last day

Today is our last full day in Mussoorie. We leave at 5:00 am tomorrow to drive to Delhi to see my cousin, Amanda. The next morning we are off to Istanbul. I must finish packing our bags and making sure we are within our weight limit!

But I couldn't leave this place without making it clear what a wonderful year it's been. Our good friends Fabi and Marcus came by this morning to say goodbye, and we had lunch with our friends at school one last time just now. We all reflected on how lucky we are to have been able to do this and to have met each other. I love knowing that we have friends (good friends) who are from all 6 continents (that are populated!). I love knowing that we have places to stay and fun people to visit all over the world.
I love that Oliver has met so many different people and heard so many different languages. I love that we survived with smiles.

Mostly, I feel hopeful. I hope the drive down tomorrow is painless and Oliver doesn't get car sick. I hope my cousin is well. I hope that our flights are smooth and that we have a blast in Istanbul.
More than anything I hope Andy gets a job. I hope our move to Madison is a good decision. I hope that  we get to enjoy our summer and catch up with our family and friends. I hope we continue to appreciate India for all it has given us. I hope my marriage continues to stay strong. I hope our families can appreciate how much we missed them but also how badly we needed to do this, and that we will probably live abroad again in the future. I hope we can find mangoes that are half as delicious as the ones here. I hope to find a play group and music class for Oliver as soon as possible. I hope to visit Rose and Jay before the winter. I hope we find a wonderful place to live. I hope it's close to a park. I hope my thyroid can get back online. I hope Henry remembers us. I hope that we eat guacamole within 24 hours of landing. I hope to hear several outdoor concerts this summer and dine alfresco as often as possible. I hope my parents have gluten free beer in the fridge for me. And organic blueberries. And something my mom has baked.  I hope that Oliver continues to travel and be curious and be adventurous. I hope he knows how much we love him (and always will, no matter what) and how much we have enjoyed experiencing this year with him and watching him grow and walk and talk in the Himalayas. I hope.

Privacy and Boundaries

These two concepts do not exist here in India. I suspect this is because people are used to living in close quarters, practically on top of each other, in an already incredibly crowded country.

Staring is acceptable. So is looking in someone's windows, approaching strangers, taking pictures of you without your permission.  I have had to shoo people away from Oliver and myself many times. One of the first Hindi terms I was taught here was "Behen chode"; as I understand it, this is a crude way of  telling someone they sleep with their sister. My friend told me to use this if I was ever harassed and remind the people harassing me they have mothers and sister that they wouldn't want treated that way. Thankfully, I haven't had to say it. I have, however, gotten in people's face and done my share of yelling and middle finger raising (I'm not proud of it).  I learned early that my midwestern "Hello! How are you?" and a wave was an invitation to be followed and or flirted with. I stopped greeting people beyond a quick "namaste" and tend to avoid people's eyes. I quickly developed a sneer that I would engage when I heard cars and motorcycles slowing to a stop behind me. "Get away" I would snap in Hindi, thankfully they have all chuckled and gone on their way. 

Beyond harassment, we have had people walk the entire way into town with us. Trying to engage with Oliver, or just merely along for the stroll. In Chicago, I have walked off of a bus with several people  and someone always decides to be the fast one, someone else the slow one, others crossing the street so that no one has to walk "together". I have had ayah's here see me and Oliver coming and wait for us to catch up with them and then walk along the rode next to us, silent, not even making eye contact until they or we turn off. Bizarre.

This creeper above in the aqua shirt found us playing in the river while on vacation with a few other school families. We were in the most desolate place I have been here in India. Yet, he came out of the woods, walked up to us and stood there staring for about ten minutes. Seriously? Maybe he hadn't seen people in a long time; it was a pretty isolated place we were staying in. Maybe he was curious about the babies, or that we were white. Who knows, but I just cannot ever imagine someone walking up to a sandbox in a park and just standing there staring. People would call the cops. Or at least, move their children to a different location.

