I touch the Future

As we enter the month of Thanksgiving, I have been reflecting on events that have changed the course of my life. I was recently listening to the song “This by Darius Rucker. He sings about “every stoplight I didn't make, every chance I did or I didn't take,” all those things that could have happened but didn’t led him to where he is today. And he wouldn’t change a thing. That’s how I’ve been feeling.

When our daughter was born, my husband and I decided that I would stay at home with her so that one of us would be with her all of the time. So I began my life as a stay-at-home mom. I continued my stay-at-home duties when my son was born, and fell in love with my job as the teacher and care provider for my two young children. When they started “real” school, I followed them and became a classroom volunteer. I planned class parties, copied papers for teachers, put up bulletin boards, and sat in the cafeteria with my own children once a week for lunch. But just as I had vowed when I was in college I continued my belief that there was no way that I would ever become a teacher!

I shared school with my children at school and at home. When we sat at the table to do homework, we would talk about the other students in their classes and their teachers. It was great fun! I also volunteered with the Parent/Teacher association. I helped with fundraisers and organized events at the school. I enjoyed working with the teachers at my children’s school, but I knew that I would never become a teacher. I had vowed it would never happen.

But when my son entered middle school, he refused to allow me to be a parent volunteer. He said it wasn’t “cool.” So I began plotting. I know how he loved sports, so I told him that if he let me apply to be a substitute teacher at the middle school that I would buy Oriole season tickets with the money I made. He agreed and his agreeing changed my life.

About a year after I began substitute teaching, I received a telephone call from the foreign language curriculum specialist. She needed a long-term Spanish substitute and since I had a minor in Spanish, she wanted to know if I was interested. I discussed it with my husband and both children and we agreed to give it a try.

I fell in love with teaching! I woke up excited about going to work, and lay awake in bed at night trying to figure out new teaching strategies to help my students. I was playing school again, but this time the students were not my own children. That was in the spring of 1999 and I have been teaching ever since. I have grown professionally and as a human being. Being part of the lives of my students has given me a new outlook, and I do indeed touch the future.

Our mothers are our first teachers, and my children taught me that!

They Say That Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

As we enter the month of Thanksgiving, I have been reflecting on events that have changed the course of my life. I was recently listening to the song “This by Darius Rucker. He sings about “every stoplight I didn't make, every chance I did or I didn't take,” all those things that could have happened but didn’t led him to where he is today. And he wouldn’t change a thing. That’s how I’ve been feeling.

When I was a senior in high school, I met a college student named Mike. We dated my entire senior year and he was my date to the prom. He even came to Ocean City when my friends and I were there for senior week. I spent every weekend with Mike and most evenings with him on the phone.

In college, Mike and I talked about getting married. We dreamed about how we would spend the rest of our lives together. I was so happy. Our relationship continued into my sophomore year of college. During Christmas break that year, Mike became somewhat distant. I knew that something was wrong but I just could not put my finger on it. I worried about what was going on but tried to keep my chin up.

Finally in February, the bomb dropped. Mike called to tell me that he wanted to break up. I thought it was the end of my world. How would I survive without him? I cried and cried, and when I thought I was all cried out, I cried some more. I stopped eating. I didn’t want to be with my friends. I just wanted to be comforted by my misery.

Whenever the phone rang, I would jump. Maybe he was calling to say that he missed me, that he wanted to get back together. But the phone calls were never for me. I started to lose weight and my grades began to drop. In short, I was no fun! But fortunately, I had some really good friends.

One of those friends was Rose. She called me one weekend and said “Let’s go out! We should head down to Annapolis and check out the midshipmen!” Reluctantly, I agreed. Little did I know that that night would forever change my life.

We were walking through Dalghren Hall when a nice young man passed us. As we exited the building, that same young man was there holding the door for us. The three of us walked, and chatted, and laughed. When I got home very late that night, I woke my mother to tell her that I had met the man I was going to marry. That was thirty-two years ago, and I look forward to celebrating thirty-one years of marriage with that nice young man!

And I will be forever thankful that Mike broke up with me!

The photo above is of that handsome midshipman on our first "official" date. This blogpost appeared in my column, "The Empty Nest," in the Frederick News Post on November 3, 2012.

One Look Was All It Took

As we enter the month of Thanksgiving, I have been reflecting on events that have changed the course of my life. I was recently listening to the song “This by Darius Rucker. He sings about “every stoplight I didn't make, every chance I did or I didn't take,” all those things that could have happened but didn’t led him to where he is today. And he wouldn’t change a thing. That’s how I’ve been feeling.

Kids? Not me. Not ever. That was the theme by which I lived all through undergraduate school. I was going to be an attorney. If I chose marriage, it might slow me down, and I could really put career advancement in jeopardy if kids were to become a part of the picture. At least that was my thinking as a young college woman, and even as a young married woman.

However, when I was lying in the hospital after my daughter was born, law school never crossed my mind. For years I had set my goal as a career in corporate law. But looking into my daughter’s eyes as I held her in that hospital bed, I knew that I could not let anyone else take care of her. She wasn’t planned, but I was so grateful that she had shown up. And so, as I lay there in the hospital, I began to prepare for my new career as a stay-at-home mom.

My college advisor had told me after graduation to go out into the world and to be the best that I could be at whatever I chose. Now here I was choosing my daughter. I would spend my days playing with her and nurturing her.

When she was eighteen months old, we attended a local community theater production of “The Wizard of Oz.” We took classes together. We read together. And as she grew up, we were involved in theatrical productions together. Singing and dancing were also something we shared. I loved it when friends referred to us as the Jarman sisters. We shopped together, laughed together and spent lots of time together. Even though there were those times during puberty when I feared which demon would possess her when she woke, she was mine. And I loved being her mother.

I spent thirteen years as a stay-at-home mom raising my daughter and son (yes, he came along three and a half years after she arrived). I can’t even begin to imagine myself in a courtroom. The gaze into that baby’s eyes changed my life forever, and I couldn’t be more thankful.

My granddaughter will be ten months old this month. The time has flown by! But as she gets a little older, and as fall approaches, I am getting very excited about re-living some of my favorite fall traditions with a little one.

Fall means pumpkins and jack-o-laterns. I remember our annual outings to the pumpkin patch. We’d put on boots and sweatshirts and head down the road on a mission to pick out the best pumpkin ever! Of course, we had two children who each had their own ideas about what the perfect pumpkin should look like, so we typically came home with a few.

We’d drive down the long drive to the pumpkin farm and jump out of the car. The kids would head right to the field hoping to pick up the first pumpkin they saw. As the got older, they became more particular about finding the perfect pumpkin. They’d examine each side trying to determine which side would be best for the face or if the vine left a good enough handle for the lid. Some pumpkins were rejected because they were too small, others sometimes had a flat side.

Once our purchases were made, we’d load all of our pumpkins into the back of the car and head home. The kitchen table became the center of activity as the carving began. We never did anything excessively creative. Our jack-o-laterns mostly had the triangle nose and eyes with the smile exposing a few teeth. There were years, however, when mistakes were made with the carving knife and teeth were accidentally cut off. Those jacks just had great big grins.

The lanterns, after having been carefully carved, were placed out on the front porch with their candles in place. Sometimes the lids burned because the candle was too big or the lid was improperly placed on top. The smell of burning pumpkin would fill the front of the house.

The extra pumpkins, the ones that appeared perfect at the patch, but were rejected after further examination at home, were baked and used for pumpkin breads or pies. Pumpkins are so much a part of fall and fall is such a beautiful time of the year. I cannot wait to share it with my granddaughter!

