classmates - European royalty and Arab oil money - were wearing.

But Aussies don't need fancy table settings.

So that practical Germany was really a relief.  Our only surprise came when - at Ryan's 5th birthday party - the girls we'd invited demanded to know the schedule of events I had planned for them.  Schedule of events?  Yes, and an art project being apparently obligatory as well.  In France we'd just fed everyone cake and mums had chatted while the kids played.  In Germany - and to be fair, the kids were getting older - kids expected choreographed entertainment. 

I managed to come up with some Christmas cookies and candy in the kitchen and led the kids in making little gingerbread houses out of crysallized sugar and M and Ms.  And, having grown up in Germany myself, I had no problem getting out the blindfold, wooden spoon and kitchen pot and having the kids bach around our living room blindfolded hunting for treats.

Once the twins were born, things got ugly.  How were we going to watch two infants and still amuse 8 older children in a small apartment?

We had to get creative, ask friends for help, and spend a little more money to take the kids out somewhere.  Ryan pushed her party back to June a couple of times to allow us to take a FEW best friends horseback riding and to the pool.  Another time we paid for a trip to a camel farm.  A little more money, and I had to find a friend to help drive, but it was worth it to have the kids amused by someone else while Damon stayed home and watched the two babies.

Uh.  Guys.  That was SUPPOSED to be a BASEBALL tee.

Andrew's bday - April 1 - allowed us to invite the dozens of friends whose bdays HE'D been invited to to a barbeque.  In retrospect we should have had people drop their kids off at the park, but part of the agreement in Germany seems to be that you take the kids off their parents hands so that they have the afternoon free for your child's bday - so one year we made my parents help drive while they were visiting.  Desperate measures, my friends.  (The first year after the twins were born we begged a few close friends to come and man the fire while I chased after the 9 month olds.  It was fun.  But most adults begged off ever doing it again.  Bday parties are NOT fun in Germany.  They are obligations.  You are obligated to entertain THEIR kids on YOUR kid's bday and they promise to take yours off your hands in return.)

Last year we took everyone on a train to a bowling center.  A nightmare, but Andrew wanted something other than a barbeque for once.

The twins were young and we were able to do a thing at the pool with family friends.  Last year, since they had started kindergarten, we had to jump in and invite kindi friends.  We had a nice group of about 5 kids who played together, whose parents we got along with and it was actually a nice season - a bunch of bday parties in June and July, a group of moms hanging around and helping out and a generally good time eating cake while the kids played.

By then I'd also learned that you CAN do your own thing and get away with it.  One friend had about four different kinds of fantastic, home-made German cakes for all the adults.  Right away, I let everyone know they would be having my standard vanilla cake only.  Another friend did have a huge Disney theme complete with monogrammed T-shirts my boys still wear today.  She was upset when the kids wouldn't stop playing in the bedroom to come and properly eat cake and drink tea.   Formalities must be observed.  (I, on the other hand, am just thrilled when the kids amuse themselves and leave well enough alone!)

It was a nice group of people.  The boys WANTED to have THEIR party IN our apartment, mostly IN their playroom so they could have all of their best friends in their room playing with their toys at the same time.  I would have preferred a park but it was their party.  We opened gifts, had cake and - prearranged with this group by now - fed everyone some quick chicken fingers for dinner so that noone had to worry about it that evening.

One mom left in a huff because HER idea had been for us to take the kids bike-riding at the track near our home and couldn't understand that Matthew and Aidan wanted THEIR party inside.  But that was her choice - it was about HER child - and the rest of us continued with chicken fingers and mini pizzas.

Just to let folks know that there are MELLOW and HELPFUL and genuinely kind and caring people in Germany.  This was a NICE group of mums I really regretted leaving.  (I should mention the previous parties for the twins with their German godmother and her four kids - thats enough - and the pool and bowling parties with Anita, Maria, Lori, Kristy- English speakers all who just wanted to help me celebrate the milestones with the twins and came to support and be there for me, not to judge.  Thanks guys.  I miss you all.)

BMX mean green machine.  Thanks grandparents.

The other thing I liked about Germany was the PRACTICALITY of it all.  No nonsense, the hassle eliminated from gift-giving.  You asked people what their child might like and, expecting at first a vague idea of likes and dislikes - got a detailed list of what YOU were down for.  As in  "Heidi  is picking up the soccer ball and will share that gift with Julian and Luka.  You are down for the educational boardgame but Jan's mom will get that and you will owe her 8.74."

What was nice that - since I could often not be relied upon to get the required item, opting in my American-like way for something I was able to find in the first store I went to rather than hunt down the other thing all over town - I often only had to fork over some cash to another, more dependable mom.

I downright refused to buy the pencil case or the travel cosmetic bag one mom asked for.  Nice lady but way too practical for my taste.  ( I still remember having to explain to an American mom that the gift her child had received - a set of mongrammed bath towels - was NOT a lame, rude and lazy gift but something I happened to know the German mother had been very excited to spend the time to go and personally order.)

The problem came when it was MY turn to crank out a gift list.  The stress of planning THAT sucked.

Uh.  Not EXACTLY what I asked for.

The other thought that DID pop into my head - and pops in often now - is that this planned and strategized gift-giving rather took the joy and the well, GIFT-GIVING, out of gift-giving.  I am having SUCH a blast just going into the stores here and picking out something I know MY boys would enjoy - some Legos, or some cars or something small, plastic and completely UNPRACTICAL.  I AM German, so it will never be junk, but what fun just to go and pick out a GIFT, rather than a pre-ordained requirement that might not meet expectations and then have to be returned.

My most German gift here so far was a gardening set for a self-professed gardener in Ryan's class.  But I think she liked it.  And it was SO MUCH FUN to shop around for something I WANTED TO GIVE rather than something I had been told to purchase.

Gifts aren't even considered obligatory here. 

