Cultural Drift

We've been on American soil two days short of a month and already I sense change.  Emma is coming out with expressions like, 'That was shack-a-lackin!' and Mouse has a sticker of Hannah Montana that she carries with her everywhere.  She isn't quite sure who Hannah Montana is but she wants to see her movie. What's happened to Emma's 'Oopla!' and Mouse's obsession with snails? It's as if we've jumped into a river without knowing which way the current is flowing or, for that matter, if that's the way we want to go. 

There are almost a dozen children living within shouting distance of our new home—a mixed blessing if there ever was one.  At one point on this weekend, I found all of them in Emma's room.  We've never lived so close to playmates before and, even if we had, there would have been two meter tall hedges and Swiss propriety to keep spontaneous visitors at bay. To complete this quintessential picture of American assimilation, the Captain and I have already consulted a lawyer over the moldy basement.  We've not bought a big screen TV or a recliner with cup holders yet, but these things take time.

Ambivalence is running high: I want to get settled, yet I'm homesick for Geneva and the life we had there. I'm thrilled to see the girls so happy with their new school and friends, but worry for their French.  And then there's the house: I love it, but it's also a huge source of stress. Not to mention, it smells. Thursday our furniture will arrive and, with it, some semblance of normalcy. 

One thing's for sure: this life needs a rudder.