The Leaves of Fall

My granddaughter will be ten months old this month. The time has flown by! But as she gets a little older, and as fall approaches, I am getting very about re-living some of my favorite fall traditions with a little one.
One of the reasons that I love fall so much is the beautiful array of colors that appear on the trees. I love the yellows, oranges, and reds of the fall leaves. Driving along the roads of Frederick in the fall, I am continually in awe of the splendor of the colors.

When Tim was in the Navy, we lived in Texas, California, and Florida. Those states are not typically known for their fall foliage. Few people travel to those places to see the magnificence of fall leaves. For five years, I went without a real fall. Sure we had trick-or-treating and Halloween. There were also pumpkin patches and apple cider, but never could I look out my window and see the color of fall.

The first year that we were back in Maryland, I would often pack the kids up in the car and just drive around the back roads and stop to gaze at the leaves. Many times as I was driving the car, I would wipe the tears from my eyes. I had missed my leaves so much, but they were there just like they were every fall. I had missed them so.
I also love the leaves on the ground. There’s nothing like the sound of crunching leaves as you hike down the mountain trails along the Appalachian Trail. When my children were younger, we would take them on hikes in the fall and we would all crunch, crunch, crunch down the trail path.

Leaves are also great in piles. I loved the times when we would rake them all nice and neatly into a great mound on the lawn and then the dogs would come running and plow right through the pile. Leaves would fly everywhere and we would all laugh. I think the dogs enjoyed it as much as we did.

I can’t wait to make leaf piles with Chloë, to hike along the trails and giggle at the crunching sounds. Fall is such a beautiful time of the year. I am so looking forward to sharing it with my granddaughter!

This blogpost ran as my column, "The Empty Nest," in the Frederick News Post on Sunday October 7, 2012.

Fall Apples

My granddaughter will be ten months old in October. The time has flown by! But as she gets a little older, and as fall approaches, I am getting very excited about re-living some of my favorite fall traditions with my little one.

I love the apples of fall! I remember when I was growing up one of the fundraisers for our church was baking and selling apple dumplings at the fall festival. Members of the congregation would get together on Friday of the festival weekend. The church kitchen and social hall would be a-buzz with activity. Some folks were mixing and rolling dough and others were peeling and coring apples.

One year, I brought my boyfriend to help with the preparation. I figured if he could endure the whole apple dumpling event he could endure most anything! He laughed and joked with the ladies of the church as we rolled out the dough for so many apple dumplings! We took some home and baked them. There’s nothing like a warm apple dumpling with some ice cream on the side.

Apples are also great for cider. We usually head out to McCutcheon’s or Baugher’s in Westminster to pick up our stock. I love mulling cider in the fall. Sitting in the kitchen and looking out at the beautifully colored leaves while I sip my cider is always a well spent fall afternoon.

And what would fall be without apple pie! I cannot wait to bake my first apple pie with my granddaughter. I hope she enjoys being in my kitchen as much as I enjoyed spending time with my grandmother in hers. A grandmother’s kitchen always smells like heaven.

Now, I’m not much of a cook, but I do hope that my little girl and I spend some wonderful times in the kitchen together. And that boyfriend with all of the dumpling experience, well,he learned enough about peeling apples and rolling dough that I decided to keep him! I’m sure he’d be more than willing to help us girls with our apple adventures in the kitchen.

Fall is such a beautiful time of the year. I cannot wait to share it with my granddaughter!

Teachers and Education

School is back in session and everyone is excited about the upcoming academic year. I have always believed that success in school takes teamwork, in particular, a team of three: student, parents, and teacher.

I have been teaching for more than a dozen years. Those years have been filled with stress, lots of work, some tears, many smiles, and joy. At times, I have been frustrated with the system, parents, students, and myself. And yet I have also been elated at times with the system, parents, students, and myself. Teaching is a challenging, stressful, time-consuming career that I absolutely adore.

I have had the opportunity to watch students grow, to experience things they never dreamed of, and to meet challenges they never thought possible. I have shared joys and sorrows with my colleagues, many of whom have become dear friends.

Each school year starts with excitement; new faces, new clothes, new hair. Hopes are high and everyone begins with a clean slate. By winter break, we’re all tired, beginning to wear out, and in deep need of a vacation. The New Year begins everything anew, but the snows of winter and the cold mornings heading out before the sun gets up make everyone wonder if the school year will ever come to an end.

But summer does always manage to show its face and a long respite from school begins. These things happen over and over again, and yet each year it feels so new!

I won’t sleep the night before school, not much anyway. I’ll toss and turn wondering if I have enough handouts for the first day, what my students will look like, how they’ll behave. I lie awake thinking about what types of projects we can come up with, how I can convince my principal to let me try something wild and crazy! I worry that I might not be able to help all of my students. What if they don’t understand and I can’t figure out how to teach them? I try to solve all of the problems of the world that night before school!

I’ll wake up the first day of school with butterflies and I won’t be able to eat a thing for breakfast. As a teacher, I think that I’ll be just as excited as my students. Full of energy and ready to go! Here’s to a great school year!

This blog post appeared in my column, "The Empty Nest," in the Frederick News Post on Sunday, September 2, 2012.

Students and Education

School is back in session and everyone is excited about the upcoming academic year. I have always believed that success in school takes teamwork, in particular, a team of three: student, parents, and teacher.

I recently read Tony Wagner’s book Creating Innovators. In the book, he talks about how education needs to involve play, passion, and purpose in order to be effective in creating innovators. The author interviewed several successful innovators who shared their experiences of playing at school and about teachers who encouraged them and tailored activities to things the students were passionate about.

The key to those activities was the communication that occurred between teacher, student, and parents. When students shared their interests and their passions, teachers used their resources and parental support to create lesson plans that were student focused. Students then became engaged and excited about school. But communication, especially for young people, can sometimes be difficult.

Often the teacher is the last person a student feels comfortable approaching. The stern looks in the classroom that first week (because all teachers know that if you smile before Christmas you lose complete control of your classroom) can be a bit intimidating for certain students. But students should learn not to be afraid of stating their thoughts. If you’re a parent, grandparent, friend, or neighbor of a student, encourage him or her to communicate thoughts to the teacher.

Now, right in the middle of class might not be the perfect time to communicate these thoughts, so you might encourage students to find time right before or right after school. Students can certainly send thoughts to teachers in notes. I’ve received some beautiful notes before from my students that were quite eye-opening in terms of their opinions and beliefs.

If you attend parent conferences, and if you don’t I strongly encourage you to do so, bring your student along! I learn so much about my students when I can sit and chat with them and their parents. It’s a great opportunity to share whether your child has an A or an F in the class. Communication is a tool for improving education.

Students need to recognize that their education is theirs and that their thoughts are valid, and in many instances, very helpful. Communication is a skill that they will need to be successful in their adult lives.

Communication takes effort, but every little bit helps! Here’s to a successful school year!

Parents and Education

School is back in session and everyone is excited about the upcoming academic year. I have always believed that success in school takes teamwork, in particular, a team of three: student, parents, and teacher.

In a recent article in USA Weekend, actor Tony Danza wrote about his experience spending a year teaching in an urban high school. One of the things that struck him the most was the absence of parents in schooling. Mr. Danza encouraged parents to be actively involved in the schooling of their children.

So, how does one become involved in schooling? To begin with, it requires the commitment of time. It takes time at the end of the day to ask your child probing questions, not the typical “how was your day?” But things like “what did you do in Math class today?”, “who did you sit with at lunch?”, “what did you talk about in English class?” Don’t ever let your child get away with a simple yes or no response. Keep asking until they tell you what really happened. With my son, it sometimes took ten to fifteen questions before I got more than a “yes” or a grunt.

Ask a teacher how you can help out. Running a copy machine is a great gift to offer any teacher. There are always handouts that need to be copied and your spending fifteen minutes at that machine is fifteen minutes more that your child’s teacher has to spend on teaching.