The picture taking is getting obnoxious now that we have so many Indian tourists coming up to the mountains to cool off. I have had people screech their bike to a halt, jump off, snap a picture of us and jump back on in less than 15 seconds. People will drive by as Oliver and I are walking home and stick a video camera out of the window at us. Because walking is so fascinating? I don't get it. We are strangers. Are they going to go home and post us on Facebook? The security men at school are constantly whipping out their phones to take pictures of Oliver. "Show wife" is often what they tell me. 

The boundaries at home are so different in India. Can you imagine showing up at someone's house, knocking once and then opening the door and walking in? We are vigilant door-lockers here because people knock once and then try the handle. I could be naked! Or asleep! At hotels it is the worst because there are no deadbolt locks. Everything is a sliding lock that you then use a padlock to secure. If Andy is out of the room, and he wants to get back in, I can't lock to door from the inside because he won't be able to unlock it. I have had so many hotel staff members just walk into our rooms; knocking optional. Once I got so fired up because they woke Oliver up to serve us room service that we hadn't ordered. Though I thought I had convinced them they had the wrong room, they came back two minutes later, walking in again trying to convince me that I had indeed ordered coffee and an omelette. 

There is little to no filter on what people will tell you. Everyone wants to ask how much you paid for something, or how your bowels are (this topic most often comes up while you are eating), or tell you how your body looks. For our entire time here, older Indian women have told me I am "too slim." That I need to eat more and exercise less to be able to keep up with Oliver. One woman pointedly told me I must be "sad [my] breasts are so small." Wow. One morning a mother of one of Andy's students told me I was gaining weight. She said, "I can tell, your face is puffy." Never mind that I only slept four hours the night before. She went on, "If you are not careful, you will become a fat housewife!" I muttered "awesome" under my breath and bite my tongue. My friend Sandy, from Delhi, told me that complete strangers on the street will come up to her husband and tell him he is getting fat. She said that people are so used to commenting on each other that they don't see any topic as rude or off limits.  Just yesterday Oliver and I tried our hardest to sit through the end of the year assembly.  We made it 15 minutes. One mother, whom I have never seen before, told me "You really ought to make him sit still. he is too energetic." Woman, please...

Here's what a will miss about the lack of boundaries...there is no wrong way to do something. I have a friend who was told at work that people are not allowed to knock on a certain supervisor's door; the must email them first and be sure it's alright. Even though he is just down the hall. That would never be the case here. I have certain people in the states that I only communicate with via email; phone calls and visits don't/won't happen. Here, face to face is preferred. Voice to voice is the next best option. Texting is just starting to take off here. I hope it isn't as popular as it is in the states. I really prefer talking to people and I think our Indian friends do to. I will miss being treated like everyone's friend. We have met people for the first time and ten minutes later they tell us "Our house is your house. Our car is your car. You are family now." I love that after one year here store owners are inviting me and Oliver up for tea, know our names, know where we live, know what we like. I will miss this. Not the creepers stalking us from the bushes, but I will miss all the other people tremendously. 

A different way

Our neighbors opened their door as we approached our own and said we must come in to meet their niece's baby. They were so excited to show us, but mostly Oliver, "Steve" the newest addition to their family. Oliver glanced at the baby but then went about running around after and trying to engage with their three year old, Enoch. At one point Enoch's dad turned to his visiting niece and said "Lindsey has a very different, but very successful way of raising Oliver." Okaaaay....I thought. Where is he going with this? He continued, "Listen to his vocabulary! Look at how capable he is! This is because Lindsey talks with him all day and let's him try new things! This is because she stays home with him and has no help!" My heart skipped a beat. Rajneesh is officially the first Indian person to compliment my choice to stay home with Oliver. Most have flat-out told me I am crazy not to have any help. I am still thinking a lot about the difference in parenting beliefs I have versus what my current country-mates have. They are so striking when you watch us in action.

