I was raised on the Canadian Shield, in Northernwestern Ontario(or as we affectionately refer to it-NWO). For anyone who has ever driven across Canada, during the Ontario stretch of your journey, you would have gotten a sense of just how isolated we are up there in the north of the province. To get to our nearest ‘big city’ we could drive 8 hours and we’d be in Winnipeg, Manitoba, or 4 hours and across the American border to get to Duluth, Minnesota. It makes me chuckle when I tell people I’m from Ontario and they say, “Oh, so you’re close to Toronto.” If by ‘close’ you mean 15 hours in a car; then yes, I’m close.

I’m telling you this because that’s how I grew up. Winnipeg and Duluth aren’t normally topping people’s bucket lists for dream destinations, but those were the places we went on vacation. That was my normal.

My daughters were born in the South of France and both went for passport pictures within the first couple weeks of arriving home from the hospital. Travel has always been part of their lives since the first trip overseas at 8 weeks old to meet their grandparents. My kids know travel. They know the routine of not being able to get on the plane before going through security, just as well as they know that they can’t go to bed at night without brushing their teeth.

My daughters hold passports that don’t match their country of birth, they have citizenship cards, and long stay visas, and they’ve been to immigration offices more often than the dentist’s. Those are the things that are normal for my kids.  I lived in the same house my entire life, until I moved out in university. My two and four year old are on their third house, in their second country; and those numbers are about to increase this summer.

When I grew up, my cousins lived down the street. My kids take a minimum of three planes and fly over an ocean every summer to see theirs. We went camping, and on road trips for vacations when I was young. My toddlers have visited more countries than most adults do in a lifetime. I’m not saying that to brag, I’m saying that to emphasise the vast difference in the life my kids are living, to the life I grew up in, and I had a really good upbringing.

Third Culture Kids.

I’d never even heard the term until I had a couple of my own.  It basically refers to kids who are raised in a culture other than that of which their parents were raised.  We’ll always consider ourselves a Canadian family because of the roots that my husband and I carry with us. Maple syrup runs through our veins and -25 in January is the norm.  Sometimes I’m not sure what to think about the different life my kids are living. They can order a baguette like a pro, but have never eaten poutine or any of the deep fried deliciousness that comes from the Calgary Stampede. They’ve never known the feeling of -25 because that just doesn’t exist in the South of France.  When I’m on airplanes filling out landing cards, I always find it bizarre to think my kids will never write Canada, but will forever declare France as their place of birth. This is another area where my children and I differ.

The early years of our daughters’ lives were full of open air food markets in the streets on Sundays, no school on Wednesdays, and learning to ride their bikes in the long driveway of our neighbour Chateau.  That is a completely different culture than the hunting, fishing and trips to the lake that I grew up with.

We now live in Borneo, Indonesia. Obviously this is a completely different culture again. So what do things look like in our house? On a regular day our dinner table is a complete mix of French and English. My husband and I speak to each other in English, he speaks with the kids in French, the kids speak English with me, and French to each other. For us it’s normal, but if you’ve never seen it go down, people usually find it a bit unique. Now that we live in Indonesia, it’s not uncommon to hear my daughters come home from French school with a few Indonesian words, because all of the teaching assistants are Indonesian. They’re in a French International School, with a bit of local flare mixed in.

Living in these locations has given our family the geographical opportunity to explore far more of the world than we ever could had we chosen to live in Canada. Our kids are extremely well travelled…but they’ve never known a Canadian winter. They can pick out landmarks like Big Ben, the Eiffel Tower, and Giant Buddah because they’ve seen them with their own eyes, but they have to get to know their extended family via Skype between our summer visits. They are culturally aware of customs and traditions far beyond their years, but they’ve never experienced the North American Halloween that my husband and I loved so much as kids. They’re familiar with culinary tastes from around the globe, but I want them to be able to eat their Baba’s home made perogies a bit more often.  

When we’ve missed special events back home because of the distance, it feels like a massive trade off. But then I witness my four-year-old walk into a store full of local women wearing hijabs, greeting them with ease in their local language, or I hear my two-year-old mind her manners in three different languages; the pride swells in me and I know that there are benefits for our children in this lifestyle we are living. I believe many expat families must struggle with what is the right thing for their children. There are days when I’m positive that we are giving our kids the experience of a lifetime. And there are other days where I’m just as sure we’re completely screwing them up.

Really, is there any way to know?

What I do know is that we are together as a family unit on this adventure, and for now, that is what creates our home. We know our kids, we know how they’re adapting, and when the time comes that we need to plant some more solid roots, we most definitely will. But until then, we are raising citizens of the world that will never lack for an interesting story of how, and where they grew up.