Volunteer to chaperone a field trip or a school event. When my children were in elementary school, my husband was the preferred parent chaperone. My kids enjoyed having Dad tag along on museum trips or science center adventures. My husband was able to meet their friends, have lunch with them, and spend quality time observing the interactions of his son and daughter.

Offer to purchase supplies or materials for the classroom. So many teachers spend their own money to make sure the needs of all of the students in the class are met. This sometimes means buying extra notebooks or scissors or paper. Just making a telephone call to offer this assistance will give you the opportunity to speak to your child’s teacher, and the offer will be greatly appreciated.

Attend Back-to-School night, walk into your child’s classroom, take a look at where he or she sits. Teachers are very willing to share their goals for the school year and talk about what the students will be learning.

Parent involvement in the schools just takes time, and every little bit helps! Here’s to a great school year!

Summer Eating

I know that this might sound strange, but when my kids were younger, I dreaded the end of summer. We had so much fun together that the arrival of August would make me long for the early days of June.

Summer brings a time for special foods. There are always lots of fresh vegetables and fruits, but my son and daughter share my love for good old Maryland steamed crabs. The smell of Old Bay seasoning gets us salivating! When they were both little and in high chairs, I would pick the crab meat for them and place it on the trays of their high chairs. Both of my children quickly acquired the skill to pick crabs, waiting for me to do it for them took way too long!

We would sit out on the patio at a long table covered with newspaper and spread out the feast of several dozen crabs. There the entire family would sit for hours, picking and talking, and talking and picking.

My two babies returned home this summer. Although it was only for a few days, my memories of summers past came flooding back. “When are we having crabs,” my son asked as we began to plan activities for their visit home.

We dug out the mallets, grabbed some newspapers, and called in our order. My son and I went to pick up the little critters, and drove home basking in the aroma of Old Bay. By the time we returned home, the tables had been set up on the patio, paper spread, and ready for the feast.

For the next two hours, we picked those crabs clean. It was just like always, with one slight new change. My granddaughter, Chloe sat in her high chair as my daughter picked small pieces of crabmeat and placed them in her mouth. She would wave her arms and kick her legs indicating that Mommy needed to continue the crab feeding!

As I watched my family, I was so thankful for the time we had had together, but I knew that it would soon be time for them to leave. My “summer,” my visit with my babies, was quickly coming to an end.

They’re all back at their own homes now. Summer vacation has ended for me. But the beautiful thing about summer is that it comes back every year, and I know that soon Miss Chloe will be picking her own crabs!

Summer Amusement

I know that this might sound strange, but when my kids were younger, I dreaded the end of summer. We had so much fun together that the arrival of August would make me long for the early days of June.

Each summer meant a trip to at least one amusement park, and more often than not, it was Hersheypark. We would all hit the sack early the night before. The almost two hour drive and the ritual breakfast stop at Mountaingate restaurant meant that we had to be backing out of the driveway no later than 7am in order to arrive in time for the park’s opening.

Hersheypark was always my favorite of the parks. It was there, at the age of 14 months that my son took his first steps. It was in Hershey that my daughter fell in love with her first roller coaster at the age of five.

With each trip to Hershey, the first on the list of rides was the Comet. My children both loved roller coasters-the front car always being the best seat. Typically after the first ride, they were back in line to do it all over again. We would pry them from the Comet and then move on to the Super Dooper Looper.

They would ride all day long, and we would walk back through the gates as the park was closing. The drive back home would begin with the two of them giggling in the back seat and end with the two of them fast asleep by the time we reached Thurmont.

Both of my babies returned home this summer. Although it was only for a few days, my memories of summers past came flooding back. We took that trip to Hersheypark once again, but this time the back seat held my granddaughter’s car seat.

Scheduled departure time was 7am, as always, and we filled our bellies once again at Mountaingate. Yes, my kids ran right to the roller coasters when we entered the park. They’ve changed a bit since the last time we were there. My “older” babies admitted that Skyrush was a bit tough on their aging systems.

I strolled my granddaughter’s carriage past the place where I held my son’s hand as he took his first steps. I watched my own daughter giggle and run to the line for the roller coasters. It was just like old times, but it wasn’t. I was spending my time gazing at this new little girl. She smiled and giggled on the rides, too. We spent some quality time, just the two of us, amusing ourselves in that amusement park while the "older" kids went riding. Some new traditions were beginning.

As the sun began to set, I started to dread the end of the day. The end of my “summer,” my visit with my babies.

They’re all back at their own homes now. Summer vacation has ended for me. But the beautiful thing about summer is that it comes back every year. We’ve already begun planning next year’s amusement park excursion.

Summer Fun!

I know that this might sound strange, but when my kids were younger, I dreaded the end of summer. We had so much fun together that the arrival of August would make me long for the early days of June.

Summer meant time at the pool. There were times when I firmly believed that both of my children were fish. Hours were spent in the water with brief respites for food and drink. At the end of the day, they would come into the house with water-shriveled fingers and feet.

There were pool parties with cars parked all over the front lawn, and kids running all over the backyard. The volleyball net was set up across the pool and some fierce competition usually began. As the sun set, the pool light came on, tiki torches were lit, and we continued the party into the late night hours.

My son was always known for his cannonball jumps. Much of the pool water would splash out with each one of his jumps. Tiffany, my daughter, was more inclined to do her cartwheels off the deck of the pool. Each child laughed and we all smiled when they hit the water. While my husband grumbled about all the work required to keep that swimming pool in order, I always thought it was one of the best additions to the house that we ever made.

Both of my babies returned home this summer. Although it was only for a few days, my memories of summers past came flooding back. Of course, time in the pool was something they both wanted to put on the agenda for the visit.

This year, my granddaughter was introduced to the pool for the first time. She’s definitely got the swimming gene of her mother and uncle. She splashed and giggled and smiled from ear to ear as she was led around the pool in her floating tube.

My babies, however, have aged. There were no more cannonball jumps into the pool. My son preferred floating on a small raft while quietly sipping a cool beer. My daughter didn’t cartwheel, but rather shrieked at the cold temperature of the water! It was the same pool, but some things had changed.

There was still the splashing in the water, the soft light around the pool in the evening, and the good times spent together, but as I watched them having fun, I began to dread the end of this visit . The end of my “summer,” my time with my babies.

They’re all back at their own homes now. Summer vacation has ended for me. But the beautiful thing about summer is that it comes back every year. My granddaughter, Chloë is beginning swimming lessons and we’re getting ready for next summer’s visit.

This blogpost appeared as my June 2012 column, "The Empty Nest," in the Frederick News Post.

America and her spacious skies

I teach foreign languages, so I spend a great deal of time talking about life in other countries. I show pictures of beautiful places and share information about cultures that are very different from our own. There is almost always a student in the class who raises his or her hand and asks “Mrs. Jarman, why are you still living in the U.S.? Why don’t you move to Europe?”

I guess it’s because I love all of the land that is the U.S., “from the mountains to the prairies, to the oceans white with foam.” I love the wide open spaces that are part of my home. What many of my students do not realize is that the large majority of Europeans live in apartments and in cities. The United States is a sizeable country; we’ve got lots of space. There’s plenty of room to spread out. Of course, that space has facilitated urban sprawl, but it sure is nice to stretch out.

There are times when I like to ride to Harpers Ferry or up to Greenbriar State Park and just take a nice quiet stroll, hike a trail, or wander down the C & O Canal towpath. I like deserted, quiet streets. It’s peaceful and pleasant.

My daughter and son-in-law live in The Netherlands, one of the world’s most densely populated countries. It’s difficult to find deserted, quiet streets to stroll down. There are parks and many beautiful places, but solitude can be difficult to come by.