Oliver and I have filled our schedule with playdates and music classes and trips up the mountain since Rose and Ennis left. Two weeks ago we had our usual playdate with a two year old son of a teacher here at Woodstock. I will call the boy Bob. Bob stays at home with his grandma and ayah while both parents work. Bob's grandma is a firm believer in keeping him indoors all day so he is "safe", "clean" and "well-behaved." For the first time, I convinced her to let the boys play outside in the common area of her neighborhood. She hesitated but I told her I would keep a "close eye on Bob" and she relented. Bob has no one his age in the neighborhood and because he is inside all day, he never plays with any children. EVER. Bob was so excited to see us walk up that he nearly burst through the screen of his door. He ran at us with his grandma howling "Shoes! No Shoes!" He slowed for about 15 seconds so she could quickly slide them on his feet and when she noticed Oliver wearing a hat, she ran inside and found (no kidding) a bowler hat and placed it on his head. Bob kept a tight grasp on Oliver as Oliver tried to make his way away from Bob. Oliver fell. Bob's grandma yelped but I didn't react. Oliver righted himself and Bob pushed him over with enthusiasm. Oh boy. I have firmly established myself as the mom who doesn't yelp when her child spills, slips and tumbles. I will scoop Oliver up and comfort him if necessary, but my non-reaction is a direct response to the screams and horror of my fellow neighbors when their children do the same. I was starting to question whether it was time to start reacting when Bob drew blood. He was so excited about throwing the ball to Oliver that he grabbed Oliver's arm and dug in. Oliver wailed. "You're going to be just fine. That was an accident." Still calm, I sent him to go after the ball. Then Bob decided he wanted it and bit Oliver's hand. This snapped me out of my super-calm-American-mom mode. "Aramse, Bob! Gentle... do not bite people, it hurts." Oliver decided the ball was  no longer worth it and went after the motorcycle toy which, predictably, Bob decided he wanted as well. To take possession of the motorcycle Bob put Oliver in a surprisingly strong and forceful choke-hold, panicking Oliver and causing him to cough and gasp. I was no longer cool at all. "BOB! NO!" (I pry his arms from my son's neck) "Bob, that's hurting him. ARAMSE! Get off my kid, Bob!"

I freed Oliver and walk to the other side of the common area with my startled and coughing child. Playdate over.  Not sure I really care to see Bob again. Grandma came over and said, "See! It's so hot! Makes him naughty!" and swept him into the house.  I decided then and there that it is not my job, nor Oliver's, to socialize Bob. He's on his own.

I know full-well that Oliver will slug, bite, kick, pinch people in the future, that is what kids do...but I sincerely hope he will draw the line at strangling someone. So that play option is no more. We met once with the woman I picked up at the restaurant and her two sons, but we just didn't hit it off.

I have decided that I can't force Oliver's socialization. We go to school, we play with the pre-k kids and he runs around with the high schoolers. The play groups will happen, and it's okay that they aren't happening now. I do look forward to having a community gathering place: a park, library, children's museum, where we can naturally interact with other kids and moms. That really is the big difference I have felt between child rearing here and in the states. Everyone here turns to their ayah for help, I turn to my friends and other moms. I can't wait to be back around moms once more. I have missed it so much since Rose left. 

Knock Knock!

We have begun our countdown (17 days until Istanbul!) and begun the requisite process of moving halfway across the globe. Namely, packing boxes to courier, sorting what to keep/donate/sell and then of course selling and packing the various piles. I hate moving. Always have. This doesn't feel too stressful, however, because we only have what we came with and a few things we have picked up along the way.
How much could we possibly bring back? How long could it possibly take to pack it all up?

When a teacher leaves Woodstock, it's a big deal. Since we returned to campus in February people have been claiming various household items. "Can I have your comforter when you go?" "Has anyone claimed your area rugs?" I didn't mind, it was one less item for me to try and sell come Spring. However, now that Spring is here, people are obsessed with trying to get the best deal on items from departing staff. Word spreads quickly around the hillside once the ayah's catch wind of you leaving. Last week and early this week I have had a steady stream of sari-clad women banging on my door trying to get "Good deal! No too much!" on our baby clothes and kitchen appliances. At first, I thought that I needed to allow this; after all, it is a well-established practice here. But yesterday I hit my breaking point. Someone banged on our door during the hallowed, holy, respected, sacred nap-time and woke Oliver. I boiled inside. They also wanted to pay only half of what everything is marked. They, like everyone else who has come over looking to buy things, went through our rooms asking if they could buy everything on the walls and beds (no) and opening our kitchen cabinets (stop that). I shooed them out, exasperated. I had had enough already.
I walked Oliver to school and asked our friend to write me a sign in Hindi that reads "Please do not knock on this door. Our sale is June 10th from 2-4. You can come and buy things only on that day."

