Growing Family

School, Revisited

We are really needing to make a decision about where to send Small Sun for school next year. The school year begins in February and we are already way behind in applying for private schools. We are just coming to the conclusion that this is actually what we want to do, and I'm feeling a bit panicked that we've left it too long.

Choosing a school here is a bit tricky for me. Maybe some of you remember what happened when we first got here and I toured a local school. The more I talk to Australians (both anglo/caucasian or non-anglo), the more I am starting to believe that my child is much less likely to have negative experiences in school directly related to his African American heritage. That is, it seems that even if he was in a majority-anglo school, he would probably have a very different experience than if he was in a majority-caucasian school in the States. (Is anyone else stumbling over all of this descriptors? I can hardly keep everyone's politically correct language straight these days!)

However, even if my son is not as likely to experience racism or prejudice, I still don't think that being in a homogeneous environment where he is the odd one out, is what I want for him.

I have a lovely, amazing friend who is a wonderful teacher. Seriously, this chick is devoted. On a recent trip together, a group of us were chatting and she relayed a story from her classroom. In her class she has one child whose skin is much darker than the child's peers. In the class picture, against the dark background, this child didn't show up. She felt so horrified to have made this mistake, and in the future will always make sure to have the students in front of a contrasting background. She never meant to make the child feel awkward. And while the classmates didn't tease this child, they did have a laugh at the teeth and eyes floating in the darkness of the photo. Not maliciously, but because they are kids and they thought it was funny. But she was mortified, and felt so badly for that mistake. 

I have actually read several accounts by adults, describing their experiences as darker-skinned children in lighter-skinned families/school environments where similar situations occurred and they felt embarrassed, humiliated, alienated, etc. See, my passion to have my kids in a diverse school environment isn't just about racism. I know kids self-segregate and that being in a diverse school doesn't mean they are going to be singing "We Are The World" at graduation. I just think that a school where there are lots of kids of different shades, different nationalities, and balancing home culture and language with Australian pride, just makes more sense for our family. We are, after all, Dutch-American-Australian with two languages and two colors represented in our family*. It can be a lot for a small child to carry around in their backpack.

So right now we're looking at two schools.

Option A is public, local (walkable), highest rated academics in the area, good sport fields, majority anglo middle-upper class socio-economic demographic.

Option B is private (yet affordable), Christian, 15 minute commute, Spalding method literacy program, no sport fields (use local parks, which is normal here for many schools), very diverse both culturally and socio-economically.

And while our proximity to School A is really great, we're in a rental property, and were we to buy, we would most likely be buying in the neighborhood of School B, given local housing prices.

True to form, I am having trouble making this decision from where I am standing now. My mind spins off to ask "Where can we afford to buy? Shouldn't we register for school there? Can we afford to live in Sydney long term? What about moving to California? Should we home-school so we can travel? I don't want to home-school. How long will we be in Australia? Maybe we should move up the coast where we could afford a house and live by the beach? What is going to happen with The Captain's work? Can we afford private school for three children? Three children? Wait, we're meant to have more! How are we going to get the other children into our family if we're in Australia?" And at that point my head is spinning and steam is pouring out my ears and I am holding the school enrollment forms and applications, completely overwhelmed.

Please tell me that this decision is only this hard the first time you make it and that after it is done, each year just follows along like a duck in a row. I'm giving myself about two more weeks to get the forms in, knowing that each day I wait, we'll be farther down the list of applicants for private school. Sometimes you just do what you can and pray for the best outcome.

*To be fair, I am really starting to see now that even when I pan an environment and is looks very "light" to me, there is still a lot of diversity represented. Biracial children, immigrants, etc. So even our local school is likely to have children balancing multiple identity factors, even if it looks homogeneous at face value. That's something that I love more and more about Sydney.

This, That, and the Other

I wish I had a more coherent blog post to offer, but I don't.

Since the school year started last month, I feel like my life has crossed over into a whole new zone. Small Sun is at preschool three days a week now, The Sprout is in her first ballet class, and Small Sun is a proud member of "Scorpions United", and his first soccer game will be in a couple weeks. Finch is a robust nine months and is crawling all over the place. His favorite past time is chewing on electrical cords...which makes my life very busy.

Finchy has a skinned nose where he crawled head first off the the patio and landed on his face on the tile. I was standing right there with him to monitor his proximity to the edge, but I turned away to help the Sprout sweep the dirt off the patio - the dirt from the roots of one of my swiss chard plants that Sprout pulled out "for our dinner" - and off he went. His body was gravity defiant for a long moment, as he balanced on his nose, before his legs decided to come down and join him. It was comical and awful at the same time. He looks like such a little bruiser.