I love to drive down highways in Arizona and Nevada and to be in the only car on the road. I like to roll down the window and sing at the top of my lungs and know that no one will hear me. Sometimes I’ll pull over on the side of the road and gaze out at the wide open space, the beauty of the mountains and the red sky as the sun sets over the peaks. I love those spacious skies!

When we were living in Texas years ago, I used to love to drive the car on the beach. We could sit out on the roof of the car and watch the waves roll in. Many times it was quiet and peaceful because we were the only ones on the beach!

I like big parking lots with lots of space to park my car, neighborhoods with big yards, school yards with lots of sports fields and playgrounds. I like space and I am blessed to live in a country that has so much wide open, beautiful space.

America, the beautiful!

America The Big

I teach foreign languages, so I spend a great deal of time talking about life in other countries. I show pictures of beautiful places and share information about cultures that are very different from our own. There is almost always a student in the class who raises his or her hand and asks “Mrs. Jarman, why are you still living in the U.S.? Why don’t you move to Europe?”

The truth is that I wouldn’t fit in so well in Europe, partly because I am American. I’m big, not just in size, but in thought and in deeds. If I want to show my school spirit or team spirit, I can be loud. I have my purple flamingos in my backyard and my light-up Ravens player out in front of the house during football season to show my team pride. There’s also a lot of Oriole paraphernalia in the yard during baseball season. I’m loud about my teams! We have Raven and Oriole shirts, hats, key rings, chairs, cups, glasses…yes, all of those capitalist/consumerism society necessities! It’s American.

I like my tacky, slightly obnoxious holiday decorations. We have decorated trees, bears, toys, even decorated decorations at Christmas. Some homes here in the U.S. have huge air-filled creatures hovering over front yards to celebrate Christmas and other holidays. Most Europeans haven’t discovered the joys of Halloween, and we go crazy over it! Pumpkins, orange flowers, ghosts, goblins, fairies, and monsters decorate homes everywhere.

I love shopping in nice, big stores that offer every gadget that I could possibly imagine. I like big shopping carts to carry all of the big items I plan to purchase and decorate my house with! There are stores over-stocked with an unlimited selection of a multitude of items.

We have our McMansions that have more bedrooms than most families will ever need. And heaven knows that we Americans love our big cars. You don’t see many Jeeps or pick-up trucks cruising down the highways in Europe

And we’re loud! We like loud music, loud announcements…go into a restaurant in any city in Europe and odds are that the loudest clients are American. We want people to know that we’re here!

When my friend, Martine, arrived to spend two weeks in the U.S. with us several years ago, she looked at the houses and the cars and some of the people and remarked “Everything is so big here in America.” She’s right, we’re big, we’re bold, and we’re American!

America, Land of Opportunity

I teach foreign languages, so I spend a great deal of time talking about life in other countries. I show pictures of beautiful places and share information about cultures that are very different from our own. There is almost always a student in the class who raises his or her hand and asks “Mrs. Jarman, why are you still living in the U.S.? Why don’t you move to Europe?”

With a smile on my face, I usually answer that I don’t move because I am American. Of course, there are those times when I travel and see American tourists behaving as if everything that happens in Europe will stay in Europe. I cringe when I see fellow Americans who don’t understand that they represent every American to most Europeans.

I remember speaking to a group of French high school students who were exceptionally well-behaved even though I had been warned by the teachers that there were some behavior problem students in the class. The students gushed that they had never met a “real” American before. They had only seen images from sitcoms and other U.S. television broadcasts.

I’m happen to be very proud to be American. I’m proud to be part of a culture that encourages individuality. Be the best that you can be. I’m part of a culture that embraces the idea that if I work hard enough, I can achieve my dreams; a culture that offers second chances.

In many European school systems, students are tracked around the eighth grade. Based on academic performance, students are funneled into programs that are geared towards future university study or preparation for administrative or manual work forces. If you are tracked for university, your tuition is paid for by the government when you enter college. Many American students envy their European counterparts as they struggle to find ways to finance a college degree.

Yes, tuition is paid for, if you get there. But when I think about many of my students who in ninth, tenth, or even eleventh grade are still not sure what they want to do after high school, I worry about what would happen if they were tracked in eighth grade. It doesn’t leave much room for exploration and consideration of other possibilities. And late-bloomers are certainly not going to have many opportunities in European school systems.

The beauty of being American is that we are all so very different, and that makes us so interesting…and so special!

This blogpost appeared as my monthly column, The Empty Nest, in the Frederick News Post on July 1, 2012.

Travel is for Learning French

June, the beginning of summer, means time off of school for my students and the opportunity for travel. Mark Twain once said, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime”

I teach languages, so travel is often necessary for my students to really have practical applications for their learning. One of my Shepherd University students approached me last spring about such a learning experience. I had mentioned in class that I have a very dear friend in France who is active in the management of the Cannes Film Festival. Bryan is a communications major and approached me about an internship at Cannes.

In all honesty, I didn’t know if there was an internship program, so I contacted my friend, Richard. Sure enough, the festival hires many, and Richard encouraged me to have Bryan apply. Together, Bryan and I worked on his cover letter and resume. It was all in French, so it was a very practical application of his classroom learning.

In March, we learned that Bryan had been accepted as an intern. Not only had he been accepted, but he was the first American student that the French had ever hired for an internship! Bryan left for France in early May and for what we both agreed would be a once in a lifetime learning opportunity.

I was able to visit with Bryan in Cannes during the second week of the festival. When I arrived, I was greeted by a well-dressed, well-versed young man who just happened to be my student. Bryan gave me a grand tour of the festival facilities sharing with me all that he had learned about the film industry…and our entire discussion was in French! He had flourished in the festival setting, and his French had progressed dramatically.

At lunch, Bryan shared with me his cultural observations. The French did lots of things differently, and Bryan was able to see the good and the bad in how things were done in France. He shared with me stories of people he had met during his adventures there, while he struggled with the language, and had learned to trust his own judgment and to know that he could get himself through the strange situations he had managed to find himself in.

This year, Bryan left his little corner of earth and his world perspective had indeed changed and grown. Travel had changed him.

Be sure to find some time to travel this summer!

Travel can be life changing

June, the beginning of summer, means time off of school for my students and the opportunity for travel. Mark Twain once said “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.”

Every two years, I travel with a group of my students to Europe. In 2007, I accompanied a group of 42 students and parents. One of my students, Scott, was taken by the France and the French. He used the language he had learned in the classroom and absorbed other language and culture like a sponge. It was such fun for me to watch Scott as he experienced all things French. The trip was his first exposure to Europe, and he was loving it!

In the fall of that year, Scott was off to college and by the spring semester, he let me know that he had decided to declare French as a major at college. Scott was excelling in his French classes and was eager to learn as much as he could. He shared stories with me about literature classes and art classes. The next obvious step for him was to consider a study abroad program. During his sophomore year at college, Scott began to look at his options.

Because our summer trip had been predominantly to the Normandy region of France, Scott decided that he would really like to study at a university in that region. His advisor ultimately found him a university in the city of Caen. Scott would be spending the fall semester of his junior year in Caen.

As he prepared for his adventure in France, I knew that Scott would take advantage of any opportunity that came his way during his semester abroad. He opted for a home stay instead of taking up residency in one of the university’s housing facilities. Scott was afraid that if he stayed in university housing that he might spend more time speaking English than speaking French.

Throughout the course of his stay, I received messages from Scott telling me about new things that he had tried and places that he had visited. He shared stories of people he met from all over the world. And his French language was improving by leaps and bounds.

I was able to visit with Scott during the Christmas holidays after his return from France. While we ate, I observed a young man who had changed. His world view had expanded and the French culture had become part of him. He had left his little corner of the earth for a while and returned a changed person who now understood that throughout the world we’re all different, but we’re all the same.

Take some time to travel this summer, leave your corner of the earth and come home changed!