I thought I had it all figured out. Then this morning came a pounding (which we ignored) and later a ringing phone (my fault for not taking it off the hook) from our neighbor's house. It was his ayah wanting to come over. Nope. June 10th. See you then.

In the meantime, we received word that our couriered packages are held up in customs. Naturally. And that it will cost more money to get them out. Of course. At this point, I really do not care. I get this way once a moving date comes close enough. I have visions for throwing all our possessions out a window and just walking away. India, more than any other experience in my life, has taught me what matters and just how much I need. I don't need much. Good health care would be nice, but beyond that, I have had everything I need to thrive here. Everything else is just stuff. Stuff weighs you down and limits you. Stuff is expendable. We are each selling half our wardrobes and all our appliances and most of Oliver's toys. We can decide to get new things when we get to the states, or not. We won't miss them. We don't need them. I prefer to travel light and live light. I am thinking of packing up our remaining clothes and delivering them to the people who live under the tarps on the way to the bazaar. Take it, we don't need it. The ayah's can have the rest for free, I really do not care. Just do not wake the baby. Never wake a sleeping baby. Fear the wrath of a mother of a waken baby.

Imbalanced but Happy

Well, it finally happened. I have come full circle on my views and feelings about India. I am really, really happy here. Every international teacher and expat friend we have had has always said if you can make it through the first year, you've done it. I get that now. This year has been such a struggle. India has been hard on my body, my mind, my marriage, my confidence, my anxiety...it fed into all of it. My therapist would tell me that people can suppress things for only so long; sooner or later it will all bubble up and it will usually be during a trying and stressful time. This was when all my anxiety was overwhelming me my last two stressful years as a teacher. But during this very unique year, I can't blame it all on India. Raising a young child is hard. Harder than anyone had prepared me for. It's the most fun I have ever had but I am spent in every possible way come 5:30 and then I still have to get dinner out. I have to remember that being a stay at home mom would be challenging anywhere, not just on a mountain-top in India.

I have this perma-bloat thing going on in my abdomen. Not matter how I adjust my diet or my exercise routine, nothing seems to make it go away (and no, I am not pregnant).  I have had a complete work-up checking for parasites/illness and I have a bacteria in my (ahem) stool that the doctor said "happens in India" and that "it will go away once you leave." Okaaaay. Let's hope so. 

My thyroid is also getting wonky. It's no surprise, really, with all the stress surrounding relocating again and find new jobs. I am trying to get it back under control, but feeling uneven and imbalanced in the process. Sigh. 

Our marriage has been rocky and wonderful here. Any insecurities or concerns we had have all bubbled up, sometimes rather unpleasantly, but when your common goal as a couple is resolution, you work hard to come back together. That said, it has not been as simple as "sticking together" as we had hoped. This is the year that we learned that marriage needs active participation and lots of communication; even if you are practically blind from exhaustion. I am also someone who needs alone time everyday. That is a challenge with a baby on your hip. I have learned to give it to myself, even if it means waking up before Andy and Oliver do to get it in. We are doing well, but India and school and the act of being new parents was at times quite a lot to handle.

There were times here that my confidence soared; times when I never knew I could be so brave and then there were times when it shocked me how timid I could be. Those were the interesting times to reflect on. Even yesterday, I changed into shorts when Oliver and I returned from lunch. It was 90 degrees, I was not comfortable in pants. Even though I was in my home, behind locked doors, I still found myself avoiding windows so that my neighbors could not see my bare legs. I laughed at myself when I realized just how "Indian" I had become. I never leave home without a scarf now, never bare my shoulders, only wear skinny jeans to and from the school and I have even stopped going into the bazaar by myself. I feel a bit like a shrinking violet, following these rules for women so long established. The truth is, I am happier following them. I am happier not attracting unwanted attention and advances; happier feeling a little more like those around me. What a code-switcher I have become!

