I had to remember how to log into this blog to write a post—and, when I did, I saw that I only ever did “one week in.” And we’ve now been here 2.5 months!
WTH. I’m a writer. I thought I’d be capturing hilarious moments, poignant insights, real-time windows into the day-to-day of how an American mom and two kids adjust to life in Spain.
And, while the transition has truly gone as well as we ever could have dreamed, I underestimated the mental load of carrying this for my kids—and ended up with zero bandwidth to even think about what to write here, much less getting outside of my own experience to imagine what you’d enjoy hearing about…
So I guess this is surprise #1 about this experience: over and above the million-and-one actual tasks of relocating a family to a foreign country, the energy it takes to re-figure out how to get your daily needs met in a brand-new location, country, language… the energy output is high.
But in a good way!
Anyway, let me catch you up.
For the first three weeks we were in this apartment, we shared one towel.
Evan had brought a Warriors towel for sentimental reasons and SURE, YES I could have run out and bought cheap towels at the chino or made another expensive trip to El Corte Inglés or even ordered some on amazon and then searched out the amazon locker where it would be delivered (if it even fit)…but everything I was doing was even more pressing, like: submitting paperwork for my visa application, setting up our utilities in my name, getting school supplies (which required 3-4 trips to different papelerias), setting up a kitchen from scratch (including one big trip to Costco and many walking trips to local markets), and feeding a family of three with three different approaches to food in a new country where we don’t know yet what we like.
Anyway, the day I took a bus to Ikea and filled a taxi with home products was a great day. A day in which we multiplied our towel inventory.
In other major headlines: the kids started school!
- Chloe leveled up to 3rd grade, based on how they do the age cutoffs here (which is by calendar year, so anyone born in 2017 is in 3rd grade, so simple!). We wondered if this mattered, and I was pretty sure it wouldn’t as long as she was with kids her age (I was right- she’s rocking it). Evan was put in 6th grade, as expected.
- On the first day, they opened the big castle door of the school (in the middle of the most touristy area of Sevilla, right around the cathedral), and from the big crowds of families emerged kids parading into the school with live music playing. I will never forget this moment as my kids walked into a school where I’d met or talked to no one. My friend and colleague Elena had met with the school back in June. I did manage to follow my kids in (which is frowned upon) to at least connect with each of their teachers to say, “Hablan inglés! Están aprediendo español!” and they smiled, and then I was kicked out. Surreal. I can’t believe how brave my kids were to walk in there. I’ll be thinking about this forever.
- I have a photo of the schoolyard with the kids lining up by class that I took right before leaving (see below). Chloe is looking a little lost, and Evan has been approached by girls trying to figure out who he was, where he was from, etc. The girls right away connected with a boy who was born n Minnesota and lived there until he was 6. He became Evan’s instant social connector, and all-day translator. His social transition was immediate and Evan (to this day) has all those kids playing basketball every recess (my impression is that they weren’t playing as much before he arrived).
- Chloe doesn’t have any kids in her class who speak English (though everyone here speaks at least a little), but her teacher does. After the first few weeks, she asked me to ask the teacher to have the kids speak to her in Spanish, not English, which was such a great impulse. Now, she has friends and is rehearsing to do a K-Pop Demon Hunters dance number and they’re all patiently teaching her words using a lot of body language. We had a friend over and I overheard her speaking Spanish in complete sentences with verbs correctly conjugated (albeit all in the present tense, which is the right place to start).
- The mom of the Minnesotan boy has been my gateway to the school parents and an incredibly helpful perspective on the massively overwhelming parent group chats (by classroom), which blow up my phone all day every day (yes, they’re muted now). Between the Spanish texting slang and me generally not knowing how things work here, I truly can’t keep up. My mom friend tells me when there’s something I need to do (we were co-judges for the costume contest at the Halloween party, for example—I bought medals). She also invites me along on impromptu post-dropoff coffees where I actually get to chat in Spanish with new friends–sometimes with success, sometimes really frustrated about all the nuance and specificity (and correctness) that’s lost. But I feel my brain stretching and I love learning languages, so I love being invited and going through the pain and joy of learning.
And this is the point in writing this post where I got pulled away for many hours.
A friend of a (US) friend dropped by with some Spanish textbooks for me, we had coffee, and as that was wrapping up I got a call from Chloe’s teacher saying “Evan se cayó. Puedes venir por el?” (Evan fell. Can you come get him?)
Instantly panicked, my communication skills went out the window and I thrust the phone at Luís, who calmly took it and said, “Díme,” and then explained to me that Evan had fallen and hurt his ankle though he was basically OK. I think he chuckled, which was reassuring.
Within a few minutes, he’d delivered me to the school on the back of his scooter–and I burst in to find Evan calmly sitting in the office with his foot up on a chair with an ice pack (he came down on it wrong while playing basketball).
I was surrounded by concerned adults, and there’s something about everyone trying to use their (limited) English with me that makes my Spanish become nonexistent. It’s like I can’t speak any language.
Then Evan’s teacher appeared, and she’s also the French teacher, so I speak French with her (much easier than Spanish for me), but every time I started in French, Spanish took over, down to the level of individual words, until I exclaimed in English, “Ohmigod, my brain cannot pick a language!!!” I let her finish telling me about a permission form in Chloe’s backpack (in Spanish LOL).
We got his ankle X-rayed and our first medical experience was a goddamn delight. No waiting. Everyone spoke English. Nicest people. No fracture, just a sprain.
Then Luis came back with two movers and a heavy dining room table for us to borrow for as long as we’re living here. So generous!
Anyway, mama’s tired. Tiredtiredtired. I try to catch up by sleeping and watching Gilmore Girls (which for some reason is the perfect way to decompress right now).
Shoot, I didn’t talk about Halloween. Or work. Or my first visitors! I’ll write more soon (at least sooner than 2.5 months).
Meanwhile, here’s a bunch of photos!
PS While I’m distracted and busy here, I haven’t stopped thinking and worrying about what’s going on in the US. I’m just as plugged into US news as I ever was, doomscrolling a ton. My old neighborhood outside Chicago is crawling with ICE agents, as people are getting plucked out of daycares, landscaping jobs, and school drop-offs. Friends are going out with whistles, protesting in Broadview, waiting at bus stops with helicopters and drones flying overhead. I’m so proud of how the city is fighting back to protect neighbors. May Tuesday’s results be a sign of what’s to come. xo
the solo mama project 