tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31151328964359090802024-02-02T21:12:19.400+01:00Lazy Girl's BlogMilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.comBlogger441125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-9658522903330687082021-12-27T08:36:00.002+01:002021-12-27T08:36:49.507+01:00The golden week<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWpYAhH5cXVGD4R0tAihlEzd6UWFvOFiNfRdCMIYTaL3DdebmMeF8BUDw-nkpRO38wQ80BZ3-sIxjdDThxYtE33kK2E2l7rErB70426EKKb8mNOqcE7rE2YlskJSfDyDnV8wlagk1MOFmCQppfXsw7u6aMkyikDmxGZIeCsyOD1kM_AIVHJk1WYRTEzQ=s5616" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3744" data-original-width="5616" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWpYAhH5cXVGD4R0tAihlEzd6UWFvOFiNfRdCMIYTaL3DdebmMeF8BUDw-nkpRO38wQ80BZ3-sIxjdDThxYtE33kK2E2l7rErB70426EKKb8mNOqcE7rE2YlskJSfDyDnV8wlagk1MOFmCQppfXsw7u6aMkyikDmxGZIeCsyOD1kM_AIVHJk1WYRTEzQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br />The comedian Michael McIntyre does a funny <a href="https://youtu.be/4_ic1nVPdzg" target="_blank">sketch</a> about the week between Christmas and New Year's. He jokes we don't know what day of the week it is anymore, we can't remember if we get mail or not that day. In general we are in a sort of post-Christmas haze.<p></p><p>Like so many of you, I have fond memories of Christmas. I like the hectic preparation before, dashing into a shop, running to the grocery store for a few more items. I don't like crowds but I like to be part of the buzz. </p><p>Then of course there is the warmth and fuzziness of Christmas Day itself: giving and receving presents, hanging out in your pajamas longer than usual, gorgeing on a big lunch and playing/relaxing in the afternoon. My more recent expat experience is also FaceTiming with relatives back home in the US. </p><p>But then there is the week after which is usually off for me. Firstly it is a well-deserved and long overdue mental break from thinking so much about work! As my company is closed this week there are no work emails pouring in, no small fires to put out. Work thoughts may creep in my head, of course, but I get a chance to remember who I am without my job tasks.</p><p>And it is also a lovely week when not much is scheduled at all so each day is free for small errands and outings or just hanging out without guilt. If there is any sort of schedule it reads like this:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>go to Christmas market</li><li>play with kids and their new toys</li><li>bake something</li><li>watch Christmas movies</li></ul><div>Of course, the need to cook and clean and do laundry still never go away but it can also be a time to catch up on a few home things and projects, clean out a drawer or organize the little one's room.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mostly I do like the rest, being able to sleep later, not worry about staying up later to watch a movie and catching a nap if possible! I think most of us need this week of rest or at least a change of pace. All the better to face a new year and all the responsibilities that come back in January...</div><div><br /></div><div>What do you like the most about this time of year? </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><p></p>Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-60640721762631362142021-10-07T12:44:00.001+02:002021-10-07T12:44:24.283+02:00Black and white <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSN8w7hN8l4zTZJTkvuV2gOsxdbKpiGaFMWlIwd_reLdz7nUHZ3Uq7IHVMcB0S76VOb84bcDDomIzXc_0zx0ZwJeWH8Opj2pIS8QfronFtl8QS1yZ9r817eTrHGtX21fpCZQSDVZGZHWq/s2048/light-black-and-white-architecture-white-vintage-retro-742858-pxhere.com.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSN8w7hN8l4zTZJTkvuV2gOsxdbKpiGaFMWlIwd_reLdz7nUHZ3Uq7IHVMcB0S76VOb84bcDDomIzXc_0zx0ZwJeWH8Opj2pIS8QfronFtl8QS1yZ9r817eTrHGtX21fpCZQSDVZGZHWq/s320/light-black-and-white-architecture-white-vintage-retro-742858-pxhere.com.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />I had a student the other day say that for her, things were black or white. She was referring to a work issue and how it was hard for her to make her employee understand something that seemed quite straightforward to my student. It made me think of an issue I had had myself earlier in the week where I could see all the shades of grey but my colleague was staunchly black and white.<p></p><p>Then I started to think that maybe the world was made up of two categories of people, those who see things in such a logical, clear-cut way and those who ruminate, get lost in and maybe never find their way out of the forest of greys. I am clearly in the latter category. </p><p>There are some simple decisions that I can make quickly. But even "easy" decisions that have no major consequence on my life sometimes put me in that gray dilemma zone. Should I stop to buy some bread now? But if I do I'll get in traffic and get home later. If I go to this bakery I have to park here and it's hard to pull out onto the street. If I go to the other one I could get those good homemade pizzas. Or I could make my own pizza. But that would take more time at home... by which time I will probably have driven past all the bakeries and have arrived at my destination!</p><p>Sometimes I truly wish I could be one of those clear-cut, logical people. But my brain is just not often that way. Take changing cars. After saying I wanted to change my car for one with actual a/c and not that wimpy fan that I have in mine, I finally put it for sale on an online site. When I started getting actual interest and messages I started panicking and wondered if I had made the right decision. Answering messages stressed me. What if this person was a crook, unreliable, trying to pay in counterfeit money? Maybe I shouldn't sell my car at all and just keep it because change is too scary!</p><p>Aha! I think I put my finger on it. In some cases I see the grey because I cannot see the clear advantages of one or another choice. My stress level rises in this totally indecisive area. Another student told me they hate making decisions and would actually prefer someone else make decisions for them! I totally agree!</p><p>But in other cases grey is good. I think the ability to see the nuances and not just a binary choice is positive. When discussing and negotiating, recognizing the other party's view as just a darker shade of your perspective, can lead to compromise. Nilofer Merchant, TED talker and kick-ass business woman, says the same thing. She suggests walking meetings and has found that getting "out of the box", literally, helps people to see things differently and more as a spectrum instead of diametrically opposed. </p><p>So maybe we need the grey to come together and overcome what sometimes seem to be impossible odds. Just as long as the waves of grey don't slow us down in everyday life. I am still not sure what to do about my car. Which happens to be a grey one! Coincidence? I think not!</p>Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-37584239914085191902021-05-24T08:56:00.003+02:002021-05-25T08:53:16.317+02:00I heart the world<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFiPSw1-AHR6TbJ5f_Mtg5URTRnwYYhIBRI053wqCvOnU_eNb5DLeVNkvEXKOYmLFN2n5gVR19k-A9UOjRIISanvqBWaUiI4cqvlbMvNJmv9x52xrvd8ata-tS4Oe6L5UlKu4xY3c3sOcQ/s2048/wing-cloud-sky-white-atmosphere-daytime-760203-pxhere.com.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFiPSw1-AHR6TbJ5f_Mtg5URTRnwYYhIBRI053wqCvOnU_eNb5DLeVNkvEXKOYmLFN2n5gVR19k-A9UOjRIISanvqBWaUiI4cqvlbMvNJmv9x52xrvd8ata-tS4Oe6L5UlKu4xY3c3sOcQ/s320/wing-cloud-sky-white-atmosphere-daytime-760203-pxhere.com.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />I don't think I have ever used the heart emojis as much as I did this last month. The big red heart. The two pink hearts. The face sending a kiss. And I received a lot of those same emojis back. The take care one with several hearts around it. And you wouldn't think it, but an electronic symbol that is smaller than my pinky finger nail can mean so much at times like these.<div><br /></div><div>On my birthday my husband got a call from a doctor announcing that his father had had a stroke. He had already been in the hospital for about two months at this point due to liver problems which we were hoping would get better. Turns out they were much more serious than we realized or we had allowed ourselves to believe. And after not being able to properly visit him during this time (thanks again, Covid), now we learned he had suffered a stroke and that it was serious.</div><div><br /></div><div>I went through my birthday in a bittersweet haze. Took the kids to the woods as I had planned and my girlfriends surprised me with some cake in the afternoon. But my heart was heavy with worry. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our worst fears were confirmed a few days after that when the neurology department asked us to come to the ward. We knew they wouldn't ask us to come during Covid times if it weren't serious. The doctor from Cameroon with a strange bedside manner explained there had been too much bleeding in the brain for his dad to ever recover. He was now in a coma. He would go to hospice care. We didn't know how much time he would be with us. </div><div><br /></div><div>He was basically in a coma. Sleeping peacefully in his hospital bed. Still looking tanned (but we later learned the jaundice was responsible for part of that) and pretty much like his normal self. We held his hand and talked to him. Something we would do for the next week on our daily hospital visits. We brought him cut flowers so his room wouldn't be bare. The kids made him a card that he would never see. We told him goodbye from countless friends and relatives who passed on their messages. </div><div><br /></div><div>My husband talked to him about the greenhouse, this man's life's work. What was blooming, how things were selling. I recited the names of the flowers. Told him that his grandson and I had planted things in our garden. That his granddaughter liked succulent plants just like her Papy.</div><div><br /></div><div>His breathing got weaker, slower, and a week after entering hospice care, he left this world for the next one to join his wife who was already keeping a place for him. We cried a lot. But we knew he would never suffer again. We knew we had that opportunity, so precious, to say goodbye to him, even if he couldn't answer us.</div><div><br /></div><div>They say you know how deep your friendship is in times like this. I can tell you my friends and family are just gold. They sent me text messages (my church friend even sent me twice per day at her prayer times), watched the kids so we could go to the hospital, made me lasagna, and two even came to the funeral and cheered the kids up especially by their presence.