Our house is LOUD. Recently I watched a Facebook video of my brother, his wife, and their two daughters. Their house looked to calm. Even though his girls wear "This is what a feminist looks like" t-shirts and climb the bookcases and dance on the table, it all looked so demure compared to our LOUD house. That loudness all boils down to one place of origin - Small Sun. The boy is energy contained in skin, barely. He wakes up bursting with love and rambunctious affection, and goes to bed only after hugging, sloppy kissing, and "smelling" each of us. He sets the tone of the house, and his volume is stuck on LOUD.

Whatever concerns I carry about the affects of adoption on Small Sun's heart, they are tempered by the reality that he is extremely social, a favorite with his peers and adults, amazingly handsome, a great dancer and very rhythmic, good at sports, hugely confident, in addition to being kind and well-mannered (most of the time). I think he is bound to be popular and successful.

Sprout is the most girly-girl around. Decked out, head to toe, every day, in what she finds to be "beautiful", she is obsessed with princesses, fairies, ballerinas, and the like. Her current obsession is tights, with flip-flops, on the wrong feet. Or tights with two different colored shoes. And she is pretty LOUD too, when her brother is around. The two of them get kicked out of the house frequently, because the house trembles under their spirited games. Even the baby is loud these days. He is fully a part of the play, now. The other day I came into the living room to find him sitting, placidly under the laundry basket. "We caught the croc mom, we caught the croc!" He is usually the croc and they are Steve and Terry Irwin, on a grand adventure, with "baby Bindi" played by a doll.

The Finch's other starring role is that of "Big Baby". You have to say Big Baby with a roaring kind of voice. It goes like this: the big kids are playing something and "thud, thud, thud" the baby comes crawling along with a glint of demolition in his eye. Everyone screams "Big Baby!", like "Godzilla!", and scatters away from the oncoming threat. That's how I turned Finch ruining their block/lego/tea party creations into a hilarious game. It's really funny to watch.

Anyway, the house is LOUD, and I'm in the car driving someone somewhere far more frequently than I thought I ever would with preschoolers. And as a "stay-at-home" mom, I'm not home very much these days. I just bought a new stroller in hopes that I can get Finch to sleep out in it, as we are so little home for him to get regular sleep here. The laundry/dishes/housework/paperwork has got the better of me right now and the house is a battlefield of things that need doing.

And to spell it all out for anyone still waiting in suspense, the Captain has gotten an offer to partner in an exciting start-up, three other possible contracts if he wants contract work, and is several interviews in with a major player in his industry, all of these have fallen into his lap since the start of the year. He didn't even look for any of these, AT ALL.

I've got to run now, Small Sun's preschool day is about to finish. I guess the twelve loads of waiting laundry will have to wait.

Fresh Air

My mother grew up in an ancient farmhouse on a busy road in Pennsylvania. The house was situated at the bottom of a great hill and my grandparent's property rises up steeply behind the kitchen window, and goes on for acres, first as open fields, and then as woods.

When my mother was young, their family doctor was a big proponent of the benefits of fresh air and orange juice. To that end, they drank tons of fresh orange juice, and my grandfather let the grass in the field grow tall before mowing a green room in the middle. The room was for the girls to have fresh air parties. Away from the busy street and passing traffic, surrounded by swaying walls of green, they would spend the afternoon relaxing in the sun and air.

Fresh air parties. How great is that?

Today marks the first day of autumn in New South Wales. (Australia-wide, perhaps? In the South Pacific? I don't know.) The days are still often hot but the nights are cooling. I woke up this morning cold under the sheet and clawed about blindly for the blanket, before rolling like a cat into The Captain's side.

The onset of fresh air has been like an aphrodisiac to my brain. I am sketching garden designs and house ideas. I am wearing funny outfits that Trinny and Susannah would never endorse, just because they are amusing to put together. I'm baking and cooking and lying on the floor reading stories, and lingering over cuddles, and spinning imaginary yarns with preschoolers, and building tee pees out of  extra fabric and garden stakes, painting faces in bizarre color patterns, doing "rainbow nails", having dance parties, buying surprise gifts, and in general giving myself over to whimsy and delight with my wee children.

The fresh, crisp, change-of-season-air is invigorating. Suddenly everything is so romantic and I'm set on continuous swoon. The Captain and I watch The Good Wife, holding hands. We danced in the kitchen with the dishes waiting on the counter. Everything feels fresh and wonderful.

After giving myself a good shake over the last couple weeks, and realizing that this truly is the last year before school dictates so much of our life, I am soaking up the moments, and they are golden. And surprise, surprise, when I am gazing fondly at my children, and smothering them with squeezes, they respond with affection and compassion. Love really is amazing.