We have made some plans and are excited and hopeful for the year ahead. We are not returning to Chicago; we are moving to Madison, Wisconsin. We have enjoyed a slower pace of life here and hope that Wisconsin will help us continue this pattern. We leave Mussoorie early morning on the 17th of June and drive to Delhi. We will spend the remainder of the afternoon and evening with my cousin, Amanda, who will be in Delhi before she leaves on a tour of India. We fly to Istanbul the next morning and spend five days there adjusting half-way to the time change and (very symbolically) walking across the bridge that separates Asia from the Western world. I can't wait. Then, we land at O'Hare on the 23rd.

These last weeks in India I am going to do my best to smile as much as possible, spend my time with the people I have come to love the most, and eat the food I am going to miss so much. We will also take some day trips to explore more of our surrounding area and start shipping things home. Now that the end is in sight, it's hard to believe it is almost time to go. It has gone so fast. I am thrilled I have come around to the beauty in the country before I left it. I am going to miss India and all it has done for me. I wrote in a previous post that I needed to get shaken. I am so glad I have taken this opportunity to get "shook".

My friend Rose

I have a sad face on today. I am trying my best to turn it around. I spent a good portion of yesterday crying and trying to hide it from Oliver. My best friend here at Woodstock, Rose, left for home (Minnesota) this morning. Rose and I were the only trailing spouses who both had children under two and who did not work at the school. She was the only person I could call during the day and chat with, the only person who could come over regularly for tea and playdates. Not only that, her son Ennis was the only child even remotely close to Oliver's age here (ten months older) and so now Oliver has lost his best buddy too. Andy and Rose's husband, Jay, were close as well. Rose and Jay decided that they would leave this year and not complete their three year contract. Jay got a job back home that starts mid-May, so they had to leave before the school year ended.

Me and Rose in Rishikesh 

I feel unsure of my footing today as I think about walking to school for lunch and knowing that Rose and Ennis will not be there waiting for us to join them at the "kids table". I feel as though a major support has been removed from my foundation and I am left swaying in the breeze. Rose and I bonded quickly over many things; the most important of which: we are white women in India (this was a HUGE bonding point-there are not many of us and it is a very unique experience), we have young boys, we are not  religious people (as so many people who work at Woodstock are; this made us stand out quite a bit), we try to be relaxed/calm mothers unlike our Indian counterparts.  Rose said that we made a small tribe: Rose and Ennis, Me and Oliver. People realized that we were different and we could turn to each other to vent about those differences. As Oliver learned to walk he took many stumbles, planted his face into the slate flooring of the quad numerous times. Rose would join me in deflecting the Indian parents who insisted he be picked up and rocked and held for the rest of the day ("Perhaps he is done walking now?" one mother asked me. Rose and I both responded "He's fine!").  It is one thing if your child is the only one rolling around in the sand box, taste-testing rocks and jumping down concrete steps (with scrapes and bruises along their legs and faces) and quite another if you have you have another pair to do it with you, supporting you, assuring the Indian mothers that the boys will be just fine, it's alright with us if they get dirty, kids get bruises, and that they will not get worms from digging in the sand (good grief).

So I am left to myself to deflect the unwanted attention/criticisms/concerns. I am desperate to find a playmate for Oliver, for myself. I have become that girl who hands out her phone number to people she has just met and is hopeful that someone will call. I eavesdropped on a Chinese-Canadian family at a restaurant in town and deduced that they lived and worked here in Mussoorie. They have two boys, a four year old and a one year old. I went to their table and struck up a conversation, handed over my number and said "We are going to have a playdate!" One is set for tomorrow. You will be our friends! I am not weird! I met another family, who are here for the month, while we were staying at the inn at the top of our mountain. (We stayed there due to a mouse infestation, that's another blog post!) This family is coming over for dinner tonight. Yay! New friends!