</div><div><br /></div><div>They took time out of their own busy lives to be with us and think of us and pray for us. And that's why I say, friends, family, I đ you. So much you'll never know. And I'm here for you if you need me to return the favor. Out of a painful situation, I have felt so much love and know how blessed I am by the people in my life. Who knows if God listens to all those prayers we send. But I think He put the right people around me, and for that I am forever grateful. </div>Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-81254084965244234872021-04-17T09:08:00.005+02:002021-04-17T09:08:48.163+02:00When working from home becomes a nightmare...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJo3MrDFKA63sq-81U_DcyjhHgHbXQIH5EeiR0ZhPnd1IIJeeDeUfUgOOl7bG9bdR1xdUz9xz0BhkTLJuSKXkNbONLQOdjrKD7J-RIKpyB9VWeSj1Igvn2STNP_WQrbMYBpR7smi5CaIpn/s2048/military-army-red-flame-fire-weapon-1285422-pxhere.com.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1933" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJo3MrDFKA63sq-81U_DcyjhHgHbXQIH5EeiR0ZhPnd1IIJeeDeUfUgOOl7bG9bdR1xdUz9xz0BhkTLJuSKXkNbONLQOdjrKD7J-RIKpyB9VWeSj1Igvn2STNP_WQrbMYBpR7smi5CaIpn/s320/military-army-red-flame-fire-weapon-1285422-pxhere.com.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Let's just say things have been a bit wild at my place the last two weeks. After the French president announced that schools would be closed for at least three weeks to stem the rising numbers of Covid cases and hospitalisations, I wondered how I was going to manage. Like so many parents, especially moms, I had no choice but to watch the kids, especially my 3-year old. My twelve-year old would happily draw and do tutorials and lounge around her room all day if I let her, but a toddler is obviously a different story...<p></p><p>I can do this, right? I asked myself. I had already done a few online lessons with Alex in the background. Sometimes jumping on the couch, sometimes pulling on my arm for a candy. My students understand as most have kids themselves. There was one week earlier this spring I had to do it when his class was closed due to one positive case in a pupil.</p><p>But three weeks of homeworking is another story. I got off relatively easy during the first lockdown as I didn't have many online classes then. Our days melded together in a strange schedule of sleeping in (for the kids), playtime inside or out, games, lunch, nap for the boy. We got stir-crazy for sure. But I didn't have the pressure of preparing and doing lessons. </p><p>Now I feel the craziness that so many other lockdown parents have been. Keep the kids (especially the little one) happy and calm, make a quick lunch, spend some time with them, while still delivering quality work! Fortunately my schedule wasn't overly full the first two weeks. It will be busier this upcoming week! </p><p>I feel a constant push and pull of needing to do my work (prepare and actually DO the lesson) and be there for the children, provide for their physical and emotional needs. And it doesn't help matters that my son is at that age where a tantrum is never far off. My greatest fear is that he goes full tantrum mode during a lesson! Most of my students have already seen his blonde head pop up on the screen as he asks for chocolate or the "tabou-lette" as he calls my iPad. Yes, I am far beyong limiting screen time these days. Screens are my babysitter.</p><p>So whereas before I would look at my schedule and calculate when I would be getting home or need to be leaving in the morning, now I look at it and wonder when I can feed the kids and get Alex down for a nap. And is my lesson at a time when he is relatively calm and amenable or getting antsy? If I have three hours in a row can I put my student on a task to put him (my toddler, not the student!) to bed for a nap (if he's willing!).</p><p>It has created a new kind of stress that is added to my existing anxiety about doing a good job and meeting the student's needs. And there is nothing I can do about it. One more week, I hope that is all, because I feel guilty not being able to be there fully for the kids and this stress is certainly not good for anyone. </p><p>On the bright side, I suppose I am getting to spend a bit more time with the kids. But it is often associated with this anxiety. I can only do so much. I can't change what is beyond my control. And no doubt one day I'll look back on these three weeks and the respective ages of my kids with a bit of nostalgia. If only I could enjoy this time a little more now!<br /></p><p><br /></p>Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-67414104125479176862021-03-02T08:10:00.002+01:002021-03-02T08:10:33.889+01:00It's time to breathe<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wuNLnGNexJMpOxiCCK4k6CTynlLdjV3504WsT_OMZJkPbCgA35m8rZlINRYecOJAgaZaSuOYxaitEDvQtLaAWkdMi-ijsO8rEzhA_nfxEeAHlRRGj2fygK8eP2GS2a1o5WudezFHmYQU/s1920/photosynthesis-4543260_1920.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-wuNLnGNexJMpOxiCCK4k6CTynlLdjV3504WsT_OMZJkPbCgA35m8rZlINRYecOJAgaZaSuOYxaitEDvQtLaAWkdMi-ijsO8rEzhA_nfxEeAHlRRGj2fygK8eP2GS2a1o5WudezFHmYQU/s320/photosynthesis-4543260_1920.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I have been working too hard. I have not been taking enough time for me or what I love. I have gotten two bacterial head colds in two weeks.<p></p><p>I have also taken a big step (for me). I have started seeing what the French call a "sophrologue", a relaxation specialist, who is helping me to slow down and breathe. The techniques are quite like meditation and though this is something I have done on other occasions in my life, I am hoping this time the practice and the benefits will stick.</p><p>I have always been a <a href="https://lazygirlsblog.blogspot.com/2015/12/doing-vs-being-in-holiday-season.html">checklist</a>, do-er kind of girl. Always study hard for the test, fill in all the blanks, get the job done on time, receive a gold star and move on to the next project. Call it Type A personality, achiever-reward system, whatever you want. It gets things done but does it fulfill *me* in the long term?</p><p>But I found despite all the recongition, praise, good comments or personal feeling I had done a good job on something, I still doubted myself, got into a panic and flop sweat in front of bigger groups of students and felt altogether anxious. This was despite being well-prepared and even feeling things were going well. My body automatically went into fight or flight mode and triggered a nervous system response as if a bear were chasing me.</p><p>That is what prompted me to see a sophrologue. I was tired of anxiety or the habit of anxiety taking me hostage. My therapist said she couldn't necessarily solve all physical symptoms of my anxiety, but she is helping me to focus and take time for me.</p><p>At our second session when I told her I had been trying the abdominal breathing when I was at a red light, she said, well, that's good, but you've got to commit more time to it. The next week I made more of an effort to take ten minutes for me each day. It doesn't seem like much but with a toddler, a tween, a job, a house and a husband, those ten minutes can be tough to find.</p><p>Sometimes I do those ten minutes with Alex, watching toddler yoga and meditation on youtube. Or we dance to our favorite songs with my daughter and work up a good kind of sweat. Or when the kids are asleep I listen to a ten-minute meditation on my phone. Sometimes it is just watching what I want and not what the kids want. I say, my turn, and take the remote and watch my happy place baking show, Nadya Bakes, and Alex watches or plays next to me.</p><p><span>I just started watching Headspace on Netflix which explains the benefits of mediation in a light-hearted way and ends with a short meditation you can do on your couch (perfect for this couch potato). </span></p><p><span>Don't worry, I am not booking a flight to Nepal yet nor becoming a Buddhist monk. I am just trying to be still for longer than a second. To be patient with me.</span></p><p><span>I fall off the wagon and get irritated and frustrated still. But I feel a change coming over me. The other day I didn't get irritated when my 12-year old was getting crazy about her homework. I told her to take a break and come back to it when she was calmer. I say "no" a little more often because I feel my health depends on it. Strangely I feel like I need to speak my mind a little more (but that could also be age). </span></p><p><span>So I am on the path and I know there are times I will stray off it but I hope that I will continue to enjoy this walk. And remember it's about being, not just doing!</span></p>Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-13076488702926591372020-12-28T16:54:00.000+01:002020-12-28T16:54:30.083+01:00The year the world got smaller<p>If 2020 were one of those cheesy hostage-taking action films on cable, we would be in the phase where we thought the bad guy was practically dead (vaccine found!), breathing his last raspy breath, when suddenly, his fingers started moving slowly (new more contagious variant!). It's the year that won't quit, that knocks us on the head and waits for us to get back up feebly then gives us a sucker punch. Not to mention just all the regular tragic news that happens any year: deadly explosion in Lebanon, terrorist attacks in France, Santana from <i>Glee</i> dying, for goodness sake!</p><p>So many of us are just <i>over</i> this year. Millions of families have experienced loss due to this virus or disrupted work and loss of income. Those are the biggies. But there are also the less tangible things that have changed this year. </p><p>The world got smaller. </p><p>When the first spring lockdowns arrived in many countries, we were <a href="http://lazygirlsblog.blogspot.com/2020/05/when-all-this-is-over.html">confined</a> to our homes or gardens- the odd trip to get groceries was practically the only outing allowed. Even with restrictions lifted, travel to my country, the US, was off limits this summer. My sister had to postpone her wedding (shout out to her and her beau, who said "<i>oui</i>" at the courthouse anyway). In the fall in Europe we were restricted again, not even a day trip to Belgium was authorized. And then in late October a second lockdown, (albeit less restrictive than the spring) began, and we had to trot out our paper or electronic authorizations every time we left the house.</p><p>When you know you can't do something, it makes you want to do it even more. We used to be able to get in the car and go visit another city on Sunday and not think a minute more about it. With the lockdown we were limited to 1 km (0.6 miles) around our house for daily exercise. Day trips to the UK are still out of the question. For a girl with wanderlust, this year has been frustrating. I tell my husband and students that once we can, I think people will travel like mad next year!</p><p>And so our borders have shrunk in around us this year, forcing us to appreciate what is close to home. And this second wave of restrictions has coincided with fall and winter as the days are shorter and colder. As I was working mostly from home these past two months, walking Alex to school and picking him up were sometimes my only ten minute-outings. I would take him around 8 as it just started getting light in my part of the world. I would pick him up around five as it started to get dark again. