Mum’s the word
Every morning, on our 18-minute walk to school, I pinch myself. I see this kid, an 8-year-old boy, dressed in a smart looking school uniform, scootering and wanting to chit chat about what the day will hold, what yesterday’s events were, what’s going on in the world, a funny memory that popped into his head from “when he was 3” (he’s always 3 in these stories, even if he wasn’t).
We walk, talk and I smile and marvel at his bravery. Coming to a new country, attending a new school that is completely different from his NY school, making new friends, making the effort to keep in touch with his current friends in the States, and learning new things — new words, new foods, new sports, new school subjects — has been relatively easy for him so far. His eyes are so wide, and his appetite is so great. Sitting back and watching him is truly an inspiration to me.
And, if I’m honest…I take some credit.
I knew when we decided to relocate to London that I wanted him to be able to soak up every possible opportunity afforded to him. I also knew a huge part of that meant I had to be in a great position to make sure he was taken care of. Moving to a new country is daunting for anyone of any age. Being isolated is not helpful to anyone, but I especially do not handle it well. I’m not overly social (anymore), but — I have learned that establishing meaningful connections is important to gain and keep the best perspective, a sense of belonging and grounding, as well as a general feeling of happiness.
Each morning and afternoon, I would walk up to my son’s school and watch the many different groups of mums chatting and laughing. And, I would feel a twinge of jealousy. I know they’ve likely known each other for at least a couple years now, and I’m the newbie. A couple times, my husband walked with me, and asked, “Why don’t you go up and introduce yourself to someone” and while I admire people who can do that, I’m not one of them. I often prefer things to happen organically…meaning, I prefer for someone to come up to me so I don’t feel awkward or like I’m forcing myself on someone and ruin any chance we had at being friends. It’s worked for me many times in the past, and I always seem to find where I’m supposed to be as a result.
There was a parent coffee hour planned for our grade a few days later, after drop-off. I was on the fence if I was going to go. It just felt so daunting and overwhelming for some reason. The organizers said there would be more to come, so I figured I could work up the courage to attend the next one. I knew I was being a chicken, but I just couldn’t work up the guts. Embarrassing, but true.
My son came home one day and told me he had been elected to student council for his class. I was floored. He had volunteered to run, gave a speech, and the class voted for who they thought should be elected. And, he won! I thought, if my son can do that…I can put myself out there just a little more.
So, the morning of the coffee hour, I walked my son to school with my husband. I had dressed in something I would wear to coffee hour if I was going to go, but I also packed my laptop in case I chickened out last minute, so I could head to a coffee shop and settle in solo. We stood waiting for the school doors to open, and watched our son smile as he saw a friend walking toward him. They began chatting and then out of nowhere, a mum walked up next to me, pushing a pram, and asked, “Are you Owen’s parents?”
I could feel what my husband’s grin meant, and he slipped away after making his polite introduction, letting me carry on. The mum and I chatted about how our sons had become good friends, and I felt this sense of familiarity wash over me. She reminded me of a friend back home, but it also felt like it was the warm ice breaker I had been waiting — and hoping — for.
Another mum joined our conversation, and then another. And then, like a lovely swarm of honeybees, we all started moving toward the school gate to exit together, as we kept buzzing. I remembered the coffee hour, and presumed that’s where we were floating to next. My husband appeared smiling at my side, and whispered in my ear as he kissed my cheek goodbye, “I’m so happy for you, honey.” As was I.
Coffee hour was a smashing success, and now I’ve joined a smaller group of us mums who meet most mornings after drop-off for a coffee or tea. It is the sense of belonging that comforts me, even if I don’t see anyone I know at pick-up in the afternoons. I know that I always have the coffee mornings to connect and build upon. Those mornings, we talk about anything and everything, laugh, nod our heads and relate to the craziness that is motherhood and womanhood. And, if you ask us specifically what is discussed at the table…
…well, mum’s the word. But, there’s a seat for you.