Mums stayed to hang out WILLINGLY at Andrew's party.  DADS TOO!

And the kids had fun amusing themselves.

THERE IT IS!  (A cricket bat, for all you Americans.)

There is a down side.  Bday parties seem to be a FAMILY thing - a barbeque at the park with family and just a few classmates.  The upside is that the pressure to entertain the kids is off.  The adults barbeque and enjoy being together and the kids run around and do the same.  Mixed ages, mixed sexes, everyone just enjoying the day and being together.  EASY!

Our problem is that we HAVE no family here and MY KIDS want to invite their friends.  It is what they are used to: their day, their friends.  So that Andrew was very disappointed when the majority of the kids he invited didn't RSVP (NOT an Aussie thing at all to RSVP!  Funny enough, wasn't a French thing either!)  and didn't show.  (We'd had the same problem with Ryan's bday in January  - 2 out of 8 responses.)

All in expectations.  We DO have close friends already and some of them have five kids alone - so that whipping up a gathering will be no problem now that we know how it is done.

A relief really, to give up the expectations and the stress of entertaining everyone else's kids just to show your kid that they are special.  Instead, we can enjoy a traditional barbeque with close family friends and show the kids that they matter by spending time together as a family.

We also won't feel obligated to invite the dozens of kids who have invited ours.

Odd Aussie concept that - no themed costumes and intricate art projects, no expectations and obligations.

Give up the annual kids birthday party?!  HOW CRAZY IS THAT?!  But how will they know we love them?  How will we prove they are as good as everyone else?  How will we repay the people who have had us to theirs?

It's like giving up the annual Christmas cards to relatives on your husband's side who have never liked you to begin with.

Liberating.

Different.

It's a strange, new world.  (And no, you don't have to wear a costume or bring a gift to enter it!)

German or Swabian?

I believe I have taken that last step into being truly German.  I'm going to mock the Swabians.

When my family - spread from Cologne in the west to Berlin in the east - heard that we were living in (the German state of ) Baden-Wuerttemburg they all said one thing.

"How can you stand living down there?  Those people are odd."

When Damon's German colleagues from graduate school heard they said two things.

"Told you Germany is a lot cleaner than France."  (It is.)  And " how can you stand living down there?  Those people are odd." 

I didn't have the heart to tell them at the time that we thought they were all a little odd, so that Baden-Wuerttemburg didn't really faze us that much.

My oldest friend in Germany, whose Hessisch accent sounded like the language I learned as a child, told me not to judge Germany by Baden-Wuerttemburg.  I did.

You know.  The tight-fisted, scowling, close-minded old person tending their garden, scrubbing their steps and washing their windows while they glare dolefully at the children who dare to venture too close to their previous flower beds.  (Like the couple who ran the bed in breakfast we visited in Munich, funnily enough NOT in Baden-Wuerttemburg and just the exception I need to prove the rule!) http://twintensity.blogspot.com/2009/04/we-dont-really-want-to-see-them-either.html

The dialect in Baden-Wuerttemburg is so strong that the state's tourist motto is : we can do everything except speak German.  Proving that at least one person there DOES have a sense of humor about themselves!  (It's also the reason noone here has picked up on my American accent. I tell them where we have been living and they excuse the poor German based on that fact alone! Although, I gotta tell you, when some of the older Bayern folks compliment me on speaking German, I have to bite my tongue not to ask them if they wouldn't mind trying it too please. Amazing what you can intuit from only understanding half the words!) 


Of course Damon and I owe our sanity, and our security deposit, to the kindness and generosity of our Swabian neighbors.  And Andrew's baseball coach, the epitome of jocularity and good sportsmanship, is Swabian.  As are all my good friends who showered me with thoughtful gifts and sentiments when I left.  Aidan and Matthew's godfather is Swabian, and a happy father of four.  (Although I am sure his wife, my oldest friend, would ask me to reiterate that she most emphatically is NOT!)

My fellow Dresdeners (in the German state of Sachsen) didn't exactly greet me with warm fuzzy sentimentality either.  They were respectful, courteous and helpful.  Which was already an improvement over Stuttgarters who are often resentful at having being asked.  If you don't ask the correct question, in the correct way, to the correct person, at the correct time somewhere between coffee break and lunch, you not only won't get an answer, you will get a cold sneer.  And no, they won't direct you to the proper office.  "Nicht meine Verantwortung."  Not my responsibility.  And they won't make it their responsibility either.  (Which is why it is always so pleasant doing overseas business with someone from the USA, where they honestly try to help you find a solution to your problems and actually seem to find pleasure in doing so.  Even if they ARE faking it.)  Bureacracy, they call it here, shake their heads at the absurdity and chuckle ruefully.  Go ahead, you're doing it right now if you live here!

Back to courtesy without warmth from Sachsen.  Which prompted our hosts here in Bayern to tell us.  ''Oh, we don't really have that much to do with those people up there.  They are kind of odd."  Well yeah, I guess losing a war you started with the Russians and then falling victim to communism might do that to a person.  Or in this case a nation.  Didn't I hear something about a united Germany though?  Has anyone told the GERMANS that those "odd" people to the south and north of them are actually fellow countrymen?!

But it IS friendlier here in Bayern.  Especially with four children.  Back in Stuttgart, we do get smiles, but mostly of stunned disbelief and sympathy.  People here actually LIKE our large family.  They are HAPPY for us.  Out here in Iglersreuth, Frau Bauer tells me that families of four and five children are nothing unusual on the farms.  With less incomes than in Baden-Wuerttemburg. 

But we still turn heads in the larger towns.  Heads that stop, bend down and talk to the kids.  Heads that laugh when they realize they are holding the door open for more than the two children they had first spotted.  Like a gaggle of geese coming through the door.