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrjDlBkF04mJstfdFoVR4M_6s1LWf-pELL1eOlwiWYY2a_ygp1vUf_8W9lh0Y7RvbPh-HMhNyADeGHbCp49TsMSCmeCMWgB-SZ_L9HnSAhWkUJytetdlYNt4wpnzG8bq629_hSWPbY3Ila/s1920/door-2082742_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1280" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrjDlBkF04mJstfdFoVR4M_6s1LWf-pELL1eOlwiWYY2a_ygp1vUf_8W9lh0Y7RvbPh-HMhNyADeGHbCp49TsMSCmeCMWgB-SZ_L9HnSAhWkUJytetdlYNt4wpnzG8bq629_hSWPbY3Ila/w133-h200/door-2082742_1920.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><p>I would imagine us hugging the earth with our feet, a bit like the illustrations in <i>Le Petit Prince</i>. The bare branches of the trees silhouetted by the blues and greys of the sky surrounded us. </p><p>"Come on, come on, it's dark and cold," I would tell him, as he stopped to pick up a rock that had chalky qualities and started drawing on the sidewalk for the third time. We dodged the dog poop on that one sidewalk every time. Sometimes he tired of walking and I picked him up in his yellow coat and hugged him close. </p><p>We would reach the home stretch where he recognized our street and he could walk more confidently to the front door. And so another evening would start, play time, squabbles with his sister, dinner, bedtime, and we start again the next day. At least most days I don't have to deal with a commute. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMALMKssGpwumI1oeugO-2WGi41LAGiroR8lrF3O97GNw4H4J1SYzgyhyoY60m1wss8oEEX3UXz6o8whslUH991RahBjF2RWmqxK0JAD0HvmseGBmU16TEH57GVCDnvzrV7Uvp181XG7L/s1080/rose+hips.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="810" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMALMKssGpwumI1oeugO-2WGi41LAGiroR8lrF3O97GNw4H4J1SYzgyhyoY60m1wss8oEEX3UXz6o8whslUH991RahBjF2RWmqxK0JAD0HvmseGBmU16TEH57GVCDnvzrV7Uvp181XG7L/s320/rose+hips.jpg" /></a>My world is smaller, and like winter, I must find comfort and beauty where I can. Like the colored rose-hips on the rose bushes or the last stubborn golden leaves hanging on a tree. We are looking inward, building strength for the next challenges and keeping hope alive. The buds are already on the trees, if we look closely. It has to get better. Even bad cable movies have happy endings.</p>Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-45955226469283721102020-10-10T17:20:00.000+02:002020-10-10T17:20:49.520+02:00There's your moment<p>Lockdown is practically a distant memory now. We have fallen back into the rhythms of school and work and seeing each other briefly, grumpily in the mornings. Hectically, a bit less stressed in the evenings. But homework and bath time and egging both kids to do what they need to can turn that evening quality time into a quagmire. </p><p>Then there is usually one moment (if I am lucky more than one!) where I pause on purpose or in spite of myself and say, this is the good part of my day. I try to find that moment and hold onto it, even if I have to turn back to the computer for lesson prep or some other admin task once the kids are in bed. Even if I have left pots and pans in the sink (every day!) and must just avoid eye contact with that area of the kitchen as I dash in for a yogurt after dinner. I try to keep that takeaway moment with me even into the next day, when I am back at work longing for the next reunion with the kids and family time.</p><p>It becomes that little nugget that keeps me going. </p><p>Sometimes it is a very short moment. Sometimes it is a photo that I can look back on during the workaday week and remember.</p><p>Sometimes it is a moment I am not even participating in fully but just watching between my children or my husband and one of the kids.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMnw5b7dZLzI91xf1qDZ5WTuKk6MUYNHqfxrM2C-lth8D75VzGV8scjgmk2efzG8p7IFtkdfVZ_djkhZh9jj9hcPhcak3_NC9bZdthc8nWSgTv-cW-Hqch7e0lKKP8ooiaV9HOZEXr9oh6/s2048/IMG_7725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMnw5b7dZLzI91xf1qDZ5WTuKk6MUYNHqfxrM2C-lth8D75VzGV8scjgmk2efzG8p7IFtkdfVZ_djkhZh9jj9hcPhcak3_NC9bZdthc8nWSgTv-cW-Hqch7e0lKKP8ooiaV9HOZEXr9oh6/s320/IMG_7725.JPG" /></a></div><p>Here are some examples:</p><p>When my oldest reads my youngest a bedtime story and the put their heads so close together.</p><p>When my youngest comes into my lap first thing in the morning and takes a strand of my hair.</p><p>When my daughter says something so very American that makes me realize, hey, I have done a decent job at making her bilingual!</p><p>When, miracle of miracles, there is a moment of silence at dinner because everyone thinks my simmered pork is tasty.</p><p>When I drop my pre-schooler off at school early and he sees the moon in the sky and points it out excitedly.</p><p>When a student tells me they enjoyed our lesson.</p><p>When a friend sends me a joke or silly GIF on my photo and we both think it is just so funny!</p><p>When my US family and I go off on some private joke or crazy idea that makes me smile at my screen.</p><p>When the cat comes right smack on the middle of my lap and my fleece blanket when I have settled down on the couch. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheOJogCkJAIeUjlGAhrT5V606SA4DnQ73WIlUMsn3XNwsLkM30VvYLZN_MPBstVj4yeVy669GXQu9AIaRA9oLHyCDx-OCywncNkjZ6_24cTYt4ivyJrmHenoS1YB-Pp78DPJb1PemiLbeA/s2048/IMG_7786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheOJogCkJAIeUjlGAhrT5V606SA4DnQ73WIlUMsn3XNwsLkM30VvYLZN_MPBstVj4yeVy669GXQu9AIaRA9oLHyCDx-OCywncNkjZ6_24cTYt4ivyJrmHenoS1YB-Pp78DPJb1PemiLbeA/w150-h200/IMG_7786.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>When my husband and I talk about new ideas for the garden (and we actually agree!). </p><p>When said husband comes into the living room with ice cream cones for us both. </p><p>When I catch the sky looking particularly lovely. </p><p>And I often say in my head, there's your moment. And it might not keep all the stress and anxiety at bay. It may not stay with me eternally but if I string all those moments together, it makes for a pretty good life. Perhaps we won't remember all the years that pass, but it's those little moments that will sparkle and glimmer back at us when we are older. </p><p>What are your moments? How do you "keep" them? </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE42TVsWr2TztVIxSG0MfogLwZMfbCjG4kHr1kp9PKOf8lSuVb7U0gHpjFpFQxmBaQwVzIS0I7TyGNyHb8ZtplfmzR4WPGENCzC0iDwNt2wu4_ZV_3xIfxofvIwOIl9Z0NURDyYrmi7J2k/s2048/IMG_7702.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE42TVsWr2TztVIxSG0MfogLwZMfbCjG4kHr1kp9PKOf8lSuVb7U0gHpjFpFQxmBaQwVzIS0I7TyGNyHb8ZtplfmzR4WPGENCzC0iDwNt2wu4_ZV_3xIfxofvIwOIl9Z0NURDyYrmi7J2k/s320/IMG_7702.JPG" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-53490886313227524432020-08-09T08:33:00.001+02:002020-08-09T08:33:55.500+02:00Get awayThe suitcases have been put away. The postcards we bought for ourselves adorn the fridge. Our walking sticks, picked up in the forests, are still waiting in a corner of our foyer, a little reminder of where we were. <br />
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Last month we were lucky enough to get away for two weeks to the mountains, in Savoie in the Alps. I say lucky because in a year when covid has smashed everyone's travel plans or made some reluctant to travel at all, we do feel fortunate to have had a real vacation. It wasn't the one we planned last spring when we had hoped to go to the US. But there was that pesky virus...<br />
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So we set out by car to the mountains. The road trip sensation crept in quickly as we picnicked on our fleece blanket at a rest area. The kids watched a dvd in the backseat. Alex kept taking off his arm straps on his car seat forcing us to stop the car and speak sternly to him. And then the kids squabbled, or rather my tween got annoyed with her toddler bro. And that too is part of road trips.<br />
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I found it hard the first few days to cut myself off from work and I'm not sure I ever truly did. But I made an effort not to check the emails I was on copy on immediately or not at all if they didn't seem urgent. I realized once again that I have a hard time focusing on the moment and not letting worries about the next thing bother me. I feel anxious about bus schedules, meeting times with the airbnb owner and finding our way and those are things it's hard to shed even on holiday. <br />
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Despite that, just the fact of being elsewhere is important to me. Every since I was a young teen, I have appreciated the feeling of changing place, seeing the world from a different perspective. When we would hit the road to go to Texas to visit my grandma and aunt, sometimes I would keep a travel journal. I would look at the wooden-paneled houses we drove past on a sunny day and imagine what the inhabitants were doing. Their lives seemed happier, sunnier, just because I was on vacation. <br />
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Even visiting a gas station in a new city and checking out the different sodas and candy bars can be fun. In French they have a good word for it: <i>dépaysant</i>. But it is hard to translate accurately: exotic, disorienting, don't seem right. The best translation I have seen is the idea of a change of scenery. It's amazing to me to see how, each time, a change of place can generate a change in your mind.<br />
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So in this year of limited travel, a change of scene was sorely needed. When I wasn't worrying about this that or the other, I truly enjoyed the landscapes and prairies of wildflowers. We walked more than we usually do so and doing that with a toddler in a backpack carrier or pushing him uphill or down steep paths in a stroller was rather physical (the husband helped on this, too, of course). So I may have had a nice mental break but physically I felt tired after this trip and am still catching up on sleep!<br />
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And as the wanderlust never truly leaves me, I am already thinking of daytrips and bigger trips in our future! If 2020 has taught us one thing it's that our health is so valuable and we never know what life has in store for us. So travel when and if you can and no matter what try and enjoy each day!<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQURhMl_xMNRYu08Gg4PGrUZ4BxR-heR1uj8KRCupAzXeUcVR7GWTKZju9dSQuBSVaw6lS90pfa6v_0mVE59zVyPJRmMS3Quglul2sqL5IhOFoxdfpPYON6q6VMOAz_BWfcUsNCHctJFOP/s2048/img_7039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQURhMl_xMNRYu08Gg4PGrUZ4BxR-heR1uj8KRCupAzXeUcVR7GWTKZju9dSQuBSVaw6lS90pfa6v_0mVE59zVyPJRmMS3Quglul2sqL5IhOFoxdfpPYON6q6VMOAz_BWfcUsNCHctJFOP/s640/img_7039.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-88116842173622449762020-06-28T08:39:00.000+02:002020-06-28T08:39:31.534+02:00Why I love Young Sheldon (and you should, too!)I have a confession to make. It might make some of you gasp or un-friend me on Facebook. I have never been a big fan of (<i>hiding head in shame...</i>) <i>The Big Bang Theory</i>. I know! You can't believe it. The concept is one I should dig, being something of a nerd myself. But I could never get past the canned laughter and some of the running jokes have run their course for me. (Feel free to argue with me in the comments!). Of all the characters on that show, Sheldon is probably my favorite though.<br />
