Making the Move, part 4

Around the corner the Mazzillis, New Yorkers, looked younger than us, but their oldest son, Frank Jr., was in Julie’s grade. They had three kids and had been in Spain for two years. Lisa Mazzilli gave us some advice on where to find American kid food, like peanut butter, which was hard to come by.

Mike took us for a drive to see the area. He had gotten himself lost many times during the past couple weeks, trying to learn his way around, and he recommended that as a way for me to get oriented, too. “Just get in the car and drive,” he said. “I got you a good map. If you get lost, pull over and figure out what to do.” This didn’t sound like a great idea to me. I liked it better when someone wrote me detailed directions so I could get where I needed to go without stress. But meanwhile he showed me the way to the American School and the commercial strip on Avenida de Europa, getting lost a just a few times.

The next day I had an appointment with the Lower School principal so she could meet the kids. I took this opportunity to do as Eileen had advised me: I asked if any teachers did overnight babysitting. The principal explained that she was new to the school, but she had her secretary make me a list of two or three teachers who’d be happy for the extra work. I’d made progress on my first mission!

After that there was an orientation for new students. Dying to make contact with other new parents, I saw a kid that had the same jagged-looking upper teeth as my seven-year-old. “What grade are you going into?” I asked her.

“Second,” she said.

“My daughter, too,” I told her. “This is Lisa.”

Her mom turned around to meet me, looking as apprehensive as I figured I did. “Hi, I’m Karen Irwin,” she said. Karen, a pretty brunette, had a younger son with her and a baby girl in her arms. Her husband, she said, was a State Department officer working at the embassy, and they were living in a townhouse near the school, in Aravaca.

We had a little speech from the headmaster and went off for a tour. I noticed that I saw one other mother in both Lisa’s and Julie’s classrooms—Graciela, her name was, and she said she’d just moved to Madrid from El Salvador. Her daughter Cristina was in Julie’s class, and her son Edwin in Lisa’s.

The second grade teacher was known for being good at science, and her room was full of creepy-looking skulls and specimens that the kids loved. And the fifth-grade teacher, Mike Tribe, had a reputation that preceded him—Lisa Mazzilli had said that he was a crazy Englishman whom everybody loved. He certainly was a loud and jovial guy, built like a barrel, with longish blond hair and a beard.