Wait.  Let me repeat that.  They are holding open the door.  Holding open the door.  As in a common courtesy that I thought had been forgotten in Germany.  Holding open the door.  For children.  You aren't going to see that in Badem-Wuerttemburg. Unless you are hanging out on one of the American military bases.  Which is quite possible since they seem to be proliferating quite nicely there despite the end of the cold war.  (Another essay, another time!)

In Dresden, a woman in her sixties insisted on giving up her seat on the tram for Aidan and Matthew.  As if it were only the right and proper thing to do.  She wouldn't have had a seat on the U-Bahn in Stuttgart.  The men are pretty quick to get there first. 

So that common courtesies aren't as common as they should be.  But universal after all.

My cousin in Cologne had some advice when we told him we were considering relocating to Freiberg two years ago. ''It's nice enough." he said. ''I spent seven years there. But it's still Baden-Wuerttemburg. I couldn't do it again."

Seven seems to be a magic number in my family.  I couldn't do it again either. 

But I do leave a part of myself behind in that odd little part of the world the rest of the world considers part of Germany and the Germans consider Baden-Wuerttemburg.   So that I'd like to make an introduction.

Germany, meet Baden-Wuerttemburg. 

Baden-Wuerttemberg, meet Germany.  Go ahead, they're holding the door open for you!

"Wir Haben Eine Drei Bekommen"

I'm going through my writing this morning, making sure everything is loaded onto the laptop before the desktop gets packed up on Tuesday. I never DID translate this into German and send it to the publication it is addressed to. But I'd like to share it with other parents schooling their children in Germany before I defect to the Australian education system. The editorial was a well-written, humorous glimpse of life as the child of an educated, literate German couple began school. These two parents, themselves schooled in the system, had the same difficulties facing many of us. THEY got a 3 on the reports and homework assignments they were doing with their child. (The equivalent of a "C".) Mostly because they had a hard time figuring out what was expected. The piece was tongue-in-cheek, that two educated German parents couldn't pass third grade here in Germany today, but did address the basic problem I see in the system: the fact that parents have no inherent right to participate in their child's schooling, in fact are mostly discouraged from participating (which is considered interference in what should be the teacher's affair) at all. This was written in early June. Here goes:


I was thrilled to read your editorial addressing schooling in Baden-Wurtemburg. I, too, have always believed that schooling was an activity for the entire family. I too laughed at some of the apparent silliness inherent in the system here. But the humor hides a problem that needs to be addressed.

You see, we are not the only ones who are having to provide our children with what amounts to home-schooling because of an inherent failure in the system. There are too many families out there struggling to help their children learn, without adequate help from the very system that is supposed to be teaching their kids.

Parents should – and need to be- involved with their children's education. But that is made almost impossible here by a system that doesn't encourage active parent involvement. Two Parents' Nights a year are not enough. Unless I push, or cry or threaten or scream, I have a total of ONE personal parent-teacher interview IN TWO YEARS. Do I even need to say that this is not enough?

The teachers try to reassure me that no news is good news, that if something is wrong, they will come to me. But that is not true. If I hadn't made waves myself, I would never have spoken to my daughter's teachers. And they still haven't recognized her learning disability.

There are a number of issues that contribute to this problem. The first is obvious. We need more teachers with longer hours, so that one teacher can concentrate on a given class. We need teachers trained to recognize and handle mild learning disabilities. We need teachers' aides. We need more staff. We need programs both for the academically challenged and the academically gifted. Baden-Wurtemburg needs to invest in its future.

The first problem I would address is the one of communication and cooperation between the teachers and parents. Pay the teachers more. Extend their hours. Do what you have to to allow (encourage, DEMAND!) the teachers to communicate with parents. Teachers are public servants of the state. Currently, this makes them immune from their responsbilities to us and our children. They are protected from having to produce acceptable results. Make the school system answerable to the parents, not other way around.

Is it really humorous when your child comes home with absolutely no idea of what is expected on the homework assignment? And when the phone calls begin and it turns out that no other child in the class seems to either?

We, as parents, need clear, written expectations for the school year. We need to see the goals our children are expected to achieve, the benchmarks that are being used to measure that achievement, and the programs in place to help those children who aren't meeting expectations. (Or those that are overshooting them.)

And we need regular, personal parent-teacher meetings at least four times a year. For children who are doing well. More for those who aren't.

It is a lot to ask. It is a lot of work and a lot of time. It will cost money.
But the current system, where parents are left floundering on their own, thinking they are alone, is not working.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE. It is silly that so many of us are fighting the same battle individually, privately worrying about what we've done wrong, wondering how we can do better, where we can get the help we need. WE ARE NOT ALONE. And we can work together – WITH the schools and with the teachers – to get our children the help they need.

Schooling is a process that should involve the entire family. Parents should have the right for active involvement in their child's education. This can't happen without communication.

I personally believe it is a problem of perception as well as of cash. I have continually heard from my children's teachers that schooling is their concern and not mine, that school problems are their problem to deal with at school and that I shouldn't have to concern myself with them. It is well meant, but wrong. I have also heard that all children develop differently, that not all children are the same, that I shouldn't expect too much from my child, that I am too ambitious. All answers designed to reassure me – and keep me out of what they consider their business.

Except they're my children.

Why did I not hear from the teacher when my daughter had been doing the homework incorrectly for two weeks? Why didn't I know that my son had been having math quizzes every week until five weeks later? Why isn't the homework corrected? (Especially if they're telling me that I shouldn't be doing it with them myself at home.) Why is the classwork often wrong? Why are my children sometimes released early from school without my knowing about it? Why do I have absolutely no idea what is going on at the school? These are all problems of communication. And problems we, as parents, are encouraged to overlook and accept.

This is not the time to place blame. This is the time to make a change.

Working together, cooperating and COMMUNICATING, schools AND parents, can achieve so much more.

I give Baden-Wurtemburg's school system a 4. (I believe Germany's PISA scores are similarly low.)

Is this really the best we can do for our children?