There is a child who I think is one year older than Oliver and both his parents both work at the school. This child stays home with his grandmother. I have never seen the child down at school during the week. My friend Fabi lives next door to them and she says she never sees him playing outside. I have made it my mission to get this boy out of the house and playing with Oliver. I have spoken with his father and asked (alright, begged) for a regular playdate, "How about Tuesdays?" This is an unknown concept with Indian families. Most of the Indian children I know here stay at home with their ayah's while their parents work. The ayah's rarely take them out of the house (see previous post, they may get dirty!) and if they do, they play directly in front of the house. Next door we have a three year old and we are constantly knocking on the door to see if the ayah will let him out to play. He is only allowed to remain in the bottom-third of our driveway so we roll cars and balls down the slope with him. Otherwise, we never see the kid. I don't know what they do in there all day. Socialization is not a concern here, watching television is a totally acceptable way to pass the day; no matter the age.

So I am getting proactive. We have updated our routine, I now work out in the school gym early in the morning while Andy and Oliver wake up, get dressed and have breakfast at school. Then Oliver and I either play in the quad with some students, or go to music class with the Pre-K class.  I am adamant about scheduling time with young kids for Oliver-it was so easy with Rose, a quick phone call and we would meet up later that morning after naps-so we have kids coming over tonight and the play date  tomorrow. I am already planning next weeks. We have seven-plus weeks here still, I intend to keep our social life moving forward and get us out and playing with people everyday. That said, if I could, I would wish that Rose and Ennis were still here with us. We are really going to miss you guys.

Motherhood: A Tale of Two Cultures

Last week, my good friend Rose and I were invited to another non-working spouse's home for lunch. It is important to note that Rose is American, from Minnesota, and of course this Midwestern heritage  bonded us immediately. The woman who invited us is Indian and her husband teaches at the school. She has two little girls and couldn't wait for me and Rose to bring our sons over to play with them. This is a woman I see almost daily on the road as she walks her daughter home from Pre-Kindergarten and I walk Oliver to school for lunch with Andy. She is overwhelmingly sweet and very kind towards both me and Oliver. For weeks now she has been saying I should come for lunch "anytime".  To me, this was not an invitation per se, just a thing people say. An Indian friend told me I should actually just stop by someday for lunch. Without calling first? This idea mortified me. What if she had no food in the house, or the girls had ransacked the place that day or she hadn't gotten out of her pajamas yet (It happens)? Any number of situations that would mortify me if someone showed up with her child to my place unannounced and seeking lunch. My friend assured me this was not the case and that this woman would gladly whip up some food; "Of course she has food in the house! Why would anyone not have food, Lindsey?" (Please do not come to the Cooper house unannounced-you may be served soda water and scrambled eggs!) Even so, I could not bring myself to just show up. That seemed so unfair to do to a mom with two young kids.

An official invitation was offered at school as Oliver rolled around in the sandbox and her daughter stood obediently at her side (she was told she couldn't play today because she would get her tights dirty). She told me to bring Rose and Ennis and that she would make south-Indian food. I couldn't wait.

Rose and I showed up with our boys and right away I knew I wasn't in Chicago anymore. There was a bike, a big-girl bike, with training wheels in the living room. Things the mother alluded to made me pretty sure the daughter is only allowed to ride inside the house. Oliver and Ennis made a bee-line for it with Oliver screaming "Auto! Auto!" (These days, if it moves, it's an "auto"). Our host was very worried that the boys would injure themselves but Rose and I supervised as the boys pushed it back and forth along the floor, overjoyed at the chance to do so. Our host promptly put a piece of cake in Ennis' hand and said "Eat! Yummy cake!" Oh boy, I thought, here we go. I deflected the cake and explained that Oliver had not had lunch yet, maybe later (there would be no cake, he's 15 months old, he's sweet enough). Rose and I exchanged looks. Then we were offered Coke, which she also offered to the boys. "He only drinks water" was what Rose and I said. Soda? Rose and I watched as her daughters gulped it down. I guess caffeine and sugar are not big no-no's for kids here. Lunch was served and it was fantastic. She is a tremendous cook. Her maid scurried around in the kitchen cleaning up as we delighted in all the south Indian flavors that are not common here in the north. Amazing chutney and curries and even the dal (lentil) tasted different. Oliver and Ennis dug in. The girls were upstairs watching cartoons. They came down every five minutes for another piece of cake, another glass of soda. Our host wanted Ennis and Oliver to go upstairs and watch cartoons too. Oliver does not watch television, nor does Ennis, so Rose and I explained we wanted the boys were they could see them.
At one point, Oliver toddled over to the bike and pushed it down. Our host yelped and nearly hyperventilated and asked if he was hurt. Oliver looked like he was near-melt down watching her reaction as I walked over and said "It fell over, let's pick it up" and we righted the bike. I heard Rose say, "Looks like you're okay, Oliver." Keep calm and carry on...it's not just a saying used for British propaganda during WWII, it's the motto of every American mother I know with a toddler. If we react, the kid will too. Rose and I kept calm and carried on with lunch, but our host wanted to check Oliver for scratches and give him an ice pack.

