I recently joined the nefarious ranks of evil Disney archetypes: I became a stepmom. The loaded connotations it comes with is partly why I prefer to call myself a plusmoeder (plus mom), a progressive Dutch term that does more justice to the position. But that Dutch honorific came with its own prickly challenge: I couldn?t speak the same language as my new stepsons.
You never know where love will take you. When I first moved to Belgium from Canada six years ago, I had come to the country to be with my then-boyfriend, who was a French-speaking Belgian. After we broke up, I was planning my return to Canada when I met Ieds, who is from the Flemish part of the country, and therefore Dutch-speaking. Maurice, who is almost seven, and his 3½-year-old brother, Jules, speak only Dutch, and I speak English and French. When I was first introduced, nine months after meeting their father, Ieds, I could only muster ?Hello,? ?See you later,? ?Please? and ?Thank you? (unfortunately, my repertoire of Dutch swear words were not age-appropriate). A foreign language only intensified my feelings of estrangement.
.related-article-block{display:inline-block;width:300px;padding:.5rem;margin-left:.5rem;float:right;border:1px solid #ccc}@media (max-width: 525px){.related-article-block{float:none;display:block;width:280px;margin:0 auto 2rem}}

Surviving Mother's Day...as a stepmom
My big first meeting with the boys was a three-day rock climbing trip in France. The plan was to drive from...