You Are Not Alone

(This was written about three weeks ago, as a prelude to the letters I am writing up for the Schulamts in Boeblingen and Baden-Wurttemburg. You'll get those too. Positive actions arising out of my anger!)

I tried to reassure Killian's mother that there was really no rush to pick up her son. The boys really do play well together and it is gratifying to be able to give another mother the afternoon off every once in a while.

But she looked worried.

"You know they've got that math test tomorrow, right?" she asked.

Of course I didn't know. It would explain all the little scraps of paper I have recently pulled out of the bottom of Andrew's school bag. Seems like they are learning the multiplication tables. And being tested on them regularly.

How gratifying to find out about it weeks later from another parent.

Andrew is teaching himself the multiplication tables. Or picking it up at school. Or maybe was just born knowing them. How lucky for him.

But Killian's mother had tears in her eyes. She and Killian are doing their best to help him in school, but.....he had missed a week due to illness and had fallen behind when the teacher hadn't noticed that he was adding everything instead of subtracting. In a class of 32, she just hadn't noticed that he had never picked up subtraction.

This is a child- and a mother - who are trying desperately to learn. And getting no help whatsoever. Sound familiar? Killian's mother finally went online to try to figure out HOW to best teach her child the multiplication tables. And taught HERSELF about flashcards. How far would this family go with just the slightest little bit of help from the school?

She was almost embarrassed to tell me all this. I'm not sure why she did. Lately, people have been opening up to me more and more. Could I be getting a reputation? Or is the positive energy really working? In any case, I put her on my mailing list.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

It's interesting. People have an entirely different viewpoint of me depending on which child they know. The parents of Andrew's friends assume everything is hunky dory over here. I must be doing something right. Which right away, in our twisted little German minds, translates into "what am I doing wrong?"

THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT.

The first step must be to find a common voice. We all want what is best for our children.

What we need is a voice in the school system. This means staying actively informed on our children's education.

1. We need written, concrete goals and expectations for our children. Where should they be? When should we worry?

2. We need more than one parent/teacher meeting every two years. (No, I am not kidding you. I have had ONE face-to-face meeting with Andrew's teacher, in January, since he started school almost two years ago.)

3. We need programs in place to identify when children are not meeting expectations. We need programs that identify the problem and focus on correcting it, so that EVERY CHILD is able to reach his/her full potential.

We need a lot more. We need more money for teachers and teachers' aides and for special education programs. Teachers need a lighter workload so that they can focus more on individual children. We need to integrate mildly learning disabled children into the mainstream. (Nils should not need special ed.) I won't even get into the outdated Hauptschul/Realschul/Gymnasium system or the possible benefits of a longer school day.

For that we need money and a radical change.

But we can start small. With flashcards.

1. What exactly ARE the schools' goals for our children? Don't give me this PISA crap. Tell me what Frau Schmitt, here in Altdorf, expects from her first graders by January.

2. What shall we do - together - if these goals aren't being met?

The most radical change would be changing expectations. We need to EXPECT the teachers and schools to actively - and willing - include parents in their children's education. Schools and parents need to communicate openly and regularly. Parental involvement - and working together - needs to be the norm. It IS a cultural thing; Germans work alone, their concept of working together is not the same as what I've seen in the USA, in France, in Africa, in Haiti. We need to LEARN HOW TO WORK TOGETHER; parents, school, teachers, communities.

Why are we fighting these battles alone? Why are we fighting at all?

The system is here to serve us, not the other way around. (Something Germans really really REALLY need to learn as well!)

Let's find a way to communicate - positively - and get our needs met.

Killian's mom, and too many like her, should not be struggling alone to raise the very children that are our brightest hope for the future.

Germany's Children

The counselor was there to categorize my child, not help her.

I am extremely pleased - no let's face it - ecstatic beyond belief - to announce that Ryan has an above average IQ. I still don't believe in IQ tests. But I'm still pleased, because on this graph she is smart.

And the graphs matter more than the reality.

According to the graphs, the counselor HAS to at least recommend the Realschule for her, possibly even Gymnasium. You can tell that made her uncomfortable, but she IS German and she WILL follow the graph.

Never mind that my child would never survive in either one of those schools. Graphs don't lie.

I didn't bother to ask which subjects were the ones where she shot way over the mark. It was gratifying to see, but it wasn't really important. The two that interested me was where the chart showed absolutely no comprehension at all. Above average intelligence, generally high scores and two that are so low they barely register.

What does that say to you?

The counselor hadn't bothered to check.

Turns out they were in spatial comprehension - concept - and in picking out a fifth word that doesn't belong in the group. Also comprehension of a concept. The counselor decided it was because Ryan was bilingual and that she just needs to increase her German vocabulary.

Are you kidding me? And this is the lady who is supposed to be trained in this sort of thing.

She obviously didn't care. Not her job. She had done the graphs.

Never mind that the graphs clearly pointed to a child with a learning disability - my guess is on a mild form of ADD that doesn't manifest in the typical hyperactivity but in dreaminess and an inability to synthesize details into a larger ideological picture. I know one other child with the disorder and now see the similarities. I clearly see it in the math, but also in retrospect on her slowness to convert her knowledge of the alphabet into sounds and reading.

I drew a blank stare when I commented on the results pointing to a learning disabilty and mentioned that Ryan also has juvenile hypothyroidism - which has been linked to an increased incidence of ADD and other learning difficultires. I asked what system was in place to help children with learning problems.

What do they do with all the German children who have learning disabilities?

She checked the box marked Hauptschule.

My God Germany, what are you doing to your children?

Maybe You Should Fly A Jet!

This has always been my all-time least favorite Dr. Seuss book.

I do find it cool that my "real-life, responsible, grown-up" job is listed in the title: Maybe you should fly a jet! Maybe you should be a vet! (By Theo LeSieg, illustrated by Michael J. Smollin, in the Dr. Seuss Beginner Books series)

But I never liked the sentiments expressed within. Especially from Dr. Seuss.

