Tomorrow we will be at The appointment, the very first at school for the official registration in first class. It should be easy enough for the average person. My son will have no problems at all, I am sure.
About us, I am not completely positive.
I don’t feel sure for the language: how easy is it to label someone just because the talk is not perfect? And it could damage my child even before he puts a step in a classroom if his mum mistakes all the fuckin’ der die das. This child is gifted, they will say, despite such a family.
I don’t feel that my husband and I are less educated than any of the teachers. At all. But – as the amazing blogger Nicla defines it – the immigrant’s headache will play against us.
Let’s face it, we think a little more and we speak a little less, we seem slow, less funny, less clever, and less spontaneous.
Starting tomorrow with this appointment, I start school with him, again.
I have been a pupil, I have been a teacher, I’am about to be the mother of a schoolboy. Creeps.
Geography could have helped: living in Germany is not like living across the Ocean and there’s full of different travel options, less then 1 hour fly from Milan, 5 hours drive from Como to Stuttgart.
My family is not like any family and it is extremely different from any Italian Family stereotype – meaning relaxed people, mommy full time in the kitchen and dad at work. My parents work more than anyone could imagine, they are successful too, they have 3 adolescents to take care and, being both active, fast and furious, they have no free time. They need at least one week to organize themselves from the moment I call them and there is no chance they could stay with us for more than 2 days: it is not that they don’t love me or my children, but actually there is no way they could be of any help in an emergency.
If you are like me, living in a foreign country with no Family available, you know you’re not alone, you can rely on the other F, Friends. By the way, I am always telling my son that “Friends (relationships) are the most important thing in life“, it is time to prove it.
In a few weeks I will probably need some help, even if I hate disturbing others with my own problems and I’ll do all I can to avoid it. I am touched that so many offered their help and I’ve hanged a list of their names and telephone numbers on the fridge. Any time I fear birth / the trip to the hospital / any other complication, I read it aloud again and I don’t feel panic anymore – and of course I suspect most of my fears are caused by the hormones.
What could I do for those wonderful people when everything will be fine again: a special ThankYou party? A little present? Any ideas?
p.s. Sorry, I just wanted to talk about the two Fs. It goes without saying, I have the best Team partner.
Mammax3 non butta via niente. Ho incubato questo post da molte settimane e ora lo pubblico, anche se ne manca un pezzo. Non prendetelo sul serio, è per ridere.
There are many things anyone can say about Italian people, but no one can deny that most of (almost all) Italian women show no body hair. In 2 words: we wax.
It is, of course, a cultural trait.
First of all, I do not think that this habit comes from a sense of inferiority or from the feeling that Italian women must be perfect for their macho men. Except meterosexuals, the only men that face that problem, I believe that average Italian men have never grasped the truth that women DO REALLY HAVE body hair. Men have body hairs, women don’t. And who are you, crazy woman, to tell the truth?
In summer, but also in winter, Italian women take care to be “decent”. They are known worldwide to be proud and strong. Pride of themselves and the feeling of strenght are much more easy to acquire in total comfort with their body.
What’s more, most Italian women have dark hair and Lucy the Australopitecus, not to mention Cheeta the Monkey, are just scary to be seen in 2016.
I am lucky because I have not a very strong monkey dna and I am blonde, just like many other German women. But girls, I tell you a secret: blond body hair are NOT invisible. Still, it seems that people in Germany just don’t see what catches the eye of any Italian: far from needing more bleaching/blonding, women just need to wax.
Se l’italiano è complicato, se il tedesco è complesso, cosa succede se il 3enne ci prova anche con l’inglese?
Al Kindergarten l’altro giorno hanno festeggiato il compleanno di un nuovo bambino, Massimo, italiano che non parla tedesco, che ha compiuto 4 anni.
Titolo di merito, Massimo è il primo bambino del Kindergarten che, anche secondo la professionale opinione di Nano, parla italiano. In realtà ci sarebbe anche una coppia di gemelli, maschio e femmina, italiani che non parlano tedesco, ma questi secondo Nano non parlano italiano e lui si è rifiutato di fare da tramite tra i bambini e le insegnanti perché “non si capisce niente, die zwei können kein Italienisch reden“. A dire tutta la verità, anche io non li capisco e soprattutto non capisco il padre le pochissime volte che mi ha rivolto la parola e ho il sospetto che lui poverino faccia un grosso sforzo con me, poiché io il suo napoletano non lo capisco e rimango lì come una cretina.
Tornando ai festeggiamenti del compleanno del nuovo Massimo, le insegnanti hanno avuto un guizzo multilanguage e invece del solito “Alles gute zum Geburtstag” hanno cantato “Happy birthday to you“, un ragionamento che non fa una grinza.
Tutto contento di avere imparato una nuova versione del classico canto di compleanno, Nano è tornato a casa con un ulteriore nuovo testo:
Happy bärchen too youuu!!
Orsetto del cuore, quello di mio figlio che è un Sonnenkind.
Io e Lui ci siamo rotolati dalle risate. Tanti auguri Massimo e ti prego, fai cantare questa canzoncina anche l’anno prossimo, voglio vedere se subisce altre nuove e comiche evoluzioni.
Today I got the “famous” remark, from a 4 year old kid while I was leaving my kid in Kindergarten. I’ve heard similar experiences from other Italian -but also English, French etc…- mothers, but it never happened to us and it was sad and still very funny.
It was sad because I can’t believe this is a 4 years old kid idea, and he should definetly have heard that somewhere. It was funny because this kid understood that sometimes he
is a idiot should keep his mouth shut.
I had already left my babygirl in Nest and I was kissing goodbye to my boy in Kindergarten. Speaking Italian, of course. This kid came from the back and said “Wir sind in Deutschland, hier“, we are in Germany here.
I was stunned “Und so?”
“Ihr dürft Deutsch reden” You should talk German.
“Aber Ich kann 4 Sprachen reden. Wie viel kannst du?” But I can speak 4 languages. How many can you?
He thought a little bit and than sadly answered: “Ein“.
Than my boy took courage “Und Ich kann 2 reden!!” And I can speak 2!
And the boy replied: “Nein du kannst auch nur Deutsch!” No, you can speak only German too
My boy with a very strong “you idiot” tone “Nein, Ich kann Deutsch UND Italienisch reden!!” No, I can speak German and Italian
I would really love to meet the boy’s parents and handshake.