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But <i>Young Sheldon</i> is a whole different universe and one my family and I gladly dip into each week. They have smartly ditched the canned laughter and traded university and apartment for a ranch-style house in East Texas. The show has planted us firmly in the late 80s when Sheldon, just ten, has skipped enough grades to start high school.<br />
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There are just so many things to love about this show, so I'll make a list:<br />
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1. Each episode is well-written and sometimes downright poignant. They pack a lot into their 22ish minutes without superfluous moments. The episode where the mom is pregnant (SPOILER ALERT....) and then she miscarries, doesn't go into the maudlin but captures the pain of the parents with respect and tenderness. There is humor without being slapstick (what I don't like so much in their parent series, <i>The Big Bang Theory</i>). They don't bang you over the head with their message. It's kid-friendly too even if they touch on mature subjects sometimes.<br />
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2. It's a trip down the 80s nostalgia lane. If you were a child of the 80s you will find at least one cultural reference you know. The daughter Missy is into Cabbage Patch Dolls and Cyndi Lauper. They talk about Alf and Carl Sagan. The episode where the dad couldn't figure out how to turn on the washer (which is practically the same 80s type my mom still has!) just tickled me to death ("It's a button you PULL!"). And frankly it's refreshing to go back into a world where cell phones and even cordless phones didn't exist. <br />
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3. The characters are flawed but loveable. It took me a while to warm up to the older son's character on the show but as the series goes on I start to understand him more- the kid who isn't really made for school but loves mechanics and girls. The dad could literally pass for any middle-aged good ole boy but he is deeper than that and loves and supports his family fiercely.<br />
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The mom is golden with her soft Texas accent and her eternal struggle to do good for her family and be a good Baptist (she made a deal with God when her daughter almost died at birth). Despite her 80s hairstyle and wardrobe she could easily be a modern mom, juggling work and home. <br />
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Sheldon and his sister Missy are spitfires in totally different ways. The star of the show, Sheldon, is smarter than his teachers but often clueless about everyday life. Missy is Southern sassy and doesn't let her twin brother's attention-hogging intelligence get to her.<br />
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And then there is Mee-Maw, probably our favorite (because Juliette loves this show, too!). Annie Potts is perfect as the I-don't-give-a-damn young widowed grandma. She lives across the street from Sheldon's family and is the kind of grandmother who spoils the kids silly and pops open a beer and goes bowling with her buddies. My great-grandmother was also known as Mee-Maw. <br />
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5. But what I think I love the most is that it takes place in the South. I have never had a strong Southern accent but when I watch this show, it's like mine starts coming back with a vengeance! I don't know if all the actors are indeed Southern but they do a damn fine job with their accents. I have family in Eastern/Middle Texas so I know this area. One evening Juliette wanted to pretend we were Sheldon't family at dinner and she was amazed at how much I could channel his mom's accent! Well, I am from the South, I told her proudly!<br />
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So if you haven't checked out this gem of a sitcom, what are you waiting for? It's funny, well-scripted and an ode to the south that for once doesn't paint us as hicks and rednecks but just people who have an accent (and love football). Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-27307588718155341252020-05-24T08:21:00.000+02:002020-05-24T08:21:56.168+02:00The one word that means so much<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was talking with a couple my husband knows who both worked non-stop in their large supermarket during the lockdown period. The wife is a cashier and had to wear gloves and a mask and visor, sitting behind her plexiglas shield. I asked her if it was hard facing the virus (potentially) and working while others stayed at home. She replied right away. "No. Because I had a reason to get up every day."<br />
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I almost took it as a rebuke but knew she didn't mean it that way. Instead I agreed sincerely, because I was lucky to have realized quite quickly during this lockdown what I needed to get out of bed every morning. One word that can change everything in your day. In your life. Motivation.<br />
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When you are motivated, or more precisely, when you have a goal each day, waking up is the first step on your fabulous journey. It can be a goal in your house like organizing that problem corner in the living room or cleaning the windows, but what worked best for me were creative goals.<br />
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After a week or so of sleeping late-ish (and when I had my small bout with the virus I did rest more), I started, wait for it... setting my alarm! I made myself get up at least by 8 and more often 7:30 before the kids were up. (Ok, granted, that is not super early by some people's standards!) <br />
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At first it was out of necessity. The intranet site for downloading homework for my daughter was saturated at other times of the day. So I connected early and printed out her homework. But after that I kept the habit and used that time to do something I wanted to do or at least something creative.<br />
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I started making quizzes for my company's Facebook page to hopefully help attract customers in these slow times. I wrote a blog post. I edited a few videos on my iPhone for the library or friends. I started my sillier than silly Glee parody videos.<br />
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And now I vary the activities. Some days I water the plants before it gets too hot or I garden or weed in the front yard. Or I watch one of my shows on Netflix that the kids don't like as much (Brooklyn 9-9) or that I shouldn't watch with them around (Outlander).<br />
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At other parts of the day we try to keep busy, too, while still allowing some chill time! The kids and I planted climbing flower seeds and beans around our new bamboo tee-pee. We planted seeds in toilet paper roll containers (Five Minute Crafts that Juliette watched!) to get them started before transplanting. Juliette made a killer brownie <a href="https://www.tf1.fr/tmc/quotidien-avec-yann-barthes/videos/la-recette-de-juan-arbelaez-le-brownie-aux-noisettes-12142522.html" target="_blank">recipe</a> we had seen on TV.<br />
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Some days I may try a new recipe myself or make homemade hamburger buns for dinner. I don't always do each of these things every day. And if I get my little one to nap, I may nap too. I help my big girl with her homework. I try to read some myself when time allows. But I certainly can't say I have been bored during lockdown and now post-lockdown.<br />
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I don't have time between household tasks, trying to do something creative, occasional recipes, gardening, constant toddler surveillance and de facto tutor to my middle schooler. And honestly despite not being able to get out as much (especially during official lockdown), I have to say I have enjoyed this opportunity to explore hobbies I didn't have much time for before. Most days I wake up pumped to get started on a new project or just get the house more liveable (endless, fruitless task, but I persist!).<br />
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Not every day is perfect and productive. But I am happy to be drinking my first cup of café au lait and listen to the birds as I type on my computer this morning. And that's a start!<br />
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Tell me what motivates you these days! What are the tasks you still don't want to do?!Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-24888891506321732412020-05-09T08:11:00.000+02:002020-05-09T08:24:55.323+02:00When all this is over<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"When all this is over" is a phrase I have heard myself saying these past six weeks of lockdown. I say it to my daughter when she says she needs more art supplies from our favorite Dollar Tree equivalent store called Action. I say it when I complain about the peeling paint on my garden table set and that I'd like a new set. I say it about inviting the new neighbors or old friends for a barbecue. I say it to my father-in-law about going to the coolest zoo ever (in my opinion) in Belgium, Pari Daiza, later this summer. </span><br />
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<span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sometimes I say it in a dreamy way. When all this is over we'll be able to go to the supermarket and take our time and not worry about wiping down our carts (ok, that probably won't be for a year at least- we'll still be wiping down carts for months to come!). Or, when all this is over I will invite my friends for tea again. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At other times I am almost apprehensive about getting back to my regular life. When all this is truly over I will be back to a fairly intense job and travelling on the road during the day plus all the household and mothering duties. Do I even remember how to manage it all?</span></span><br />