"You've got to do something. What DO you want to do?"

Like kids need that kind of pressure.

"You've got to BE someone sooner or later."

It just isn't the creative, child-friendly, nurturing tone I associate with Dr. Seuss.

But my kids love it. Ryan even brought it in to her English class when they were learning careers at school.

And the last page is growing on me.

"Maybe you should be a voice. Someday you must make a choice. Maybe you should be a FOICE! ????? When you find out what a FOICE is, you can tell us what your choice is."

It leaves some room for self-discovery.

I'm still not sure what a foice is, but I am studying both the Tao and the Bhagavad Gita to find out. I'd let you know when I find out, but I have read enough to know that it is something everyone has to find out for themselves.

That Dr. Seuss is no dummy.

I've tried on lots of roles in Dr. Suess's book. And will continue to try more.

And it occurs to me. Maybe I SHOULD be a voice! I've been speaking to more and more people lately about the lack of special education programs in the school system here. If it's not that, there will always be other causes I want to rush out and defend. I am a voice.

I speak for those who cannot speak up for themselves, either because of convention or shyness. I speak for those who would LIKE to but are afraid or discouraged.

I may be a pain in the ass, but I have more people thank me for it than condemn me.

My goal now is to speak FOR a cause, to speak FOR a group (or better yet, WITH it), to speak FOR change and FOR something better. To speak FOR all of us, and all of our children.

I have a letter to write to the school board here, and to the school authorities in Baden-Wurttemburg. The more I think about what I am going to say, the more I discuss it with other parents, the more I realize that it has to be written. I can't just jump ship and run.

But I am going to write FOR our school system, FOR change within it, FOR special education programs, FOR integration of special education into the main schools. It's a step that Germany needs to take. And will. But someone - lots of someones - have to be willing to take that first step and speak out.

I am going to be a voice.

I've worked my way to the end of the book and it's high time I made a choice!

Third Grade Math: Far From Over

Ryan finally brought home a test result I could smile at this week.

In fact, I laughed out loud, embraced her with tears of mirth streaming down my face, and did a little happy dance of disbelief around the kitchen.

I'm not sure that helped her self esteem any.

She'd hit the jackpot, though, an incredible NONE CORRECT on the entire one-hour test. "Well, Mom, " she quietly said "Frau Danzinger did give me partial credit on the first question." (She was cowering behind the kitchen cabinets, not quite sure if my war whoops and insane laughter were a good sign or a bad one.) Yeah, because Ryan had managed to write a correct word into a completely incorrect sentence, and Frau Danzinger really has been doing her darndest to give Ryan whatever points she can. She gave up after that first one though.

What do you say to something like that?

I was curious, and so I called the teacher. "So, how about that weather, huh?" Frau Danzinger was not at all fooled. "Fine then, how about that test result?" She didn't have an answer. "It's okay. I'm not angry. In fact, I laughed." That loosened her up a bit. She guesses we still need to work with Ryan on some things. You think?! I am grateful that she didn't yell at Ryan - although she did write on the test that she thought Ryan could do better than this? Really? CAN she do better than this?

We discussed it once again. "Do you still honestly believe that this child has no learning "weakness"?" I asked her. (It's a nicer word than disability and, since they still don't believe there is anything wrong, also less insistent.)

What Frau Danzinger is trying to reassure me is that Ryan is a lovely child, that she just needs time to mature. She keeps reminding me of the IQ results. (They were good.) She is a pleasure in the classroom and never causes trouble or disruptions. Which is why she will never be looked at in this system. If she were a typical ADD child - male, loud, unruly and disruptive - they would have listened to me four years ago already.

And she gets what they consider average grades. 3s to 4s. Consistently. (C's in the American equivalent).

I just can't believe they don't look closer - especially with a parent hounding them for four years. Her math tests recently for example. The first half - dealing with fairly complicated multiplication and long division - rote math - is ENTIRELY CORRECT. The second half - dealing with application of the concept - ENTIRELY FALSE. For months now.

Ryan has ADD. I'm sure of it.

I'm also sure she will never get the help she needs here in Germany.

I finally had my mom ask Marie, our family's guidance fairy and a trained psychologist, what she thought about Ryan's symptoms. She sent me to a website, learningdisabilities.about.com/od/glossar1/g/abstractreason.htm that in turn led me to another website, www.ncgiadd.org., and piles of information.

She has also been reading my blogs, and....go ahead and read all those essays on Third Grade Math yourself again if you are interested. Ryan has almost every classical symptom of ADD, except the hyperactivity. It's a quieter, dreamy form more common to girls. And most often overlooked. I've been documenting it for a year without knowing it.

What bothers me is that the school here didn't even try, doesn't even really care.

I'm learning a lot. I'm giving up the guilt. (Don't Shoot The Dog: THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT.) And I'm reading about the Individuals with Disabilities Acts, the U.S federal law requiring public schools to serve children with specific learning disabilites by developing an Individual Education Program (IEP), including individualized learning goals and A TEAM OF EDUCATORS, PSYCHOLOGISTS AND HEALTH PROFESSIONALS, for EACH student with a disability.

German websites don't even mention Ryan's form of ADD. The school has no health care professional, no psychologist, and noone trained to handle special needs education.

I think we all know what the Germans do when someone doesn't fit into their system.

FIghting For The Short Bus

Americans know the "short bus." In a country where kids are bussed to school on large, long yellow school busses, the "short bus" is the yellow bus that picks up the "special ed" kids. Short yellow buses are also used on long rural routes with few kids, but....the stigma remains. The kids coming off the short bus are the kids whose limbs flop awkwardly from wheelchairs, who wear helmets and crooked smiles, who are...let's face it....just thrilled to be able to attend public school at all.