Travel Is About Learning

Welcome, June! It’s the beginning of summer and that means time off of school for my students. That also means that there is time for travel. Mark Twain once said, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.”

I like to encourage my students to travel. It opens their eyes and broadens their perspectives. Each year, I travel to New York City with my French Club students. We take the bus into the city bright and early on a Saturday morning. I plan some sort of excursion; a visit to a museum, a trip to Ground Zero. I believe that travel should be a learning experience.

But it’s the free-time events that offer the greatest learning experiences for my students. Typically we arrive in the city around 11:30 and my guided itinerary goes until about 2pm. It’s then that I totally lose my mind and offer them free time. Rules are they must be in groups of three or more and with a cell phone. On the bus ride to New York, I gather a list of who will be with whom and the number of a cell phone that will be with each group.

I instruct them about the numbered and lettered grid that is midtown Manhattan, and in Times Square, I set them free. Rules are no farther north than 52nd Street, no farther south than 40th Street. The eastern border is 5th Avenue and the border to the west is 8th Avenue. Then I sit and wait.

Sometimes there aren’t any calls at all. Sometimes I get a call that the group is lost. I tell them to walk to the next street corner and tell me what the road signs say. A short walk to the next intersection gives me a good idea of the direction in which they are headed, and I can guide them to the designated bus pick up.

During free time, they shop and eat. They watch the people and experience a city much larger than Thurmont! And they grow. My students learn that life outside their home town is different and exciting. Sometimes they will take souvenirs to family members, sometimes they’ll buy post cards. But they always take stories home. Stories about what they did and what they saw. They leave their little corner of the earth and return changed. Just like Mark Twain said.

Be sure to take some time this summer to travel and see how you will grow!


This blog post appeared as my June 3, 2012, column "The Empty Nest" in the Frederick News Post.

My Kooky Mom

This blog post was written by my daughter, Tiffany Jarman Jansen, about me in honor of Mother's Day.

My mom is in no way like your normal, everyday mom.

When my brother and I were little, she used to write notes that she’d slip into our lunchboxes saying “I love you, have a great day.” My brother and I had no doubts about my mother’s love for us. She told us about it every chance she got.

If my mom laughs, you can hear it from miles away. Once, I was waiting for my mom to come pick me up. All of the sudden, there’s this cackling coming from down the hall. The acquaintance next to me turns and says “Your mom’s here.”

She insisted on taking us to and picking us up from school every day all the way up until we had our driver’s licenses. My brother and I quickly learned that this meant getting to school at least five minutes late and having to wait another five minutes after everyone else had left to be picked up.

My mom has always had a hand in everything: the Parent-Teacher Association, taking part in community theaters, volunteering at school, leading our scouting troops, horseback riding, teaching. You name it, my mother did it. She was always going and often had so much on her mind that she ended up forgetting it all.

Our home was always a zoo. We had ferrets, cats, dogs, birds, hermit crabs, gerbils, hamsters, fish, horses, lizards. She even tried to sneak a pot-bellied pig into the house once. Needless to say, it didn’t work. My dad found out pretty quickly. Though he wasn’t happy about it, she was able to convince him to let the pig stick around.

Each holiday has its own distinct wardrobe: socks, jumpers, t-shirts, sweaters, sweatshirts, and even jewelry for everything from Christmas and Halloween to Mardi Gras and Saint Patrick’s Day. And the house was to be decorated to the extreme for each one. There’s a separate box in the attic devoted to every holiday imaginable.

When my brother began dinner conversation by asking what “cum” was, my mother very calmly turned to my father and said, “I’ll hand this one over to you” then continued to serve as my father explained.

She has a group of friends who happen to be drag queens and is almost always off at one of their shows. My mom is actually so dedicated to her gay friends that she started a PFLAG (Parents, Families & Friends of Lesbians and Gays) chapter in my hometown.

Observant is most certainly not one of the words you would use to describe my mother. My brother and I still laugh over the first time she used a digital camera. After taking the photo, she took a look at the screen to admire her work. “Oh, it says something,” she said, squinting at the camera as she put her reading glasses on. She took another look and said, “Picture is blurred? What does that mean?” Um… I don’t know, Mom. Maybe that the picture is blurred?

Everyone loves my mom. All my friends envied me my cool and eccentric mother. And me? Well, I was just plain embarrassed most of the time. Of course I loved her – she was my mom, after all. But her presence sometimes made me want to crawl into a hole.
As I got older, my mother became my best friend. We did so much together and told each other practically everything. She was there for me in good times and in bad. She supported everything I involved myself in and was proud of everything I touched. While my friends and their mothers argued and generally did not get along, my mom and I were doing things together and loving every moment.

Of course there were things about her that drive me bonkers. Like her as-long-as-your-father-finds-me-attractive-I-don’t-care-what-I-look-like attitude or the fact that you can still hear everything my mother says from all the way on the other side of the street. Or how she yells into the telephone like the person on the other end won’t hear her otherwise.
But those are just some of the little things that make her who she is: the kooky mom that every girl wants to have as her best friend. I’m glad that I’m the one who gets that mom. And I hope that someday I’ll get to be that mom to someone else.

Mama knows best

Frederick News-Post 05/06/2012 Mama knows best IN HONOR OF MOTHER’S DAY, I want to share something my daughter wrote: When I was younger, I would fall and skin my knee or get in trouble at school or be teased. No matter what happened, my mom always knew how to make it better.It could be a kiss or a hug or a pep talk or a hot chocolate. Whatever it was, it always worked and, before you knew it, I was back up and on the go. I remember back before I left for college. All of my things had been packed and arrangements had been made with my future roommate as to who was responsible for bringing what to “furnish” our dormitory. That evening, I found myself curled up in bed, sobbing with grief. This was the beginning of a new period in my life. Which meant I was leaving another period of my life behind. Gone were the days of the security of having my brother right next door and my parents across the hall. Gone were the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches my mother packed in my lunch every day since I was in elementary school. Gone were the days of set schedules and Dad taking on the role of human alarm clock. I felt an overwhelming sadness and an odd sense of guilt. And I was afraid. I was afraid of growing up; moving on, leaving. So I did the one thing I knew would make everything all right again. I went to my mommy. And she knew how to make it better. During my college years, I suffered from an eating disorder. For more than a year, I kept my suffering a secret.My mom knew that something was wrong, but she didn'’t know what. So she couldn'’t fix it. And I could see that it was killing her. One night, after a particularly bad day, I started to get really warm. I was driving home in the middle of November and, even with the windows down and the air conditioning on, I was sweating. About halfway home, my left arm started to go numb and I could feel myself getting dizzy. It was then that I realized how deep I’d sunk and vowed that I wouldn’'t let myself continue down this path. With all the will I could muster, I made it home, pulled into the driveway and dragged myself to the door. Too weak and scared to open the door myself, I rang the doorbell. Moments later, there she was, taking me in her arms and leading me inside. And she knew how to make it better. The years went by and I soon found myself stepping into my wedding gown. I’d found the love of my life and could not wait to start a life with him. I had been so caught up in the preparations for both the wedding and my upcoming move to his home in the Netherlands that it wasn'’t until I was being laced into my dress that I realized the severity of the path I'’d chosen. Not only was I leaving what had been my home for so many years, I was also leaving behind my language, my country, my culture, my friends and, most of all, my family. I didn'’t want to leave, but I knew that I needed to be with the man I’d given my heart to. But this time, when I reached out to my mother, she didn'’t know what to do. Her baby girl, her best friend, was leaving her. Though she knew this time would come, no amount of visualizing or fabricated scenarios could have prepared her for this moment. So we stood there and held each other and cried. Whether it’s advice, a chat, a shopping trip, a cookie baking session or to wipe my tears and tell me that everything will be OK, there are still times when I need my mommy. And I hope there always will be. My daughter, Tiffany Jarman Jansen, is a mom now, too. Her daughter, Chloe, will be 5 months old on Wednesday. Tiffany and her family reside in Amersfoort, The Netherlands. Lois Jarman writes from Knoxville. She teaches in the Frederick County Public Schools and at Frederick Community College, and has a blog, Mom’s Ponderings, at http://momsponderings.blogs pot.com.

