My Fellow Americans

I never thought I would utter those words but I became an American citizen on Monday having been here for 10 years.

I must admit that I was not happy here for the first 5 years. When we, my husband and I, initially arrived I had no work permit (at that time H4 visa holders were not able to work), no job prospects, no friends, and a bureaucracy that seemed unfathomable. I had never encountered a Health Insurance card before and had no idea what the numbers meant. My husband's family are here but it is not the same.

The bank would not allow me a debit card at first and I had to ask my husband for money. A visa symbol was a big no-no even though I had a decent credit history in England. Alas no history here. In fact one of the client adviser's ignored me and physically turned his chair to face my husband on discovering that I was without a Social Security number.There was great excitement to be able to offer "direct deposit" something we had had in England for over a decade at that point. So this progress was something we already had it? The banking system felt archaic to me.

If this was how I was treated as an English-native speaker and someone who could voice an opinion then I really pitied anyone who did not even possess the language. I was determined to fight for the under-dog.

I did acquire a Social Security number(a non-working one I hasten to add) because I was "obnoxious" at the Social Security office- who isn't? That was the employee's adjective and not mine. I only wanted the number for identification purposes as I was having to carry my passport with me and even that was not being accepted. It seemed ironic that the superlative form of identification from a government was being refused.

As an independent woman I felt confined, disappointed and angry. I was completely and utterly beholden to my husband. He was and is my tower of strength, logic, rationality and common sense. He can calm the waves before they hit the shore. I felt stripped of my identity and freedom and if anyone had had the gall to tell me how free the country was I would have risked deportation by resorting to violence.

My impressions were not favourable and I had a negative slant on life here for quite some time. Never before had I been treated this way and I had just returned from a year in the Czech Republic, not Prague but harsh North-Western Bohemia - an incredible place, with warm people who were erudite, educated and politically aware.

The years past and I made friends and still have them and had children. My American friends, though they may not share my heritage, are incredible people and I love them each and every one. Through them I have a greater understanding of who I am and what I and what my country represents. I have learnt to publicly express emotions and we did not do that back home. I know that nationality is not everything and that we are, ideally, one. As the dollar bill states, "e pluribus unum".

I learnt how to use the Health Insurance Card. Found amazing doctors who listened and tested everything. You don't get this in England- you wait and get an appointment if you are lucky. There is a zip code lottery so be careful where you live.

I joined a band and am recording a CD- The Mad Maggies rule! Discovered that anything was possible, got a MA in Adult Education and worked with my beloved underdog, teaching disadvantaged adults. One day I will return to teaching.

Now I am trying to establish the US side of operations for an English jewelry company. I would never have been able to do this is England. If you do not follow your allotted profession (I was a teacher) it is frowned upon. You don't have a dream and follow it is the English mentality.

The English are a pessimistic bunch and like nothing better than to be able to gloat when things fail. I am sure this is the primary reason for not joining the Euro- just to say it didn't work.

What made me become a citizen? That is what this is about unless,dear reader, you tuned out. I had to grow up and face the reality that my husband's job, career and prospects are here and my children are American. This is the country that has been very good to us. I am not really part of life back home and had been peripheral here but now I could be a full member of society and would be able to vote. I also hanker a desire to be Secretary for Education and could not do that as a non-citizen.

Application completed and all formalities over. I headed to the ceremony. What concerned me most was not how it felt to technically relinquish allegiance to the country of my birth but what music I should play on the journey there. Was it too obvious to have the pairing of Elgar, Vaughan Williams and Delius on the way there and Sousa on the return? Sousa to me is American patriotism in its best form- triumphant with The Stars and Stripes Forever. I opted for Kula Shaker (second album )and The Kaiser Chiefs.

The ceremony was warm and fuzzy. The gentleman representing the USCIS (formerly INS) greeted attendees in 6 languages and told some decent jokes. There was a feeling of celebration and solidarity. As if what we had to share and contribute was something special. We were here to be united as one but still aware of our 95 countries.

Colours were presented to highlight the formal and official side of proceedings and the national anthem sung.It was the first time I had heard this not sung by a bunch of drunks so hearing and seeing the words made a huge difference.