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I won't lie to you that when I learned the news in mid-March that school was suspended and daycares were closed, I was a little pumped. Parents like me who had no alternatives could stay home and receive a stipend from the government, That later got transformed into furlough pay when my company closed temporarily.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This down-time would be a little respite from waking at six on some days, making sure my 11-year old was up by 6:50 and operational for when her schoolmate came by at 7:45 for their walk to school. Some days, depending on my schedule, I dropped Alex off at daycare at 7:30. Then I drove around all over the place for my English classes, sometimes having a puny lunch in my car or just an apple, then picked Alex up at 4:45 on a good day or 6:20 on a long day. Going to sleep just to start over again the next day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When I woke on weekday mornings, I longed immediately for the weekend when I could sleep till 8 (if my husband didn't kindly remind me that I shouldn't sleep all day). In the evenings as I rushed around making dinner and trying to spend a wee bit of quality time with the kids, I thought about Saturday and Sunday around the corner when we could take our time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I used to joke that a <a href="https://lazygirlsblog.blogspot.com/2010/09/month-of-sundays.html" target="_blank">month of Sundays</a> (at least the lazing around the house type) would be dreamy. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Be careful what you wish for. Though I am generally doing ok with this lockdown life, there are times it is very limiting and tensions rise at home. The motivation to complete projects and do spring cleaning comes and goes. I think watching two kids all day certainly limits the amount of things I can do!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So when all this is over will we go back to our normal lives as before? Will we be glad to be back at work and more active again? Will we no longer take for granted a quick jaunt to Ikea or a hike in the local park (closed now in France)? Will we buy lots of things to make up for lost time? Or will we be more careful with our purchases? Will we hug our friends or just do air kisses for a while? Will we value our friends and family differently?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The way things look in France, we won't go back to a truly normal schedule till September. Until then I suppose I will take it one day at a time and remember what the actress <a href="https://www.thehealthy.com/autoimmune/actress-terri-garr-battles-multiple-sclerosis/" target="_blank">Terri Garr's mother</a> used to have printed on a pin for her shirt: EGBOK. Everything's gonna be OK. Or as they say in Italy, a country that knows the stakes in this situation: <i>andrĂ tutto bene</i>.</span><br />
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<a href="https://www.thelocal.it/20200312/italian-expression-of-the-day-andr-tutto-bene"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">https://www.thelocal.it/20200312/italian-expression-of-the-day-andr-tutto-bene</span></a><br />
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Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-60058995190702686492020-04-28T08:43:00.001+02:002020-04-28T08:46:59.413+02:00Silent spring<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzs0H2dR9q2eB8hXn8TICw6LzrAxwDOVbhMHkw0h4KwLnP0iAHetcD9exlY4GjgWjbOL7-Oxs9gMu3Z_LZ1wW3feIh4GX19d1WUtXR6ph4K6ATpIHok9ikTTLPNSQOPNWzWvzAVYLb-s-_/s1600/arch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzs0H2dR9q2eB8hXn8TICw6LzrAxwDOVbhMHkw0h4KwLnP0iAHetcD9exlY4GjgWjbOL7-Oxs9gMu3Z_LZ1wW3feIh4GX19d1WUtXR6ph4K6ATpIHok9ikTTLPNSQOPNWzWvzAVYLb-s-_/s320/arch.jpg" width="240" /></a>Silent as our cars stay parked in the driveway. As the children stay home instead of playing in the parks or schoolyards. Silent for those who have left us too early. From this virus. From cancer. Silent as we contemplate life after this.<br />
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She chose a beautiful day to go. In fact she went in her sleep in the wee hours of the morning, the call from his distraught father <span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">waking my husband and me up</span>. I managed to go back to sleep a little anyway and woke around 7:00. As I went downstairs I could see from the hazy sky that it would be another gorgeous blue-sky day. Unseasonably warm for April.<br />
<b></b><b></b><br />
Even her funeral was more silent than usual. Only a few family members came as the others were afraid of the virus and we were limited to 20 people maximum, including the pall bearers. <br />
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No church service, only the flowers my husband and I could find in his greenhouse. A few arrangements were delivered from customers. But it wasn't what my husband wanted to offer her. <br />
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I have to believe she would understand though. Where she is now there are millions of flowers she never needs to prune or water or repot. Unless she wants to. Now she is in a place with no cancer. <br />
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Now we continue. Confinement is tough. The walls seem to close in on us. Even the garden seems smaller everyday as I do my little inspection of the new growth. We are edgy, grumpy at times. We start to lack motivation for all those projects we thought we'd get to.<br />
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But for those who are still working, like my husband, it's tough too. Feeling as if you are the only one still out there while the others rest at home.<br />
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"<i>Tu peux pas savoir</i>", my father-in-law kept saying this week as he dealt with the pain of losing his wife. "You can't know what it's like." He is right. I can't know what it's like to lose someone you knew for 46 years (my whole life). And unless you have lived in lockdown before or worked non-stop amidst this virus, you can't know either. <br />
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We helped my husband out some this week, braving the lockdown rules, being stopped once by the gendarmes and having to show our "déclaration sur honneur" that we printed from the Internet. I know we are doing the right thing though chasing Alex in the greenhouse while my eleven-year old alternately pouts or sighs (though she has come around and is a great helper!) has been something of a nightmare. At least we have helped a little.<br />
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And this week they were allowed to truly open to the public to sell their plants. We have been blessed with amazing weather during this lockdown and people have the time to garden. So the clients have been streaming in, some with masks and gloves, some blissfully uncareful even shaking hands with my husband. Some give their condolences about my mother-in-law who they knew from the cash register. <br />
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As Alex scoots around on his little tractor and we put the radio on to repot baby plants, spring has become less silent. We hear the chatter of customers, laughs about what a strange world we are living in. <br />
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We hear birds more clearly too as there is less traffic to drown out their songs. We hear conversations with elderly neighbors in the middle of the day that normally wouldn't take place. We hear voices of friends on the phone that we would otherwise text or wait for church or tea time to see. <br />
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And for the first time in a while, we hear hope. That there will be an "after" and that things will get better. Maybe a little silence did us some good. If only to appreciate that melody of sounds even more. Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-31070829343292218102020-03-30T09:41:00.000+02:002020-03-30T09:41:15.383+02:00Light and fluffyI remember light and fluffy. I remember strolling in the mall and window shopping or even buying some trinket I didn't need.<br />
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I remember running by the store on the way to pick up my daughter from scouts, killing time and buying some nice dark chocolate (for me) and a bottle of white wine for dinner.<br />
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I remember saying, geez, too bad it's raining, but we could still go to the museum in town or just take our umbrellas and walk the squares anyway.<br />
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Since France has been under lockdown (officially since noon on March 17th) I can't just do those things on a whim. All but non-essential businesses (grocery stores, pharmacies) are closed. And you are encouraged to only go to them when you really REALLY need something. I saw a gendarme on TV blessing a woman out for buying a cart full of six Coca Cola bottles and what looked like deli meat. He said it wasn't essential and she needed her permission slip to leave her house. And that she would get a stomachache.<br />
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I remember when my WhatsApp conversations went something like this:<br />
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<b>Me: </b><i>Hey, how are you guys today?</i><br />
<b>Mom/my sister/my friends:</b> <i>Ok, just going grocery shopping and working.</i><br />
<b>Me: </b><i>Sounds good. Off to pick up Alex and think of what to make for dinner. Catch you later.</i><br />
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Now they're more like this:<br />
<b>Me: </b><i>How are you feeling? No fever?</i><br />
<b>Mom/my sister/my friends:</b> <i>Ok, just going stir crazy in my house. No fever though.</i><br />
<b>Me:</b> <i>Yeah, same here. Gotta find enough ingredients to make a healthy dinner. More later.</i><br />
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How many of you are looking deep in your cupboards now, getting super inventive and not wasting a morsel so you can avoid going back to the store? Facebook is full of recipes of things you can make with what you probably still have on hand.<br />
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Still I remember light and fluffy. Making cakes just because I wanted to eat something warm and sweet. Now I scrupulously count my eggs and see how much butter I have because I also need those for other meal options. But I still make cakes when I can ;)<br />
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But in our new normal, let's call it slow and steady, it's the little things that stand out more. I catch the way the sun looks at different times around my house.<br />
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I know the best time for us to go in the garden and get some of that precious sun (after lunch).<br />
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I see the bulbs coming out of the ground (I had time to plant some more) and how the color is slowly coming into the buds.<br />
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I see that my white steps in the stairwell shine now (cause I finally cleaned them).<br />
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I see that my little one really does get sleepy around 2:30 and that even if he doesn't go willingly, he will settle down eventually.<br />
