A few notes from what will eventually become several chapters in my book, one I have repeatedly been told I should write after accumulating enough family mishaps, international moves and accidental chaos to fill one quite comfortably. I suspect our grandchildren will read it with complete disbelief.
One thing moving countries with children teaches you very quickly is that change management is not limited to the corporate world.
Over the years our girls adapted to new schools, new countries, unfamiliar classrooms and entirely different ways of life with varying degrees of enthusiasm. One embraced it, one quietly observed it, and the other… well, she approached the entire process as though she had been appointed Head of International Resistance.
This included mysteriously timed illnesses, highly convenient “medical emergencies” and an ongoing campaign against attending an all girls’ school.
Looking back now, it is hilarious.
At the time, perhaps slightly less so.
One of the more memorable objections came shortly after moving from a mixed grammar school in England to a very traditional private girls’ school overseas.
“I don’t like it,” she announced firmly after only a few days.
Trying to remain supportive and encouraging, I asked why.
“Because it’s full of women.”
I waited for further explanation.
“Even the gardeners are women,” she added emphatically, as though this confirmed the complete breakdown of civilisation.
To be fair, it probably was a culture shock. One week she had been surrounded by noisy rugby fields, boys racing around corridors, loads of friends and familiar routines, and the next she found herself in an organised environment where everything felt polished, structured and overwhelmingly female. Apparently the ‘closed’ groups of giggling girls, together with the gardening department, were simply the final straws.
Naturally, this objection became most noticeable at approximately 7:45 every morning when it was time to leave for school.
Before the school protest phase, however, there had already been the “insect bite” period.
For several weeks she developed mysterious red marks that seemed to appear during subjects she was not especially enjoying. Calls from school became increasingly frequent, explaining that she was uncomfortable and should perhaps be collected.
Concerned parents that we were, we examined the evidence carefully.
Eventually we discovered that the “insect bites” were in fact perfectly round indentations she had created herself by pressing her fingers, knees and arms firmly into the backs of wicker chairs until convincing marks appeared on her skin.
Ingenious, really.
Not medically persuasive perhaps, but undeniably creative.
What I understand much better now, years later, is that children do not always have the language to explain what change feels like. Adults tend to discuss transitions logically, new opportunities, career moves, fresh starts, better schools, exciting experiences. Children, however, often experience the emotional side long before they understand the practical reasons behind it.
Even when parents communicate openly, involve them in decisions and try to create stability, children still absorb the uncertainty. New schools can feel overwhelming. New countries can feel unfamiliar and lonely. Even moving house can leave them feeling as though the ground beneath them has shifted slightly.
And while adults may quietly worry about mortgages, logistics and careers, children often focus on smaller things, friendships left behind, unfamiliar classrooms, different accents, new routines and whether they will fit in.
Sometimes that uncertainty appears as tears.
Sometimes it appears as stubbornness.
And occasionally, it appears disguised as highly suspicious “insect bites.”
Years later, those moments become the stories families laugh about together. But at the time, they are often simply children trying to regain some sense of familiarity and control in a world that has suddenly changed around them.
