Parking my Helicopter
"What's it like being so far away from your kids?" That's one of the most-asked questions about our Amsterdam adventure, right after, "Have you been to one of the coffeeshops yet?" Although it may look in the above photo like we had just hit a coffeeshop, I can assure you we had not. We had just returned from dinner at a local restaurant on December 24, soon after Ben and Rachel arrived from the U.S. to visit. Despite the fact that they don't actually live here, my children have played a big role in our move. So this week, I will examine the answer to the question of how I am managing motherhood from afar.
Let's start with the simple facts: Rachel is 19 and a sophomore at Colgate University. Ben is 21 and living and working in NYC. So, at first blush, you might think that with such "old" kids, a move across the ocean would be no big deal. But for our helicopter parent generation, 19 and 21 are the new 9 and 11. For those of you who have lived under a rock for the past ten years (or who actually read real news stories instead of fluff), the term helicopter parent was coined to describe my generation's tendency to hover anxiously over their kids, micromanaging their every step. I see this helicoptering style of parenting with both my teacher and my parent hats on. Apparently, this hovering behavior continues even when kids hit college campuses. I've heard from several friends who are college-level teachers about parents who get in touch to question exam or paper grades given to their little chicks. I've heard confessions from parents of college-age kids, and reports from the trenches (from Rachel) about parents editing and revising papers, as in: every, single paper. These folks need to heed the advice of my friend Sheila, from a family of 11 kids and who raised her own four kids. She advocates dropping your kids off at college and picking them up four years later. None of this Parent Weekend crap for Sheila! I think she would fit in well here in the Netherlands.
What don't we see here? That's right: any parent In sight hovering over this 6-ish year old. What do we see? Is that a tattoo on her arm? Not sure an American helicopter would allow that.
Lest you accuse me of not obeying the "know thyself" rule-and I needed to Google it to remember that it was Socrates who came up with those words of wisdom- I will fully admit that I can be a bit of a helicopter myself. So one gift this adventure has given me is the gift of distance. It's a lot harder to hover when you are more than 3,500 miles away from your kids (it sounds further in kilometers: 6,000 kms!). Distance has also led me straight into another famous phrase: "Absence makes the heart grow fonder". From a distance, everyone seems nicer, wiser, funnier. Even your own family. Or especially your own family. Is that just because you are spending less time with them "in the trenches"? Or is there something about my distance that makes me more interesting to my kids? The verdict is still out on that one. But I can say that the move to Amsterdam did stir up the natural order of things. Teenagers are supposed to go off to college and meet new people and experience new things. Parents are supposed to stay put, mired in their old routines so that kids don't even have to think about where their parents are at any particular time. They just know that mom and dad are home on a Tuesday evening watching Parks and Rec, having just shoveled down some Chinese Food. Our move to Amsterdam upended that vision. And when you add in a six hour time difference, you really make things interesting.
This photo was taken during my first week in Amsterdam at Blauw, the city's premier Indonesian restaurant. As you can see, we are still eating for four, even though there are only two of us.
Although we did shake up the usual parental routine by moving abroad, we haven't strayed that far from home in terms of our new routines. Here are a few things I have not done since moving to Amsterdam: 1. visited any coffeeshops to sample the local plant varieties; 2. visited The Red Light District; 3. danced late into the night or even early into the evening, unless you count my 10:15 a.m. Zumba class; 4. visited the Ice Bar, a tourist attraction that features expensive cocktails in a freezing cold bar. That last one probably sounds especially unappealing right now to any of you who live in the U.S. And here is a short list of the things I have done: 1. wandered around a boatload of museums; 2. sampled coffee in a boatload of cafes; 3. walked a boatload of miles with Casey; 4. eaten a boatload of cheese; 5. gone on two canal boat rides (not a boatload, but on actual boats). I'm still in my sweatpants most evenings, although often it's after we have sampled one of the many terrific restaurants here, or after Peter has created a delicious meal with some of the local treats. So for those of you who think I have miraculously transformed myself while living in Europe, you will be happy (or disappointed, depending on your views on the subject) to know I have stayed true to myself.
Something I haven't tried while in Amsterdam....
And just a few of my favorites that I have tried...and tried...and tried here.
As you can probably predict, there have been a few glitches in the long-distance Jewish mothering routine. The first came in October when Rachel called on a Sunday to tell us that something had happened the night before, but because of the time difference, she hadn't called right when it happened. What I heard was that her computer fell off her bed, landed on her toe and it shattered, prompting me to say, "Don't worry about it. You can get another computer." And Rachel's reply went something like this, "No, mom! My computer is fine. It's my toe that shattered." I wish I could blame the confusion on a poor long distance connection, but alas, it was my fine listening skills that were to blame. In any event, she narrated the chain of events for us, from a trip to the E.R., the inevitable questions about insurance coverage, the panic about whether to call and wake us up, her wise decision to call her older brother instead, the stitches, and the foot cast. So, albeit with a lot of pain for poor Rachel, the first potential disaster in long distance parenting was avoided. Rachel had managed just fine without us.