Dumb and Dumber

In honor of April Fool’s Day, I’ve been reflecting on situations in which I or members of my family have recently found ourselves. April first isn’t the only day of the year to be foolish as is evidenced with us!

A while back, my daughter was teaching an adult tap class at a local dance studio. I decided to enroll because I thought it would be fun for us to spend the extra time together. She was a great dance teacher, and class was always fun.

On one particular night, I was following her home after class. We had both stopped at a red traffic light. I’m not sure exactly what I was thinking, but as soon as I saw my daughter start through the light, I followed. As I was passing the light, I glanced up and saw that it was still red! Shocked that we had both run a red light, I grabbed my cell phone and called my daughter.

“Did you realize that we both just ran a red light?” I asked her. “Are you serious?” was her shocked response. We talked about it and came to the conclusion that she had seen the green arrow light in the next lane change and just figured our light had changed. We giggled about it, and I confessed to her that I had done the same thing a few years back.

I hung up and we continued on our drive home. We were on Route 340 heading west when I noticed out of my rearview mirror three police cars flying down the highway. They were obviously in hot pursuit of something.

The next thing I knew one of those cars had gone past me and in front of my daughter’s car. The second was in the lane next to us, and the third was right behind me. They were in hot pursuit of US! My daughter and I quickly pulled over to the side of the road.

The officer from the rear car approached my vehicle and said that we had been seen running a red light in Frederick. “It’s true!” I said. “My daughter’s dumb and I’m dumber!” I then explained what had happened. The officer went to confer with the other two police officers. I sat in my car trying to figure out what on earth was going on!

The officer returned to my car and told me that they were pursuing a drug ring operation and the two vehicles running the red light was seen as suspicious. But since my daughter had the same story about the traffic incident, they decided to let us go…with the warning that we not run any red lights in the future.

Now whenever I am following anyone I always check the traffic light first before following in pursuit. Being caught in this foolish situation taught me a lesson!

This blog ran as my column, "The Empty Nest" in the Frederick News Post on Sunday April 1, 2012.

Open mouth, insert foot

In honor of April Fool’s Day, I’ve been reflecting on situations that I or members of my family have recently found ourselves in. April first isn’t the only day of the year to be foolish as is evidenced with the Jarman family!

While my son was serving on a Coast Guard Cutter stationed in New England, the ship was sent on a mission to the Caribbean. He shared a sea story from this cruise with us at dinner recently. As the crew members were sailing off of the coast of Cape Hatteras, my son was on the ship’s bridge. He was joined there by the ship’s Operations Officer, Executive Officer, and Commanding Officer. Tim said that the sailing was a bit rough as weather conditions off the cape were somewhat ominous but the steady hands of the crew guided the ship safely through the storm

Once they had navigated through the rough waters and made it south to the Caribbean the cutter crew completed a successful mission at sea. About four weeks later, they set sail to return to their home port.

As they were just off the coast of Cape Hatteras on the return trip, the situation was identical to that of the original journey. Ominous weather conditions and the same gentlemen were standing watch on the bridge-my son, operations, executive officer, and commander. Noticing these similar conditions, my son decided to break the silence in the room and comment on the situation.

“I guess you could say that this is a real ménage à trois,” he said smiling. His commanding officers apparently looked at him questioningly, so he decided to clarify his statement. It was obvious to him that they did not know their French. “You know, when something happens and it feels like you’ve been there before.”

After a few minutes-I suppose they were too stunned to speak-the operations officer said to my son, “We think you mean a déjà vu.” Tim said that the ship has a log book to keep record of events that occur on board during missions. He’s certain that this event was recorded in the ship’s log book.

I suppose I’m proud of my son for sharing the story. I’m not sure many other young people would! And I am also eternally grateful that he did not tell those men that his mother teaches French!

Sometimes if we speak before we think, we wind up in rather foolish situations. Lesson learned for my son was to check for accuracy before speaking!

Boys will be Boys

It has not been a difficult winter, but all the same, I’m anxious for spring. Spring makes everything come alive again. What is old seems new. It’s such a beautiful time of year.

I’ve recently had the opportunity to watch my husband rejuvenate, but then again, I often catch him acting like a child. On this particular occasion, we had just finished our shopping at Sam’s Club and were on our way to the parking lot.

Now I must start out by telling you that every year on his birthday, my husband promises me that he’s going to grow up. The problem is that he’s never delivered on that promise. The trip to Sam’s Club was a case in point. As he does on every trip to Sam’s, my husband began to play scooter-shopping cart as soon as we cleared the exit from the store.

He typically pushes off and rides the cart to our parked vehicle, and this time was no different. Off he scooted like a ten-year old. What was different this time was the agonizing yelp that he let out after a few attempts to push start. To my horror, my husband was hunched over grasping his calf.

I ran to him to see if I could help. Sure enough, he had torn some muscle or ligament and was struggling to walk. He hobbled to the car and we managed to get him in the front seat. At home, we iced him up and instead of letting me call the doctor, he was online trying to self-diagnose his injury. Not exactly the mature thing to do.

He convinced himself that it was a muscle tear or a bad sprain. I was able to get him to take some anti-inflammatory medication, and fortunately he fell asleep. My “little boy” was resting peacefully, but I wanted to hit him over the head.

The night before he was to fly a trip to London, he woke up in the middle of the night to “practice” his walking. He didn’t want passengers to see their captain walking with a limp. So he bit his lip and walked, telling me with each step that “it really doesn’t hurt that bad. I think I can do this. Do I look normal?” Well, that was a loaded question!

He flew the trip to London and hobbled back home a few days later.

My husband limped around on that sore muscle for weeks. He refused to go to the doctor. He’d be fine. His calf just needed some time to heal. Last week, we had to stop at Sam’s Club to pick up a few things. On our way to the parking lot, I looked my husband in the eye as he pushed the cart out the door and said, “Don’t you dare.”

“I promise you that I will grow up,” he said. “One day.” He’s still in the spring of his life! So as my bulbs push their way up through the ground, as the temperature gets warmer and warmer each day, I eagerly await the adventures that we have ahead of us this spring, me and “my boy!”

My "little boy!"

It has not been a difficult winter, but all the same, I’m anxious for spring. Spring makes everything come alive again. The old becomes new. It’s such a beautiful time of year.

I often have the opportunity to watch my husband behave like a young boy, still living in the spring of his life. He is young again whenever he walks in the front door after being away for several days and is greeted by our “baby,” our four-year old Beagle, Belle. Sometimes she will start her yelping and crying as soon as she sees his car turn the corner and head down the driveway. But the act is definitely in full swing when my husband walks in the front door.

That’s when I see the little boy with his best friend, his dog. Belle will roll over on her back and my husband will kneel down to rub her belly. “That’s my girl,” he’ll say to her. “Did you miss me?”

I watch him play like a little boy each morning after he’s read the newspaper. He’ll crouch down on the floor with one of Belle’s favorite toys. They’ll roll around and I listen to him laugh like a child. My wonderful husband, and the boy in his heart.

Yes, he’s the “boy” who snuggles in bed each night with his best friend. Not me, mind you, but that little tri-colored dog who has stolen his heart. She wiggles between us nuzzles her head near my husband. When we first got married, I was told that a bed wasn’t a place for a dog. If you talk to my husband now, he’ll tell you that Belle really isn’t a dog. She’s our child, our baby!

