School run

Yesterday, first day of school.

Madrid, not London. Immense joy to see again all those familiar faces, warm welcome back kisses and hugs. Feeling of community. Enjoying September greatly.

Nothing went as expected, unforeseen traffic jam and no parking spaces got me more than half an hour in the car, for a ride that must last only five minutes. I have to quick out my older kids with the engine on, no kisses, no pictures and no proud rewarding moment of being the wonderful mummy.

I arrived to school 15 minutes late with my little one, but still, it felt so good. Being back and feeling home, at home. Feeling the belonging and not the misplacement, not missing any more other friends and other streets.

I must admit, my kids attend a British school in Spain. Hence, half/half: a bit like us. So, this helps a lot. Spanglish in every corner, many foreign families and plenty of Expatish.

My husband’s clan was probably a bit disappointed that our kids did not join daddy’s old school. Great reputation and all second generation in the family attending it. My kids could have been with the cousins, either in the class or at least at the recess. In a way, I could feel the downside as well. Old teachers welcoming my children and kind of invading the junior school with nine new kids (in between all of us), proudly carrying family’s name again through corridors and classrooms.

Anyway, it didn’t feel right for us. My kids are half British, have strong accent when talking Spanish, and would struggle with the culture and the language. On the other hand, I wanted to keep them in the British culture, reinforcing English or at least, making sure they don’t lose fluency.

You never know when you choose the school. You kind of bet for the place, but only get to know it later.  Nevertheless, I knew for me it was really important that they could breathe a bit London’s atmosphere: diversity, different confessions, people coming and going, because I deeply appreciate the values all that brings and because, in this global world, I think they are going to be very useful.

This is a good example of what coming back means:  knowing who you were, learning who you are and taking the decisions that actually suit you. To this day, I haven’t regret a second my choice and, it has actually helped me greatly (not only my kids) to settle back home.