Oaths sworn and pledges pledged. The lady who led the new citizens was a stunner- easily 5'9", blonde, tight short suit, heels and a lovely pair of lungs. In fact the gentleman representing USCIS found that his attention was drawn to these young lady's assets. Something tells me she picked for a reason.

Had there been equality the pledge would have been led by someone who had really had to fight to be here, or had left behind dire circumstances and would have really relished being able to lead such a symbol. Who said I was a cynic?

I was supposed to renounce my allegiance to my old country but I lost my voice at that part. I cannot forget how I was raised and my heritage and that makes me a better person.

The downside of the proceedings was a smooth jazz version of "God Bless The USA". Smooth jazz to me is a form of torture and best kept away from the young and impressionable. See previous reference to Sousa- if you had wanted me and others to feel as if we were part of the country and patriotic play Sousa and I can guarantee not a dry eye in the house.

I don't like the afore-mentioned song as it suggests favouritism. Should there be a God then He/She should bless all countries and like a good parent not have favourites.

There were even some video presentations- fillers when the assembled sit still and watch TV- including an address from Dubya. Enough said. I get the message. This is a great country and we are lucky to be here and now even luckier because we have been embraced into the fold.

I do not think that the enormity of what I have done has hit me yet. I can vote, have a passport, not get deported and be a full citizen though my accent will always betray me.

My husband had hung a huge US flag outside the house on my return from the ceremony and I had to explain to the girls why I found it amusing. It was a great gesture.

Now it is off to realise my American dream and thank you for having me!

What was I worried about?

Gentle reader, I apologise for my last self-pitying entry- we all have our moments. I have pulled myself together and realised that no one is perfect. I must stop being hard on myself, eat more chocolate and drink more tea.

Back to a previous topic of my eldest starting school- I was worried, she wasn't.

The first few weeks of school are now behind me and what was the fuss all about? My daughter is in a nurturing environment which she loves and is steadily making new friends. She is having a blast and is so excited to be there that each morning is greeted by her pleas to go to school. You cannot ask for more.

Her first day of school was not as emotional as I had imagined. My daughter saw one of her little friends from camp and off she trotted unaware that this was the first day of her school life. This was the right start- no crying parents and tortured good byes just a child who was ready to learn and start a new adventure. I am not entirely sure what they are learning just yet so the jury is out. So far so good.

One of the perks of this school is the principal; I have yet another crush. I was met with this glorious vision of a sculptured back with a perfect triangular shape pointing down to a pert bum- I almost drooled! I will add him to the list which includes James McAvoy, Russell Crowe and Brad Pitt to name a few. I have a feeling that several ladies have the latter if not all of these fine specimens on their to-do list.

I am happily married and will remain that way but I still have a pulse if you get my drift. Who am I not to admire the scenery ?

I have always had a thing for older men- so my husband fits the bill. My first serious crush was when I was 17 and an au-pair in Switzerland. He was 40, Italian and quite simply gorgeous. Nothing happened as he was the father of the children under my care but my nights were spent in serious fantasy.

To return to the topic. I am guilty of imagining the worst and ending up with an anti-climax. So I should just chill.

Talking of worrying the world is on the verge of financial collapse but something tells me that as long as Victoria Beckham has a new haircut and tight outfit we shall all be happy and forget these woes.

I am not the parent I thought I would be

I was never one to coo over babies I preferred puppies with their soft fur. Babies seemed loud, stinky, tiresome and tiring. I was not wrong.

Having children was something I had not really considered until I was 30. There was a slight concern that having a baby might not happen so having a child was my priority and I was determined to be a wonderful mother.

Raising a child would always be amazing and delightful- wrong!To say that child-rearing has been challenging would be saying that the Atlantic Ocean is quite big. I was utterly unprepared for the physical and emotional demands. I was, and am, at times a wreck. Should I admit this? Yes.

I had hoped to be able to reason with my offspring and do all those fabulous Mary Poppins inspired activities with a smile on my face. Wrong again- there seems to be a pattern. I have become a fish-wife at times bellowing commands and watching my own temper fizzle before my eyes.