Rose left soon after as Ennis came off his cake-induced sugar high so they could make it home for nap. Oliver and I had another thirty minutes we could stay. Oliver raced to the staircase (he is obsessed with stairs, we don't have any in our house) and climbed them to find the girls.  He and I followed the sound of cartoons to the girls bedroom. Our host came up and placed Oliver on the bed. She said I could leave him there and we could go down and have tea. On the bed? He can crawl right off! On the second floor, with no gate at the top of the stairs? He will fall down! I was perplexed. Was this person the same one who nearly fainted at Oliver pushing over a bike really willing to leave him on a bed, at the top of a staircase? Just then her youngest daughter (she's 2) started to whine so my host reached into a drawer and pulled out a jar of nail polish and handed to her. I was dumbfounded. Is she just going to look at the bottle? Surely this little girl can't possibly...she opened the jar and quickly went about painting her toes. I couldn't believe this was happening. On the same bed that Oliver and I were sitting, this two year old was making quick work of her pedicure. She moved onto her fingers. One nail she disapproved of and she wiped it off on the bed sheet.  Her mother was there, next to us and playing with Oliver, aware of the scene. The girl placed the open jar on a windowsill and went to her sister's bed to jump. She jumped and jumped getting toe polish all over the comforter. What is happening? I kept wondering. Then the girl made fists and got her finger polish on her palms. She looked like she was bleeding. This got a reaction. "Oh no, you are so dirty! Look at your hands. Look at your feet! How are we going to clean this?"

We decided it was best to bring the two year old and Oliver downstairs so we could watch them while having tea. Oliver noticed the neighbor's dog in the backyard (we just love this dog and visit him often as we walk by) and wanted to go see him. I brought him outside and and we sat in the grass and rubbed the dog's belly. The two year old came after us a few minutes later, which caused her mother and her maid to yell out the backdoor at her a semi- stern message in Hindi. The mother looked at me sheepishly and said, "Sorry, she is not allowed to play outside today...she is in a dress." So, nail polish on the bed is okay, but walking around in the grass in a dress is forbidden. I am still trying to wrap my head around this contradiction.

A few days later, I was invited on a Friday afternoon, to a child's birthday party...the following afternoon. The parents were passing out official invitations just 24 hours ahead of time? Everyone accepted them as if it was the natural thing to be doing, but I was a little perturbed. I hadn't been planning on going into the bazaar that day, how was I going to get this boy a gift? I can't just jump in my non-existent car and run to the non-existent Target and pick something up. A bazaar trip into the toy store and back is a four hour commitment. I didn't have four hours. We went to the party, gift-less, and I marveled at the catering and the decorations. How much time did this family give themselves to plan this party? Was 48 hours too much notice to give the attendants? This is so common in India, the no-notice party. I once was left a voice mail by one of Andy's classroom parents saying that Oliver and I should "come to school to help celebrate their daughter's birthday" and "could [we] be there in 15 minutes?" It takes me and Oliver at least 15 minutes to get ready to leave the house, so we can never get anywhere in just 15 minutes.  In America, I would never consider giving our friends less than three weeks notice to come to a party. People need to plan babysitters, or shuffle activities or plan what to bring (In India, you are never asked to bring anything, only a gift if it is a birthday); never are these a consideration here. You drop what you were planning to do and go, no questions asked.