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I see that my daughter loves crafts and organizing (already knew that) and that she loves it when I do art with her. And she needs mommy time even though her brother is so demanding.<br />
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I see that the cat really doesn't do anything all day except go in and out and sleep on her radiator perch.<br />
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Funny how something so little, microscopic in fact, like this virus, can stop a whole world and make me see the little things. The little things that count.<br />
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So one day light and fluffy will come back and we will savor it that much more. For now slow and steady is an unexpected change of pace that we must accept. With grace and kindness to others and ourselves.Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-51642024924230050312019-12-31T11:15:00.000+01:002020-01-01T08:40:15.208+01:00The war of words<br />
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« <i>Lapin</i>. »<o:p></o:p></div>
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« Bunny. »<o:p></o:p></div>
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« No, <i>lapin</i>. »<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This is a
conversation in my back seat. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alex, a
little over two years old, is surfing two languages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His sister, 11, is trying to get him to say
âbunnyâ which he actually knew how to say first and pronounces with an American
slurring of the nâs- buhh-ny!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Big sis
has already gone through the same stages of language learning but doesnât
remember when she too had to juggle with two words for everything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzWZEGhAiWC15udSlk-eik_9xs7kbhBsmmuh-cdoxCr8eDi0zVq1QXR9V1H2UuXWf9aRov4kTO3izqgQuCciA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am not
the only mom dealing with two languages at home and the trials and troubles and
funny moments it brings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are
<i>beaucoup </i>articles about this now, one very poignant and real that just came out
recently <a href="https://www.theglobeandmail.com/opinion/article-a-mothers-tongue-the-complexity-of-raising-multilingual-children/" target="_blank">about a Canadian mom with Polish origins</a> living in London trying to
teach her young son Polish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each time I
find such an article, I eat up every word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not only is it a reflection of my own daily âstruggleâ but as a
self-proclaimed lover of languages, it is fascinating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You can say
all you want about how bilingual folks may avoid dementia in later life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or that we may be able to problem solve or
see things differently by having two languages to do it in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what interests me the most lately is the
feeling behind those words- the cultural and emotional load in them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Just as </span></span>the
author of that article mentioned, each word âconqueredâ in the minority
language (in our house, English) seems like a victory for me. I canât help but smiling more and encouraging
more when my kids come up with English words and expressions. And maybe itâs also because those new words
come through special situations, like during our vacation back home, when my
family comes to visit, or reading English books at bedtime. </div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Which
brings us back to the famous âbuhh-nyâ.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This one started with an adorably illustrated book called Happy Easter
Bunny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My aunt sent it to Juliette when
she was younger and now I read it to Alex and say enthusiastically at the end,
âitâs bunny!â when we discover he has been hiding Easter eggs for his mouse
friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alex imitates the tone when he
says it in other situations, and yes, that tickles me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And though
I know very well my kids must learn French to survive in this country, would
you believe me if I almost feel down when I hear how many French words my
little one is saying?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He goes to
daycare with twenty other kids and hears French words all day from the nursery
workers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Itâs only natural he is
learning all the animals in French and nursery rhymes in that language
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Itâs illogical for me to be jealous
but thatâs sort of the feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So when
he says âcochonâ for pig I am happy he has learned a new word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I say, âyes, <i>cochon</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And âpigâ in English.â<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That is how
a lot of my conversations go in this house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I repeat what my kids say in French and then say it in English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or in Julietteâs case, she often tells me about
her day in French and I ask her follow-up questions in English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Perhaps
that explains this recent exchange with Alex, growing up in a bilingual
house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other night at dinner as we
were watching the news, he started saying âmionâ and I couldnât figure out what
he meant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He repeated with the missing
first syllable to say â<i>camion</i>â then repeated in English for me, âtruckâ (or
âtuckâ in his case, hey, heâs getting there).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Was he figuring out that when someone doesnât understand the word one
way, he needs to switch to the other? Itâs a lot for a toddler to handle, but
he is managing, just as his sister did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I hope Alex
will learn to love both his languages like she does, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 11 she can do a passable British or
Australian accent though when she speaks she is decidedly American because of
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I felt like doing a dance when
she started using <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the expression âturns
outâ repeatedly when describing some drama that happened at school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks to watching Glee she has picked up on
some typical expressions (oh, and a few not so great ones like âto make
outâ).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">All in all
this process takes time but seeing how well my first child managed, I shouldnât
worry too much about little Alex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Weâll
get there, one word at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And weâll
try to enjoy the ride or should I say âvoyageâ.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-90398808106414935392019-08-23T18:05:00.001+02:002019-08-23T18:05:52.033+02:00Jet lag of the heart<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
If youâve
ever crossed a few time zones you know what jet lag feels like. That sensation that it should be earlier or
later than it is. That the light sure
seems odd for this time of day. Go from
the US to Europe (or vice versa) and your stomach will wake you at 4 a.m. Or when you get up from a nap you canât
recognize your own room as itâs been three weeks since you slept there. It messes with your body and mind and makes
you beg for more sleep or a cure for insomnia, as the case may be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But to add
a bit of fun to the mix, when you have returned from visiting family, you get a
case of jet lag of the heart, as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Air
travel brought you home in 8 hours flat but your brain is still swimming in the
home vibes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You think you can just turn
around and tell your mom or aunt something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You think you can just see your sister next weekend instead of next
year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This second
kind of jet lag is more insidious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once
the physical stress of skipping 7 time zones has left you, the sight of a
Target bag or a jingle in your head from an ad back home can make your eyes
smart again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More than nostalgia for
home, this sort of soul ache reminds me it will be a while before I am back
home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Leaving oneâs
family and country and culture behind all in one go is hard on a human body and
soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I should be a pro at it now, after
17 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if I cry less with time
and experience, now my daughter cries more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She is starting to understand just how far away America is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She knows that two years between visits is a
very long time (even if we are lucky to get some visits our way in
between).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">To see her
break down in tears a few days after our return is hard for me to watch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I do my best to console her and extol the virtues of FaceTime and phone calls (trying to convince myself at the same time). </span>And when she asks me why I didnât just stay
in America and marry someone there, I have to remind her that I wouldnât have
*her* if that were the case.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I
wouldnât have her brother. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who by the
way doesnât seem to show too many signs of thisâ love lagâ, though he may well
be as sensitive as his sister and me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time
will tell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And as I
must do every time, I try to get back into my routine, remember the things I
*do* enjoy about being in France.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
putter in my garden and try to plan cozy moments with the bi-cultural little
family that is mine here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I hope (in