I have become the nightmare neighbour who seems incapable of calm interactions between herself and her children- I shout. Is this the best approach? Probably not. Do I feel guilty when I shout? Yes. I never wanted to shout figuring that gentle directing, choice and positive responses would make loud voices unnecessary. Wrong again. I am getting good at being wrong.

I thought I would always be punctual but alas. My children do not see time the way I do- they dawdle when speed is needed and drive me nuts by needing to search for a blankie just as we are leaving even though I could have sworn it was in their hand. We, adults, see time as a constraint with a mental list of things to do in an alloted space- they see time like a flowing river; it gets where it is going no need to worry about the whys and wherefores. I should really see things their way more often. Maybe therein lies the crux of the matter- I expect them to be what they are not.

Child-rearing has not been the fluffy ride I thought it would be. It has been hard work and the hardest job I have ever done and will ever do. Every day should bring joy and there are moments but today is a day when I curse my generation for making women so competitive in all spheres. I give myself a C as a parent and know there is much to be learned.

I am learning way too much about myself and I am not sure I like what I find. I have less patience and tolerance than I had thought and there are days when I wonder if all the mothers around me who seem to be happy all the time are lying, Stepfordian in some way or they just have better drugs than us mere mortals.

I love my girls don't get me wrong but I find at times that I am unable to step back and watch them grow and enjoy these precious years. I feel trapped like serving time for being a mother- no chance of parole.

This is tonight and tomorrow morning when my littlest climbs into bed with me for a cuddle I will thank everything that I am who she wants and her warm little body against mine will remind me that these snuggles are just for a short time.

Each day brings new starts and tomorrow I will start not to shout as much and remember they are children after all and it is their job to bug me but mine to love them.

The "C" word

Before you get too irate, excited or plain irritated the "c" word here refers to that luscious velvety substance that once was intimately connected to the cocoa bean. What else could it mean?

There are times in a girl's life when only chocolate, chocolate fudge or chocolate cake will do. Maybe that should read in this girl's life. Once a month there is an all consuming desire to destroy any semblance of weight control and eat as much chocolate as I can to keep the demons at bay.

Chocolate acts as a pacifier and eases the mind and temper. Just the mere waving of a bar of the good stuff can bring a smile to the face and an inner calmness when there had been a dormant volcano about to explode.

I admit too that I am a chocolate snob. I was raised in England and grew up being weaned onto Cadbury's- the original and not this made by Hershey's imitation. I can discern Swiss and Belgian chocolate and have scant regard for American chocolate as it is too gritty ,has a poor cocoa content and lacks richness. Trader Joe's milk and dark pound plus are delightful and have been used in fudge, cakes and to enjoyably pass an evening stuffing my face.

See's candies -I shiver as I type- is an abomination and should only be given when the recipient is not much loved; I doubt there are any who could not conjure up but a few deserving names.

I needed chocolate cake yesterday and this leads leads me to yesterday's baking efforts. I came to baking quite late. My brother bought me Nigella Lawson's "How To Be A Domestic Goddess" as a joke. He could not, at the time, think of anyone less suited for such gift. This book is a bible; as elegant as it is eloquent and as classy as it is chocolate-inspired.

I was scared at first to try and master even the basics- having had sunken sponges which were filled with butter cream to hide the indentation- but I soon took a perverse pleasure in making cakes, madelines, truffles and even meringues (yes I have made chocolate ones). I have enjoyed the praise that has been heaped upon me but I have a suspicion that home-baked goods are still a sure way to win affection. Baking seems to have fallen from favour in these butter-fearing times but the arts have always had to suffer.

Unlike Old Mother Hubbard the cupboard was not completely bare but enough to make vanilla cupcakes with a simply divine chocolate fudge icing. It was a sensory overload and just about satisified the chocolate need.

Maybe the chocolate and baking are the release that I need each month. Don't get any ideas of this pursuit being naked or any other such prepoterous notions. There is something undeniably sensual about eating one's chocolate cake;there is no euphemism here. The creation of a sinful past-time (over-eating) just makes it naughtier.

At that juncture I bid you good night and I will hunt for more chocolate.