You many be thinking that these mothers and stories are "crazy" and to tell you honestly, I have a hard time thinking any different myself. But Americans are just as crazy...sometimes more so.

One day I was running errands while in my third trimester with Oliver and the mother behind me in line at the store asked, "Have you chosen a stroller yet?" Was this something I should have given tremendous thought to? She asked as if she was inquiring as to what I would be majoring in in college: all business, but excited to know. When it told her what we had registered for she responded, "We have friends that are very happy with that line of stroller." Umm, thanks? I feel reassured? We picked our particular stroller because it folded easily and came in orange. Was there more to consider? This woman made it seem as if a poor choice in a stroller now would impede Oliver's future success somehow down the road. This would never happen here. If you are lucky enough that the store has what you are looking for that particular day, you buy it. If not, you don't. This includes strollers.

The clearest proof I have to offer of our crazy parenting/child rearing in America is the concept of
gifted kindergarten. Gifted five and six year olds...really? As an early childhood teacher/developmental therapist I can honestly, in full confidence tell you there is no such thing. There are the children who grew up in homes with books and conversations and experiences and those who did not, but that does not qualify someone to be "gifted" at such a young age. I am rolling my eyes even writing this. I have yet to hear a single Indian mother brag about how many words her child knows, what guided reading level they are at, or how much they are capable of writing.  This is not a bragging point here. It will be later when their child gets accepted into college and/or gets a job that pays a lot of money, but it's nothing to brag about at this stage. There are no infomercials selling you products that will teach your BABY to read (ugh). There are no products labeled "Einstein", no flash cards, no "workbooks" pretending to be a coloring book. None of this exists here.  I was looking at some websites of private preschools in America yesterday (as possible future job placements for me down the road) and several boasted that their two year olds have a "pre-literacy" curriculum. The only  pre-literacy a two year old needs is to be read to and talked to and sung to. Those babies had better not be given worksheets and sight words to study, but nothing would surprise me at this point. Mothers here do not seem to care at what age children walk, get teeth, talk. Mothers in America can treat these as competitive sports; "Oh...he's not walking yet? Well, don't worry...I think there's still time." I promise you, there is still time. A friend of ours was explaining how concerned her mother in law was over the fact that at 14 months, her child still had no teeth. The mother in law kept asking: "What if something is wrong? If he isn't developing teeth, what else will be late to develop?" Oy. Insert eye roll here.

Mothers here worry that their children will get dirty if they play outside, while mothers in America worry that their children are not stimulated "enough" outside. I have witnessed many American parents following their child around the playground labeling everything they are doing: "You are on the swings! Good Job pumping your legs! You are climbing the jungle gym! You are going down the slide...weeee!!!" When it comes to food, Indian mothers feed their babies whatever is on the table, even if it is loaded with sugar and caffeine, while some American mothers practically have a heart attack if there child puts a store-bought cracker in their mouth.

I am trying to find a balance. I am an American, raised by Americans, planning on returning to America. My parenting culture is American, there's no way around it. I have two degrees in early childhood education and child development that supply me with some background, but I am winging it most of the time. I survive on coffee and lots of hopeful thoughts that what I am doing, saying, feeding and encouraging is good for my child. I know what feels "good" or "right" to me and what doesn't. I am very thankful that this particular year we were away from America. Oliver is not on any preschool waiting list, nor is he taking violin or Mandarin lessons. He is able to explore and engage with India in a way that Indian children cannot because he has an American mother. We climb the mountain weekly and get quite dirty looking at rocks and moss and playing in the sand box. Never is 'getting dirty' a reason not to do something. We have both been free of any constraints put on us by our American culture and also by the Indian culture. Indian mothers do not give me advice, they know I do things differently, they seem to just stand back and watch; marveling at how Oliver eats vegetables over chocolate cake, tastes the rocks he picks up, and how he goes to bed nightly at 7:30, not "when he chooses to." It has been very liberating for me. Though I wish we had more places to go: museums, parks, lakes, downtown areas...I have been able to construct the environment that I want him to have, with no questions asked.