There is actually a short bus in my area of Germany. It picks up the kids with severe debilitating ADD and slight learning delays and brings them to a special school nearby with class sizes of 6 - 10 and one class where the teacher's dog joins the class daily. We also have a child with Down Syndrome in our kindergarten and a blind child in the local grade school.

So, I guess what I may be fighting for isn't exactly "special ed." I don't actually know the status of special ed here since none of my children fits into the category. I don't see it, I don't hear about it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist or isn't excellent. I do know anyone with a physical handicap requiring a wheelchair or other walking aid would have to be carried up and down the stairs of the elementary school. (I know this, as well as the impossibility of using any public buildings, such as the gym and Rathaus, because I was unable to navigate them with a double stroller, since they have no ramps, no elevators, and are therefore wheelchair - and double stroller - inaccessible.)

What I'm fighting for is the kids in the middle, the kids with mild speech impediments, or slight hearing loss or just slightly slower abilities to learn than average. I'm fighting for the "less-than-average" and let's face it, less than average sounds a lot worse than "special."

"Special" kids in Germany are quick, bright, and again, let's be honest, often blonde. Or at least from your traditional German family. To make it as an immigrant, you have to not only be very very special, but also able to assimilate into the traditional German view of what a scholar is.

Oh. Yeah. And do it before the age of ten.

Everybody agrees that the current system is absolutely stupid and unfair. And also that it will take decades to change it. (Put in your own comment on the pace of change in Europe; I can't even begin to go there right now.)

Right now the kids are filtered into three separate school systems beginning in fifth grade. (Some rare cities such as Berlin are beginning to do this later, in seventh grade.) The smart kids go to the Gymnasium, basically highschool, with ages from 10 thourgh 18. From there they are expected to go to college. (Decided, once again, at the age of 10.) The average kids go to Realschule where they are prepared for very respectable careers as bank tellers, office staff and kindergarten teachers. (No kidding, the FIRST teachers your kids have in Germany aren't even considered good enough to go to college.) The dumb kids - and immigrants - go to Hauptschule, whose name has now been changed to Werkrealschule to make people feel better about it. And, although everyone keeps trying to tell me that Hauptschule is fine, that the kids are just slow starters, and that they can work their way up from there, the fact remains that noone knows what to do with these kids in the future.

Hauptschul kids officially graduate in 9th grade. Ready for a job as a bricklayer or prostitute. And there aren't a lot of jobs open for bricklayers right now.

Okay - the official line is that these kids mature and feed into the Realschule, in exceptional cases even into the Gymnasium and then into college. The system is supposed to be flexible, meeting the individual needs of each individual child.

But in reality, Germany has labelled and cut their losses on an overwhelming two-thirds of their kids. By the age of 10. Turns out I am too American to accept this. Instead of "no child left behind" they voluntarily weed out the kids to leave behind, and leave them behind early. "Make a sprint for college, son, and don't look back at all the dumb friends you have to run over to get there." I'm sorry. It's just so typically German.

Don't get me wrong. The American system is far from perfect too. But at least there is debate and change. At least we are fighting for the right of EVERY CHILD to learn. At least the theory works, even if the reality is still ugly and messy.

The top third of ANY education system are going to do fine. Those are the third you only need to place a book in front of and they sop it up. It's really really hard to mess up with those. (Believe me, I know, I have one of those too.) The sign of a really superior education system would be its ability to help those who can't learn on their own, its success rate with those that actually need HELP learning. I mean, isn't that what teaching is all about?!

So, yeah, I guess in the end I'm just fighting for the same old thing that parents everywhere should be fighting for. More money for teacher's aides, for reading programs, for special education classes.

I'm still trying to convince the school Ryan even HAS a learning problem. (Shouldn't they have picked this up by now? Or is it easier just to filter them out than it is to teach them. More cost-effective in the short-term, I guess.)

Funny isn't it? All those years you spend laughing at the kids on the short bus. Until you become a parent and realize how "special" every member of society is, and how they all should have access to the same opportunities.

Third Grade Math: Circumference

I finally have a meeting with a school counselor on Monday to go over the results of Ryan's test scores.

But I don't need a test score to tell me that she doesn't understand basic concepts. She has done phenomenally well in school for a child that obviously doesn't have a clue as to what it's all about.

What a brave kid. She has been following the rules as best she can without really knowing why. Pretty smart to be able to cover up as well as she has been able to.

Little things give her away. Things that the teachers don't bother to pick up on. She has average scores and that's good enough for them.

But just LOOK at the work, ladies, not at the final grade.

Circumference for example. She is busily, and happily, counting the squares AROUND the shape, the way she thinks she has been taught in school. Not realizing that she is, in fact, supposed to be counting the lines and boxes that make up the outside of the shape - ie, the basic concept of circumference - but actually counting the entire row of boxes SURROUNDING the shape in question.

The entire CONCEPT of circumference eludes her.

The concept of length as been an enigma since second grade. She still has no concept of mms vs cms vs meters. Anything with a 65 in front of it is obviously bigger than something with a 5 in front of it. The CONCEPT of length is missing.

Shouldn't the teachers have picked this up when she couldn't correctly identify the lenght of a bus versus the length of a person versus the length of an eraser in second grade?

But I keep getting told that I'm expecting too much, that I am overambitious and that not all children are the same.

Well, yeah, but... is it expecting too much for them to be able to tell an eraser from a school bus?!

Ryan has memorized the entire multiplication system without knowing what multiplication actually is. Good enough for the teachers, but not good enough for me.

Im frightened. Not that my child has a learning disability but that none of her teachers seem to care.

Have A Hairy Christmas

Life is in the big, fat, hairy, messy, ugly, painful struggle.