Sometimes when he’s talking to our “other” children, he’ll refer to Belle as their little sister! My son takes particular offense to this.

When my wonderful husband takes me out to dinner, he is quick to ask the waiter or waitress for a carry-out box. “We have a special dog at home,” he’ll tell the server. As soon as his plate arrives, he slices off pieces of meat to take home to “the baby.” Once we even went through the drive-thru window at a fast food restaurant to order a hamburger for her, a peace offering because we had been gone for a long while. “No condiments or bun,” he told the cashier, “just the meat, it’s for my dog!” I still wonder to this day what that young person must have thought!

A boy’s best friend is his dog, and my “boy” is living proof. He promises me that “one day” he’ll grow up, but I think we’re forever stuck in spring. Not a bad place to be…which reminds me, I need to order my mulch!

This blog ran as my column, "The Empty Nest" in the Frederick News Post on Sunday March 4, 2012.

Springtime Grandfather

It has not been a difficult winter, but all the same, I’m anxious for spring. Spring makes everything come alive again. The old becomes new. It’s such a beautiful time of year.

I’ve recently had the opportunity to watch my husband rejuvenate, to step back into the spring of life. Our first grandchild was born in December, and it has been a blessing to observe my husband once again at play. The last time we babysat, he was lying on the floor with Chloë and showing her some of her toys. It didn’t matter that these toys made sound on their own, my husband was playing master of creating sound effects. The baby’s huge grin gave him all the more reason to continue his entertainment.

After he went through his repertoire of sound effects, he began singing. Now, my husband doesn’t sing just any old songs. He’s known in the family for his creativity with lyrics. I heard him singing that night about beautiful Chloë, the best princess. The more she smiled, the more he sang.

Then he scooped her up into his arms, kissed her cheeks, and gazed at her with such loving eyes. The memories of those scenes with our two children came flooding back. My husband, father of our children, is now a doting grandfather, and he is quick to recall those skills that he once used.

He helps with Chloë’s bath and her feedings. He reads her bedtime stories. He even sat with her for quite some time watching Sesame Street. My little boy was as enthralled as my little granddaughter!

He’s got that spark in his eyes whenever he mentions Miss Chloë to people. “She’s so advanced,” he’ll gush. He carries pictures of her with him so that he can show anyone he happens to meet on the street his beautiful granddaughter.

His step is lighter, he’s playful and laughing. I see in him all of the wonderful qualities that I saw when we were much younger. He’s the boyfriend who used to help me when I was babysitting during our college years. He’s the young father who wanted to play an active role in the raising of his children. He’s the little boy at play.

He is again the wonderful “young” man that I fell in love with over thirty years ago. When I catch him in childish behavior, I always get the promise that he’ll grow up…”one day.” But I love the boy. I love his crazy playfulness, the spark in his eye, this “springtime” in life.

But as I reflect on spring, I am suddenly reminded that the mulch will be delivered soon. There’s work to be done. Methinks that upon mentioning yard work, the “springtime” husband will suddenly retreat into winter. The old back, you know. And he’s not as young as he once was! Ah, spring!

Global Babysitting

I’ll admit that when my children were growing up I would often think about my future days as a grandmother. I envisioned Sunday afternoon dinners at the house when all of the kiddies would gather around the table with me. It was that way when I was growing up; the Sunday ritual of my grandmother surveying her tribe. Yup…that’s what I thought would happen. But things change, times change.

I was reading recently about the type of grandmother I am. I fit into the category of “global grandparent.” There’s actually a book about this new phenomenon, “How To Be A Global Grandparent.” My grandbaby lives on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean and so my experience is different.

As a child, my number one babysitter was my grandmother. When my parents needed someone to look after us, there were no questions asked. We were off to grandmother’s house. Well, getting Miss Chloe to my house so that her parents can go out for a romantic evening alone is not likely to happen! They’d have to take two days just to transport her back and forth. But with our work schedules and my husband’s airline employee benefits, grandparent babysitting is still a global possibility for us! Thank heavens!

We recently had our first babysitting experience. For a belated anniversary present we promised my daughter and son-in-law a nice dinner out with babysitting service provided. Now the actual babysitting experience was not out of the norm. Before they left, the nervous parents showed us where all the supplies were for feeding time and bath time. My daughter even left an instruction sheet on how to bathe an infant! Like I had no experience!!! After five or six, “oh, and don’t forget to do this..” the nervous new parents FINALLY left!

Then it was just the three of us! We were in heaven! Two middle-aged adults cooing and making faces for an obviously quite entertained little one. There was her feeding and then her bath time. It all seemed like old times, and everything came back so easily and naturally.

What seemed a bit unnatural about the experience was that the day prior we had taken an eight-hour overnight flight from New York to Amsterdam. The Dutch language on all of the baby products made me quite cautious with lotions and powders. The metric measurements on everything required some math and some thought! Although I am getting a little better on the weekly weight and length reports. The first time my daughter told me that my granddaughter weighed almost 3700 grams, I thought she must me a huge baby! Well, the math said that she was a little over seven pounds, but as a global grandparent, I had to do the math!

The world is becoming smaller and smaller every day, and global grandparenting will no doubt become more common place. I just count my blessings every day that we have airline benefits so that global babysitting can occur! I think it’s now one of my favorite activities.

Grandparenting Language Barriers

I’ll admit that when my children were growing up I would often think about my future days as a grandmother. I envisioned holding my grandbabies on my lap and just chatting. When I was small there was nothing like a good talk on grandma’s lap. Yup…that’s what I thought would happen. But things change, times change.

I was reading recently about the type of grandmother I am. I fit into the category of “global grandparent.” There’s actually a book about this new phenomenon, “How To Be A Global Grandparent.” My grandbaby lives on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean and so my experience is different.

Now I realize that there have always been generation gaps. My grandmother had trouble with words like “groovy” and “peace out.“ But the language barrier that I might be living with is a real language barrier, My granddaughter lives in a country where a completely different language is spoken, one that I know very little of.

So it could be that when these chats I dream about occur I won’t understand a thing! And when I mumble words of my English language to my beautiful Miss Chloe, she might think that I’m an old woman who can’t speak intelligibly and has completely lost her mind (well, that’s not too far from the truth!), because she won’t understand me.

It’s becoming abundantly obvious that this old dog must learn some new tricks. So I’m beginning to practice my Dutch. I have learned goedemorgen (hello) and dankuwel (thank you) and that B is een bier. (and that’s “B is for bear”-my 25-year old son got all excited thinking we had found a children’s book about beer!).

I’ve also been trying to learn about the Dutch culture which is now part of my granddaughter’s heritage. I’ve tried eating many of the foods that she’ll be eating so that we can at some point discuss culinary likes and dislikes. I’m learning that Christmas is not as big a holiday as Sinterklaas, St. Nicolas Day. I’m not sure how my husband’s deeply-rooted southern family will feel upon learning that in the Netherlands, St. Nicolas’s helper is a black boy named Zwarte Piet (Black Pete) and that Dutch children wear black-face make-up during the holiday pretending to be their favorite character, Piet.

This “global” family situation will be a great learning opportunity for the entire family. Sharing languages and cultures. It truly is a small world after all.

Global Grandparenting

I will admit that when my children were growing up I would often think about my future days as a grandmother. I envisioned Sunday afternoon dinners at the house when all of the kiddies would gather around the table with me. It was that way when I was growing up; the Sunday ritual of my grandmother surveying her tribe. Yup…that’s what I thought would happen. But things change, times change.

I was reading recently about the type of grandmother I am. I fit into the category of “global grandparent.” There’s actually a book about this new phenomenon, “How To Be A Global Grandparent.” My grandbaby lives on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean and so my experience is different.