vain) that one day they will come up with a cure for this jet lag of the heart.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-11309215096660779822019-03-06T11:46:00.000+01:002019-03-06T11:46:28.579+01:00Travelling with toddlers: or just leave them at home??<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT5mjGGdNRfcYxEIv2St6V0WXnhC-OvWTvUe8bUb3rTp39h0xXVRPulL0ichiRcRvgqhXPFuyx7GiG7f2Hv1_r4MJERoQHcYeHghk3sOFlmwDpDvvn_RiPWXa-1Gy3mml-XbBSuqnZ9Tsg/s1600/mittens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1201" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT5mjGGdNRfcYxEIv2St6V0WXnhC-OvWTvUe8bUb3rTp39h0xXVRPulL0ichiRcRvgqhXPFuyx7GiG7f2Hv1_r4MJERoQHcYeHghk3sOFlmwDpDvvn_RiPWXa-1Gy3mml-XbBSuqnZ9Tsg/s200/mittens.jpg" width="150" /></a>Being a mom requires moments of extreme bravery. Like taking your baby who is burning up with fever to the ER on a Sunday night. Or overcoming your fear of blood to put rolled up cotton in your daughter's nostril when she has a nose bleed . Or taking a road trip with a toddler.<br />
<br />
Be brave, my friends, it is doable, with a little preparation and a lot of snacks. I recently tried the following tips out while traveling with a nearly seventeen-month old (and my highly-spirited ten-year old).<br />
<br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b><u>In the car</u></b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgum04yATtIEuxt3i0Xxlc10bjYzvs9yic3WBFia5JcE7-Ej8AbE_VNqbuXJZCopoh8W7GYMqlI-n3LfXApJ03KaTs21gFB-KbuiOBmXSb_iI1bgWL8TLR7NFKrstP4BkcxbI6s1AYWdDwZ/s1600/car+blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgum04yATtIEuxt3i0Xxlc10bjYzvs9yic3WBFia5JcE7-Ej8AbE_VNqbuXJZCopoh8W7GYMqlI-n3LfXApJ03KaTs21gFB-KbuiOBmXSb_iI1bgWL8TLR7NFKrstP4BkcxbI6s1AYWdDwZ/s200/car+blog.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Try to time your road trip with a nap time. and if not, make sure someone who can play with him (nicely) is next to him<br />
<br />
Bring his favorite books and toys in the car, for those moments he is resisting sleep and his car-mate has lost interest in entertaining him.<br />
<br />
Play kid-friendly or bouncy music to distract him when he starts crying. It might not put him to sleep but at least he will start dancing and get in a better mood.<br />
<br />
<b><u>In the hotel</u></b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz7Fz5GMzCv6dMV7TJGvZW6J1iZpnukIDU05v2B9PplTSRww3mO3Z1Luxc4LGmvyDOn4I8B32akNLjYSLD7a8ibciuk2Ak1jcyAVOQmyKF_1O0YVLd2gwM7rx2gl-86W6cmWCv2QkXDJgV/s1600/snacks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz7Fz5GMzCv6dMV7TJGvZW6J1iZpnukIDU05v2B9PplTSRww3mO3Z1Luxc4LGmvyDOn4I8B32akNLjYSLD7a8ibciuk2Ak1jcyAVOQmyKF_1O0YVLd2gwM7rx2gl-86W6cmWCv2QkXDJgV/s320/snacks.jpg" width="320" /></a>Do check that the hotel has a crib/cot available. Many places will provide one for free or for a small fee. Or bring your own portable playpen just in case!<br />
<br />
Bring his favorite bedtime book to keep his nighttime ritual going in the hotel. But be prepared for some choppy nights as little ones don't always adapt well to new surroundings.<br />
<br />
Bring a portable booster chair in case high chairs are not available in the hotel or restaurant. There are some small, portable, fabric models available on the market.<br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b><u>Out and about</u></b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLO0qqOUS0Di1hCevjMnxAfR9ye4LQpa__fLDsd9It8IIg-HsOuEWmzJSmVWonXnW7Jbr60W6XICnom4Y9eEmttCqEhfrIHAYhTErQurX_d1nz6Up3tPlKGl3TH-nIjXuWd_9eTMevuVF3/s1600/playground.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLO0qqOUS0Di1hCevjMnxAfR9ye4LQpa__fLDsd9It8IIg-HsOuEWmzJSmVWonXnW7Jbr60W6XICnom4Y9eEmttCqEhfrIHAYhTErQurX_d1nz6Up3tPlKGl3TH-nIjXuWd_9eTMevuVF3/s320/playground.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="text-align: center;">When you see a playground, give her free time. The more they play and run, the happier they will be and the more tired out too!</span><br />
<br />
Schedule some kid-friendly activities like petting zoos and parks where kids can walk and interact. Under 5s could care less about architecture and cathedrals in general so don't pack <i>only </i>these types of events into your trip.<br />
<br />
Know your limits. The world is not always stroller-friendly. If you or dad have to let the rest of the family climb the steps to the castle while you hang out with baby, so be it. There will be other opportunities. But as I mentioned in the last tip, do find some kid-friendly fun to break up the more boring (from a kid's POV) sightseeing.<br />
<br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b><u>Eating out</u></b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivH7wmXLvWCXh7bDDrJY3Pd1WDONrwNRbmZBfJfXmuQldmiO1iBleBJHXouTu0EY32a2O9kyYNnEUauKBpzc4UAXcGOQ9J3cFPvfSZtQGZsJBHCSisaSMP-KFh7WAb0W16vWpBmyBDY4sK/s1600/restaurant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivH7wmXLvWCXh7bDDrJY3Pd1WDONrwNRbmZBfJfXmuQldmiO1iBleBJHXouTu0EY32a2O9kyYNnEUauKBpzc4UAXcGOQ9J3cFPvfSZtQGZsJBHCSisaSMP-KFh7WAb0W16vWpBmyBDY4sK/s200/restaurant.jpg" width="200" /></a>Snacks, snacks and snacks! Restaurants can seem insanely long from a toddler's perspective. Finger foods (like sweet potato puffs) are great for distracting little ones while their own food is heated up or if the grown-ups' meal takes longer (oh and it will)!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>BYOC</b>. If only every restaurant had the wisdom to provide crayons and coloring pages for its youngest patrons! But alas, many don't think about them so Bring Your Own Crayons. And a notepad while you're at it, to make the wait for the others' meals seem less tedious.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLN4DhLKtdnb1d3huPHuTlyqLEjNm3EclMqxjqQV8mPw0ATDY23ow7SykuJLbsRx5fcaqj75NJPnklqIKt-h8Zb-Dqu3khp3VVskZI_vB45WfuaBkG1-LExCHPa6pKM8EhGZ-huaC8kUgS/s1600/IMG-20190216-WA0007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="972" data-original-width="1296" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLN4DhLKtdnb1d3huPHuTlyqLEjNm3EclMqxjqQV8mPw0ATDY23ow7SykuJLbsRx5fcaqj75NJPnklqIKt-h8Zb-Dqu3khp3VVskZI_vB45WfuaBkG1-LExCHPa6pKM8EhGZ-huaC8kUgS/s200/IMG-20190216-WA0007.jpg" width="200" /></a>In the end, <b>go with the flow and try to enjoy yourself, too!</b> There is no reason to give up all travel until your child is out of the terrible twos (and threes and fours). Anyway, if they do have a melt-down, just remember this- you will most likely never have to see any of the people around you that day ever again!Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-453831646178036172018-09-17T14:32:00.000+02:002018-09-17T14:32:48.632+02:00Goodbye to the eternal summer<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsNyeK-bumctg6IpAiMXoZTiqf01UInNWF9c4T8476ZjDw3W2Di_vO4gAQ0qOARnNcd0rLnNU2cOW6aoqzp4KU1quolATpqGe-3BIEd_GzTryE6HFSX_3hm6GS7tVla_u3RGyyDehV9x4/s1600/sunflower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsNyeK-bumctg6IpAiMXoZTiqf01UInNWF9c4T8476ZjDw3W2Di_vO4gAQ0qOARnNcd0rLnNU2cOW6aoqzp4KU1quolATpqGe-3BIEd_GzTryE6HFSX_3hm6GS7tVla_u3RGyyDehV9x4/s200/sunflower.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Goodbye to
beach trips and ice cream cones with sand between our toes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Goodbye to
letting the kids stay up late because âno school tomorrow!â</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Goodbye to
spontaneous picnics in the park and juicy watermelon that drips down our chins.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Goodbye to
vacation and relaxing and not thinking about work. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This end of
summer is even harder for me because I am coming off of one year off taking
care of my second child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could say I
have had one long summer of not having to get up as early for work, of not
worrying about prepping for tomorrowâs classes (since I teach English).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And more importantly, I got to spend this
year getting to know this precious person, my son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Despite the
night feedings and groggy mornings, I woke up mostly happy to be spending time
with my baby and seeing more of my older daughter in between her school
hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never really got bored being at
home and cherished the one-on-one time with my newborn and just being able to
take a sort of sabbatical from work.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now comes
the hard part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This back-to-school
season, in addition to my big girl starting her last year of elementary school
(!), my eleven-month old has been starting his transition into daycare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I held back the tears as I took him in for
the initial thirty minutes, sitting on the gym-style mats with the daycare
assistant, telling her about my sonâs routine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I then took a walk for the next thirty minutes while he was there on his
own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did fine, though, playing with
the other kids and toys.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The next
day he stayed for two hours while I took my daughter to the library to distract
myself (and her).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then he stayed for
three hours and ate <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>lunch with the other
kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately he got wise to the
concept that mommy was leaving him longer and longer and is now balking and
crying when I take him there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Although
I am doing better than I thought with all this change, occasionally I feel a sadness
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when we sang a hymn with the words, âbe still my soulâ and the tears started
welling up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My glorious âsummerâ of
bonding and time away from my job is truly ending.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be still my soul, no more endless play days
and nursing leisurely (though sometimes non-stop) in front of the telly or with
a book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back to morning traffic and
rushed meal prep at night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be still my
soul, less cuddles in the daytime, hello condensed evenings, bedtime stories
and go to sleep to do it all again the next day.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I know it
is just the way it is and I am lucky to have had this wonderful year to put my
life on pause and enjoy my children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
am trying to embrace the change but I keep seeing my sonâs little face in my
mind, the one I will inevitably see less of from now on.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Because it isnât
just the end of summer, itâs the beginning of the separation. After day care
there is pre-school and elementary school for my son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My daughter will be in middle school next