Damon and I took the kids to the Esslingen Medieval Christmas Market on a Sunday two weeks ago. We hadn't been in three years, not since the year Aidan and Matthew were six months old and we dressed them in their matching Santa outfits (courtesy of Grandpa back in the U.S.), tucked them snugly and warmly into their double stroller and proudly - but slowly - pushed our way through the merry masses. Or maybe that was in Horb.

In Bebenhausen that same year, the market took place within the walls of a real medieval cloister, making for fantastic ambiance but also making it a two person job to maneuver the double stroller around the courtyard. (Read: Lots of stairs, but no double strollers 500 years ago!) And Stuttgart's internationally renowned (internationally in Europe at least) market has been out of the question since Andrew got pushed off the kiddy-train when he was two. By an adult.

When Aidan and Matthew hit 18 months, their second Christmas, we tried out the Christmas market at kindergarten, where we promptly lost sight of them, and the two others, in the amazingly large throng of people. (Germany does Christmas really really well - Christmas events, in any shape or size, are heavily attended.) We ended up huddling together inside the kindergarten building for warmth, and safety, as they both threw tantrums on the floor. In their snowsuits, I remember it well. Most people looked on in shock and bewilderment. Shouldn't we do something? Like what? The exit was blocked, the evening was dark, and we were stuck until the Gluhwein ran out. The other twin mom, four years ahead of me, just smiled in sympathy and understanding.

So it was with a bit of trepidation that we ventured out this year at all. We'd hit the Tuebingen Chocolate Festival two weeks earlier, on a Friday afternoon when it wasn't too too crowded yet, and done okay. By which I mean Damon and I swallowed our ennui at yet ANOTHER quaint old German marketplace (which really are very pretty!) and the kids swallowed their disappointment at not being allowed to stay home and play computer games. First stop, chocolate Santas, eaten on the steps of the famous Tuebingen church. Next, chocolate covered marshmallows on a stick. (I know, I know! And in health-conscious Germany too!) On to chocolate covered waffles. Topped off with steaming mugs of hot chocolate on the steps of the fountain in the old town square, in front of the pretty painted Rathaus. If nothing else, it got us out of the house for a few hours.

Determined to appreciate the beauty of a German Christmas, despite the Scrooge-like thoughts running through our brains, ("It's too cold. It'll be too crowded. Been there, done that, drank the Gluhwein.") Damon and I summoned up genuine holiday enthusiasm for the Esslingen market this year, our favorite of all those that we've visited. The ground was blanketed in a light carpet of white, thanks to the first snowfall of the year the night before. And the temperature hovered at 0C/32F, surely not all that unbearable if we dressed ourselves appropriately. We just needed to pull ourselves out of our winter stupor and get out the snow clothes.

Snowpants. Check. Snowboots. Check. Gloves (times six). Check. Hats and scarves. Protesting nine year old. Grumpy seven year old. Two happy three year olds. Damon and I were psyched too. Hot Gluhwein! And we knew just where the log fire was.

We arrived in Esslingen, cheerfully Christmas-carolling our way out of the parking lot and into the old section of town, Andrew bitching and moaning the entire way. (A new one for us; Ryan sang and danced happily along. What do we have, one good mood between the two of them?!) But by the time we reached the market - and the edge of the crowd - it was COLD. Bitter, icy, windy, gray, cloudy cold. "Come on kids, some hot food and a fire will warm you right up." we optimistically chimed. But, to be honest, the thought of standing around a barrel with strangers, in the cold, eating food off a stick, was less than thrilling. It was going to take a heck of a lot of Gluhwein. Andrew wanted to go to Starbucks, the familiar green sign a welcome beacon of warmth amidst the stately centuries-old buildings.

But we perservered. Flammkuchen, hot from the oven, cold almost immediately, eaten around a barrel with friendly strangers who offered to take our picture for us. (Turns out they were from England, basking in the tropical warmth of a German Christmas.) Pig on a stick, always a classic. Potatoes that failed to pass as french fries to Aidan and Matthew. No drinks - it was just too darn cold. Starbucks was looking good.

The kids had their typical Christmas market view of what our friend Jay, now warmly spending Christmases in Virginia, calls "asses and elbows." So, still trying to make the best of it, I took Aidan and Matthew by the hand, past a crowd of fur-wearing ancient warriors and their Land's End wearing kids, threading our way amongst wild-looking Vikings freely interspersed with matching retired couples, to try to catch a glimpse of the jugglers in the center of the marketplace. It was optimism overcoming common sense. (Which is a good thing, and entirely necessary if you are attempting to enjoy a German Christmas market with four children under the age of ten.)

I tried, I really did. Matthew on my shoulders. Aidan in my arms. Both so bulky in their snowsuits that I was barely able to bend over (with Matthew hanging on for dear life!) to pick Aidan up at all. And then their bulk worked against us as their layers repelled one another like magnets. I tried to hold Aidan at arm's lenght, the closet the snowsuits allowed him to get, but he was just too heavy even with the extra hours I'd been putting in at the gym. He slid down and Matthew gratefully followed. I was laughing at the absurdity of the situation, not at all angry at the failure, just satisfied with myself for the attempt.

And then it finally hit me. Words of wisdom for tourists everywhere, something I think the Germans must have figured out long ago. GERMAN CHRISTMAS MARKETS AREN'T FOR CHILDREN!! Sure, they have an occasional kiddy ride (the train Andrew got pushed off of in Stuttgart) and Esslingen actually has an entire section devoted to children's activities such as candle making (over a hot fire) and axe throwing ('nuf said!) One- or two - kids would be bearable for an hour or two. But as a family activity? It's like bringing your kids to an Irish pub on St. Patrick's Day - in Boston. For the culture. We meant well, American tourists bound and determined to show their kids the best Europe has to offer, but sensible German families with kids were home baking home-made cookies - or had ditched the kids with Oma and Opa.

In the crowded medieval center of Esslingen though, I found the Christmas I'd been searching for. Christmas found me, thoroughly defeated, miserably cold, hemmed in on all sides by asses and elbows.