With modern 21st century technology, however, I am able to visit with Miss Chloe four or five times a week. We visit via the computer technology, Skype. Skype is a computer program that lets you see the person you are speaking with online. On any given day, if you come to the house between 10am and 2pm, you are likely to find me and Tim visiting with Chloe. In fact, we’ve seen Chloe almost every day since she was born.

We’ve been dubbed the “flat people.” Yes, we’re rather one-dimensional. Miss Chloe is accustomed to see her grandparents on a computer screen. During our most recent “real” visit, Tim said that the expression on Chloe’s face was her reaction to seeing the flat people in 3D.

While this modern technology is simply amazing, it is still not good enough. I can’t count the number of times that I have reached out to touch that baby, only to be disappointed by the feel of the screen. And yes, I have kissed that cold hard screen many times just wishing that it could be the real thing.

But it does help. It’s the medium that my daughter and son-in-law used to date. It’s difficult to go out on the weekend when your date lives almost five thousand miles away. It’s the medium that my husband and I will use to visit regularly with our granddaughter. Email, Facebook, Skype--they are all the tools for global daters and global grandparents. It’s how we make things work, and work they must.

It’s not exactly the grandparenting I had envisioned many years ago, but it’s the grandparenting I live. And I am thrilled to be a grandparent. So on any afternoon, I can still look out at my tribe, it’s just different.

New Year's Resolutions

I don’t typically make New Year’s resolutions. My experience has been that by February 1st they are long forgotten. This year, however, might be slightly different.

As I was holding my beautiful granddaughter for the first time and gazing down at her perfect face, I envisioned her first day of school, her first piano recital or horseback riding competition, her first date, the driver’s license…And I realized how much I wanted to be a part of those events. So I did the math…to see her graduate from high school, I have to make it to roughly 68. College graduation would add another four years, putting me at 72. A wedding might bump me up to 75.

Suddenly good health became the item of the day. I need to turn this 51-year old body around! I’ve been putting off the dreaded colonoscopy. And on the flight home from seeing that baby for the first time, I read an article about diabetes and it’s rise in the United States. So I guess I might want to have some blood work done at my next physical. Each year, the doctor tells me that I’m healthy and good to go, but I think we need to work on healthier. Healthier might make those high numbers like 75 look more realistic!

I’m thinking about pulling the old tennis rackets out of the garage. It’s been a few years since hubby and I have played, but it might do us some good. Next on my list is a good pair of walking shoes. Those strolls along the C&O towpath might have to turn into power walks now so I can get my heart rate up and get a good work out. My son keeps telling me to run with him, but I don’t think that I want to be that healthy!

I’ve been trying to put more fruits and vegetables into our diet. I keep telling my husband that we need our five to seven daily servings. As much as I dislike the “flavorlessness” of water, I might just have to start suffering, and give up my diet Coke. Well, maybe not completely give it up, but I could add more water. I can just pinch my nose when I drink it and pretend!

It’ll be tough, I know, but seeing my princess walk down the aisle in about twenty-five or thirty years could make it all worthwhile. We thought about calling out for Chinese tonight…maybe we should do a salad. Posting Chloë’s picture on the fridge might serve as motivation. It’s worth a try!

It’ll have to stay up there beyond February 1st though if this thing is going to work out!

This blog post ran as my column post for "The Empty Nest" in the Frederick News Post on Sunday January 1, 2012

A New Gift

Each new year, it’s fun to start off with something new. A new dress, a new pair of shoes. This year, I start with the gift of a new baby. My beautiful granddaughter arrived December 9th and we were thrilled to finally meet her on Friday the 23rd-just two days before Christmas. What a gift!

No, I don’t think I’ll be exchanging this gift. She’s perfect. Ten beautiful fingers, ten beautiful toes, two amazing eyes, and a perfect little nose. She looks just the way that I hoped she would. Gorgeous! And she’s the right size, too! Small enough to squeeze into my carry-on luggage when I try to smuggle her away from her parents! While I’ll admit that I was terribly tempted to try the whole smuggling thing, I passed on the opportunity!

But I did spend some time with my new gift before, during, and after Christmas. I must admit that this particular gift was one that I couldn’t take my eyes off of, and one that I just wanted to hold and look at. Barbra Streisand sings a holiday song called “The Best Gift.” It’s about the best gift being a new born child, and she’s absolutely right!

Now with every gift at the New Year come resolutions about its proper use. I plan to “use” my gift as often as I possibly can. I’ll use her to play games with, to read to, and to talk to. I’ll certainly take lots of pictures of my new gift. In fact, I’ve taken quite a few already. Then there will be quiet times with my new gift when I will just hold her and cuddle her. I have so much to look forward to!

This gift will also be used in another way as I watch my granddaughter’s mother. I think that those moments might be an even more precious gift; watching the little girl whom I raised to raise her own.

When my daughter laughs out loud because her daughter smiles or does something silly -that will be a gift for me. I’ll remember the times when she and I did the same things. I’ll recall how her hair smelled when I drew her into my arms for a big hug. Reliving those special moments through my own daughter’s eyes will be a real gift.

When I watch my daughter tuck her precious one into bed, I’ll celebrate my gift. I’ll know that my baby is experiencing the joy of motherhood. In those brief moments, I’ll recall my own wonder as I watched my babies sleep; the peaceful breathing, and the look of contentment.

So my gift will be quite special in the coming year. I know that she will bring me the same joy all year long that she did that morning I first laid eyes on her. The bonus of my gift will be sharing the joy of motherhood with my own daughter. The miracle of birth, the miracle of a mother’s love, the best gift of the year to me!

The Great Anticipation

Even though she wasn’t due to arrive until December 15th, our little princess decided to make her debut a bit early and appeared on the 9th. Our plans had been made to meet her on the 22nd, and due to some prior commitments, we decided not to change our original plans.

The morning of the 22nd, I was filled with great anticipation! I could not wait to see her face, to touch her hand, to hear her voice. But the fates would not allow us to easily reach our goal.

Due to board a 12:55 flight to Detroit, we were arrived at the gate only to find out that the flight had been delayed. Finally, taking the two last seats on the plane, we stowed our bags and took our seats. I anxiously looked at my watch several times. What could be delaying us?

It was then that the captain came on the PA system and announced that we were “overweight.” Too much fuel had been loaded on the aircraft. The solution was to burn off some fuel on the tarmac. So we sat and sat while the engines revved and revved. Finally, after almost two hours, we took off. We arrived too late for our connecting flight to Amsterdam and had to take a later flight. The time just crawled by!

Finally, we boarded the plane, only to find out that our departure would be delayed by thirty minutes because of an airport curfew. I kept thinking that my baby girl would be finishing her first year of college before I ever saw her!

I slept a few hours on the flight, too anxious and too excited to really rest. As soon as I could, I called my daughter after we landed. She said that the baby had had a rough night and that they were in the midst of a feeding, would it be possible for us to take the train to Amersfoort! Another delay!

We bought our train tickets and waited for what seemed like an eternity for the train to arrive. The forty minute train ride felt like it took forty days. My son-in-law met us at the end of the train platform and led us to their parked car. No baby, and no daughter. They were back at the house. Bram told me it was less than a ten minute car ride to the house, but it seemed like ten hours.

As he pulled up to the curb in front of the house, I don’t even think he had the keys out of the ignition, I was out of the car and on my way to the front door!

I rang the bell, and then impatiently went to look in the front window. There she was nestled on a baby cushion sleeping soundly--the most beautiful sight in the world.

My daughter opened the door, and I pushed her aside as I very sweetly said, “Oh, hello.” I was on a beeline to the living room and that beautiful child. As soon as I touched her the floodgates broke loose. I swept her up in my arms and kissed her beautiful little cheeks at least a hundred times. The anticipation of the holiday, the anticipation of the great joy it brings…yeah, I felt that!