For the perpetual student in me, the best aspect of the move to Brussels is the chance to learn a new language. And when I say that, I mean a second language. While I spent several years in high school and college studying German, Spanish, and Swedish, I have never been fluent in anything other than English. (And sometimes my fluency in English fails me, too. I have high standards.)
So I commenced my French studies the day after school let out in June. My tutor, Erin, is one of my personal heroes. She is très patient and kind and encouraging of my halting, amateur French. And she taught me enough in eight weeks this summer to give me the confidence (read: foolishness) to sign up for French 201 at our local community college.
No, eight weeks of study with a tutor are not really enough to prepare one for the SECOND YEAR OF LANGUAGE STUDY CURRICULUM. Yes, I am yelling. But the truth is, the first semester would have been a boring review, the second semester didn't fit into my schedule, and French 201 is a good challenge.
Why? First, my brain is flexing in ways it has not for quite some time. If you are my age and you have been mothering for the past ten years, ask yourself when you last learned something completely new. For me it had been eons. And it is a blast. Second, it is a beautiful language and I love seeing and hearing how it unfolds. More on that later. Perhaps my best lesson, though, will come from learning to value the process and the practice rather than the grade. I say this now, at this moment, when I am a mere nine hours from my first exam (on the student side of the room) in many years. Bon chance!
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