The Gold Star

I don’t cook on Sunday evenings. Sometime’s we’ve had a large and late lunch. Sometimes the kids are at youth group. For whoever is around and hungry, though, we have a rule for Sunday supper: “You’re on your own.” The kids actually love it, as it is permission to make a dinner of anything from a bowl of cereal to ice cream and salami. When we moved to Switzerland, however, we discovered a broader application of the whole “you’re on your own” principle. Want to know where to dump your garbage? “You’re on your own.” Interested in your kid’s progress in school? “You’re on your own.” Wondering  how to turn the heat on, where to sign up for the local 5K, or what the neighborhood noise policy is? On. Your. Own. That is, of course, until you break a rule. At this point, depending on what you have done, you will (1) hear a sharp rap on your car roof as you are stopped at a red light, and roll down the window to have the angry bicyclist demand, “Didn’t you know this street was for residents only?” (2) receive a polite letter in the mail informing you that the piece of correspondence that accidentally blew out of your trash bag into the street is INTERDIT or (3) be informed -- in March -- that someone in your family has hardly turned in any math homework all year. In Switzerland, a friend recently quipped, everything is either mandatory or it is forbidden. The only problem is that, for newcomers, it can be difficult to figure out which is which. 
Sometimes all this mystery gets to me. Johanna and Lucas have been running with a team for about a month now. I still don’t understand how races work -- if there are any. It took repeated emails to get someone to explain how one purchases a uniform. And frankly, I’m still not sure we’ve payed the appropriate enrollment fees. Likewise, for homeschooling, I was helpfully directed to Planet Études, the website where I was told I would find all I needed to know about scope and sequence for the Swiss public schools. I set out last week to plumb the depths of this website -- or at least to try to figure out what concepts I needed to make sure we covered in math -- only to be met with an impenetrable fog. My understanding of French was less a problem than the organization of the website, which has math topics listed, not by grade level or any other discernible system, but in a huge chart with labels like “M11” and “M34.”
So, after navigating the uniforms, surviving without a washing machine, writing innumerable emails trying to track down the Geneva Boy Scouts, successfully finding a TUMS substitute for a physics experiment, and facing an hour of coffee in French, all with a husband in either Moscow, Frankfort, or Madrid, I was feeling like maybe someone should notice my efforts to get along, fit in, and FIND SOMEONE WHO WILL TELL ME SOMETHING. What I wanted, in fact, was a Gold Star. I told this to Drew, who was both unimpressed with my achievements and unsympathetic to my desire for a reward sticker. But really, sometimes I think I have a Gold Star coming, and I wish someone would recognize it and give me one. It would be a reward for effort, of course, not necessarily success, something kind of like a participation ribbon for the science fair. 
I realize that I am not the only person in this situation. Geneva is full of expats, many with far larger challenges than finding a Boy Scout troop. I recently heard about a woman who had her wallet stolen and then was in a head-on car collision, all in her first month here. And I don’t think for a minute that it is any more difficult to have a broken washer, a traveling spouse, or a confusing website in Switzerland than it is to have any of these issues in say, Cincinnati. We all face innumerable hurdles every day. Sometimes, just getting something that looks like dinner on the table feels like a notable accomplishment. So, to anyone reading this, I would like to say, “Good try. Nice effort. Keep it up.” And here’s a Gold Star. You know what it’s for.