Life, for me at least, isn't about the perfect holiday moment. In striving for perfection, perfect memories, perfect home-made crafts and cookies, I'm missing the real thing itself. Life lies in the attempt, not in the accomplishment. Life is in the trying.


Life is in the big, fat, hairy, messy, ugly, painful struggle.


Have a big, fat, hairy Christmas!!! Love from the Connors

We Don't Really Want To See Them Either

I remember reading twenty years ago in a travel article on Europe that if you wanted to visit Germany with your children, the best place to go was...Switzerland. Honestly, it said, the Germans do not like children, go spend your time - and money -somewhere where you won't feel like a leper for walking through the door with creatures under the age of 30. (MAYBE a mature 25 in some more tolerant circles.) You know - the whole children should be seen and not heard philosophy of our grandparents generation.

But we were on our way to visit Kat and Tim - and two year old Sam - in Munich this week, friends from our grad school days who were currently living in Albania and were now only 3 hours away by car. The opportunity was too good to pass up. We left the older two with my parents, who were also visiting from the U.S., piled Aidan and Matthew into the car, and had an amazingly pleasant trip - they both slept for almost 2 hours and woke up just as we were entering Munich around 12:30. Really too good to be true.

We were so psyched to be travelling light.

Kat and Tim - and Sam - were staying in a beautiful guest house on the outskirts of Munich, within walking distance to the zoo, really perfect for a two year old. In any other country. Us walking in with two MORE two year olds was more than the landlady could take. I swear, she was outraged just at the sight of us.

I was honestly shocked at the hostility. Since I speak German fluently, I'd forgotten how condescending SOME Germans can be to foreigners. (And to be fair, most are exceptionally friendly to Americans, speaking English and helping out when they see someone looking like they need it.) But this lady was pissed that we had the nerve, the absolute gall, to bring children into her home.

It was unpardonable and she took the offensive immediately. She rudely asked my husband to move our car off her space. The request was not unexpected, parking is ALWAYS an issue here, but the tone was inexcusable. And this was someone who earned her living in the hospitality industry! I obviously use the term loosely - any tourist magazine can tell you that Germany has a barely existent service industry. She followed Damon to the front door - like he was an errant schoolboy - and then waited on the front steps to make sure he did as he was told.

Kat and I sat in the garden watching the boys run around the lawn, while the men when to pick up some sandwich materials for lunch. Well - this was too much. "You are going to have to be be quiet. Will this be a problem?", she swooped down upon us to ask. Kat was used to the treatment - let's face it, this is how Germany earns its reputation - but I couldn't resist. "Well, since we are having a conversation, absolute quiet IS going to be a problem." I replied. "Well, I can't have those babies crying here, " she retorted and I promised her, that as two year olds I could guarantee that there would be absolutely no tears or tantrums all afternoon. Did she notice my sarcasm? She certainly noticed the comment I ostensibly directed at Kat as she turned to leave. "I see you've been experiencing German hospitality firsthand." I really couldn't resist.

After a thorough discussion in German - where I explained that her request was more than reasonable and that we would certainly respect it, but that it was her tone I had taken offense to -she went back to serving the man on the neighboring patio, bringing him two or three courses for lunch, pouring his tea, probably also cutting his meat for him and tucking in his napkin under his chin. Obviously her husband. No kidding. The elderly man with the suberservient, overly indulgent younger wife, the beautiful, immaculately tended garden you weren't allowed to use, even the little Schnauzer running around all our legs- all you needed was a son coming through the back door in his SS uniform, and the picture of old Germany was complete.

I don't like to play the Nazi card, but sometimes it just fits so perfectly. And I do wonder. The couple was definitely part of the generation known as "Nachkriegsgeneration", or kids born after the war. The husband might have been a child during the war. I can imagine they didn't have a warm and fuzzy "Sound of Music" childhood either. Life sucked. Kids were a burden. It's a lost generation really.

Later she chased me down and yelled at me AGAIN about keeping the kids out of the flower beds - while I was in the process of doing exactly that. (What did she think I was doing, giving them instructions on how to best go about pulling up a tulip?!) I couldn't help but think about the story of the Selfish Giant written by Hans Christian Andersen. (Who must have had some experience in this area himself.) The giant chases the children out of his beautiful garden, eventually building a huge wall to keep them out, and without the children, winter and cold move into the garden. Spring doesn't return until the children discover a hole in the wall and come back in to play.

I'm not saying that everyone has to love children. And I am the first to say that there are some places that should be off limits to children - I don't want to go to a fancy resturaunt or theater surrounded by noisy, snotty- nosed kids either. But what is life without some joy and laughter? What is the beauty of a garden - the cold, sterile beauty of a well-tended flower bed - without the occasion to enjoy it?

I feel sorry for the wicked witch. She was born at a time without joy and laughter -at a time when even children, or especially children, had no joy and laughter. At a time when there was a wall around the garden. All she has is her tulip bed and her routine, cold, sterile existence. A wasted life - only because she was not able to grow beyond the limited confines of what she knows. Kat asssumed she had no children, but I see the greater horror. She has two. Two who she has raised with the same emphasis on self-preservation, on taking care of one's own little corner, without thought to a greater good or to anyone besides themeselves.

But I digress. I'm tired of discussions on the German psyche - and I'm tired of everyone tracing it back to WWII. It's been 60 years. Get over it and move on. It's okay to say hello to your neighbors; it's okay to trust again. It's safe again to smile. "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down that wall." But that's a different fairy tale.

So we headed to the Munich zoo - so full of children and of parents obviously enjoying their children - that it was a different world altogether. Here we fit in. And this is Germany too - a small, fragile bud amidst the sterile tulip gardens. And this is the Germany that will win in the end. As the tulip gardens fade, the children grow. The angry old couple is left to their solitude as the rest of us procreate - into a better tomorrow.