Then there was the time in December when Peter and I were at the Filmhallen, waiting for a movie to begin. (Quick aside: going to the movies here is a wonderful experience. All English-language movies are played as is, with Dutch subtitles - no dubbing. Also, you get a ticket for a specific seat, like you do for the theatre in the U.S. So civilized. And of course, the "concession stand" is, of course, a cafe that serves coffee, beer, and wine.) So now you can picture this relaxing cinema experience. Relaxing, that is, until I decided to check my Twitter feed, which I hadn't done in weeks and saw the following tweet from Ben,
Luckily, a few texts later, I was able to ascertain that both Ben and his bike were fine. My heart rate eventually came down enough that I was even able to enjoy the movie. Potential disaster #2 avoided without a hitch. Ben had managed without me. It did get me thinking that parenting in a no-helicoptering zone does have its advantages. You do tend to worry less when you don't have any idea what's going on on the other end. It was tempting after the shattered-toe and car's-near-miss-of-Ben's-bike incidents to use this as my theme song.
Living far away from the brood has forced me to sharpen my technology skills. I have used all of these methods to stay in touch with Ben and Rachel: Skype, FaceTime, Facebook, iMessage, What's App, and regular old email (which at this point may be the technological equivalent of Mom Jeans). If you don't even know what some of those are, fear not. Ben can teach you, too. When all four of us had to discuss plans for going to Rome over the Christmas break, Ben suggested we set up a Google Hangout. I felt so proud of myself both for figuring out what the heck that meant, and then being able to figure out on our end how to "hang out" on Google. So on a Sunday evening in November, the four of us had a conversation and as we made plans, could see - on my iPad - each others' smiles and grimaces as we hashed out the details: Ben from NYC, Rachel from Hamilton, NY, and the cool parents from Amsterdam. Somewhere out there, a less-savvy-with-technology 50-something is impressed. I just know it. The point is that ten, or even five years ago, moving this far away from your kids would have been a much more isolated experience.
Technology also helps me hover when I can't resist. True confession: I will admit to sometimes checking my phone when I get up in the middle of the night, just in case. Then again, some of you do that when your kids are not an ocean away, so am I really all that different? This fall, I was able to follow Rachel's adventures as she and The Association of Critical Collegians took over the Administration building at Colgate to protest the university's failure to address issues facing minority students. I was so proud of her and her group for standing up for what is right. I also appreciated getting a glimpse of her in this YouTube video (she's standing on the far left, at second 25, sporting her boot from her run-in with her computer).
When Ben and his company, valet.io ran a big event in December for charity water.org, I knew it was a success when I looked at Facebook as soon as I woke up. And he can still field all of my technology questions no matter how far away he is, and no matter how dumb the questions are.
It certainly helps to know that I'm not alone in this long-distance mothering business. Through the American and the International Women's Clubs, I have met many moms whose kids are in college in the U.S., or in Britain. There are even a few moms whose high school age kids are in boarding school because either they didn't want to come to Amsterdam, or the family decided that it was better for the kids to be educated in the U.S. (or in Britain). In keeping with the recurring theme in many of my blog posts, if they can do it (with high school age kids), I can do it (with my older kids). There is an official term for kids who live in another country, created by an anthropologist. It's TCK, 3CK, or Third Culture Kid. The three cultures are the one you came from originally, the one you have moved into, and the third is "the interaction of the third culture individual with the expat community". I guess that makes me a TCM, or Third Culture Mom. I like the sound of that. Makes me sound like some hipster coffee from Costa Rica.
They may be 21 and 19, but when I wake up in the middle of the night, this is how I picture them. It's also how I picture myself...that is, until I look in the mirror.
I wish I could say I am an adventurous person, or even an occasional thrill-seeker. The truth is that I don't live on the edge. Peter likes to call me Sensible Suze, which is a nickname I earned due to my tendency to wear sensible shoes. Nevertheless, this Sensible Suze has made her way to Amsterdam, leaving her helicopter behind in the U.S. (on most days). Her husband Peter, not exactly a bungee jumper himself, is learning how to work with people from a different culture, eating something called kwark in the cafeteria, riding a bike to work during the crazy-busy bike commuting hours, and traveling to far-away places like Shanghai and Sao Paulo, Brazil. Ben is finding his way in NYC on his own, heading up a company, and even more unusual for a 21 year old male, cooking for himself. Rachel is trying her best to make Colgate a more open and welcoming place to go to college, not just for her, but for every single student. I think you can say that we are all taking our chances this year.
Looks like I picked just the right winter to take my chances. I took this photo last week. I'm wishing all of you an early spring! And, by the way, I went to middle school with Mary Chapin Carpenter, who wrote and sang the song, I Take My Chances. I knew even then that she was cool.