year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things keep changing and I canât
stop it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave birth to these miracles
and from day one they start their journey to leave me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be still my soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I know I
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routine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hugs when I pick up my son
and the chatter from my daughter about her day will fill my soul, will make it
still again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Itâs just that I have never
been so good at goodbyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I will
give it a try.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And summer will come
again (next year!), albeit a shorter version.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-56809663781319134542018-08-08T17:43:00.001+02:002018-08-08T17:43:51.108+02:00Top ten signs you have a ten-ager<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My daughter
can be a sweet, helpful soul full of empathy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She can also be a full-fledged <i>ten</i>-ager.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even before her official birthday came last month, the âtensâ had
already gone to her curly head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
started out the school year with the occasional tense mother-daughter moments
and we have just added to it on a daily basis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If you think you have a ten-ager on your hands, read on...</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsr7hUwemstE6lybYAzNejxp_Eng7nSDcGWGcXy9xU0C2Y9HeW27GRQMyHvz210ZxE5-d_Cmh5OP8gaCf7CsPsdb9TP1NF9reJypctb9EXjDpenFPorOeOuulPyRqnh8dbSine0_SF9Hkj/s1600/baseball-1613495_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1020" data-original-width="1133" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsr7hUwemstE6lybYAzNejxp_Eng7nSDcGWGcXy9xU0C2Y9HeW27GRQMyHvz210ZxE5-d_Cmh5OP8gaCf7CsPsdb9TP1NF9reJypctb9EXjDpenFPorOeOuulPyRqnh8dbSine0_SF9Hkj/s320/baseball-1613495_1920.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ten is THE number to be!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ol>
<li><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Everything is lame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nul</i>
in French.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We go to an outdoor
museum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Itâs <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nul</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are watching a
travel documentary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Itâs <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nul</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I tried banning this word for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In vain.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Eyes can roll so high.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Full disclosure, I am an eye-roller too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only I feel I am more justified.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My little tween rolls her eyes when I ask her
to set the table or unload the dishwasher or any other household task, which
brings us toâŠ</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">âItâs not fair!â<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, nothing in life is, sweetie, I tell
her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this life lesson is lost on her
for now because most days she feels chores are my tool to torture her.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">âYeah, right!â accompanied by eye
rolling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I say, you can have your
tablet time when we get home from your grandparents, she will reply with
this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As in, I donât believe you and
âitâs not fair!â</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"> </span></span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"></span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Itâs all about the shoes/jean
jacket/bandana/insert your trendy item here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And she needs it yesterday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ten-agers
have recently awoken to all that is fashionable and all that is not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those little footsie socks, in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regular socks, out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Baggy jeans, out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leggings with the cuffs rolled up, in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Negotiating with her is harder than
with North Korea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We once spent a better
part of her bedtime ritual trying to agree that if she stopped with the snark,
I would stop with the lectures and raised voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to explain to her that I only raised my
voice BECAUSE of the snark.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Musically is THE app to have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you donât know what this is, itâs probably
because you are over 30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since I let her
download this (private account, of course), I have been introduced to the music
video making snippets that all the tweens are doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am also now totally allergic to the Elie Goulding/Calvin
Harris song that she kept playing while making her video.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Donât even start humming that thing!</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"></span></span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"></span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Donât mess with the hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is not yet totally obsessed about it and
will still ask for the occasional braid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But the time spent coiffing herself has increased exponentially this
year.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Middle school is on the brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One more year to stay âlittleâ in elementary
school, then the next step is approaching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She is romanticizing it like so many of her classmates do, wishing she
was already in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tell her to be
patient; it will be here soon enough.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"></span></span></li>
<li><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"></span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mother knows best⊠only Œ of the
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom (and dad to some extent) just
donât know that much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until we prove her
wrong and she dares to admit it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe.</span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But thatâs
ok.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know there will be tough times and
much eye-rolling and sighing in my future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But I also know some of what I say is sinking in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also know I went through much the same
thing as a kid and put my mom through some tense moments, too (sorry again,
mom!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I grew up and out of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She will too and will become a well-adjusted,
kind older teen and adult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So excuse
me for the next few years as my street cred dwindles to zero and my fashion
sense is questioned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A ten-ager has been
born!</span></div>
Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-50758025038538157962018-05-28T15:44:00.001+02:002018-05-28T15:44:19.800+02:00Brand New World<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
My almost
ten-year old caught a feathery dandelion seed head and asked if it meant
anything. Perhaps it brings luck, I
said. She got quiet for a while then
said she had made a wish. âI hope it
comes true but I bet it wonât,â she said with a hint of melancholy. As she anchors herself into tweendom, I am
getting used to these melancholy bents. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But my
mom-dar is still too strong for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>âYou wished you could have Nikes, didnât you?â I asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her sheepish smile confirmed my
suspicions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">These days
it seems name-brand shoes are all this girl has on the brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a while she couldnât stop talking about
Adidas, then Nikes (which the French pronounce to rhyme with âbikeâ) and the
occasional All-Star reference, peppered with a bit of Puma and New Balance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Itâs not
that I am totally anti-brands. I love my ballerina style Skechers my mom sent
me a few years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I wanted them
for the appearance and comfort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fact
that they were Skechers just assured me of their quality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With my daughter this brand envy has come out
of nowhere and seems to be directly related to what she sees in the school
yard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">âWill you
get me Adidas for my birthday?â is a common refrain around here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Followed by âI bet you wonât.â<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxv62ojGcIr8F37uMMbZ50Kl8J6F0OtzroaJTsZZnP2q9CwRJ52oOrUyfYn1KUqgw1x5oEHRXmzDqhmY10AcGZiNqyShT-BIX-IClh3G5CjRB5Tt_OxVA6jscLq-mnJqHluXEE57bWfLuo/s1600/IMG_20180328_104100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxv62ojGcIr8F37uMMbZ50Kl8J6F0OtzroaJTsZZnP2q9CwRJ52oOrUyfYn1KUqgw1x5oEHRXmzDqhmY10AcGZiNqyShT-BIX-IClh3G5CjRB5Tt_OxVA6jscLq-mnJqHluXEE57bWfLuo/s320/IMG_20180328_104100.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She cut out her own symbol</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">âWow, how
lucky that girl is, look at her Nikes!â<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>sheâll
exclaim as we see a teen in the parking lot with pale pink on pink Nikes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She can spot brand name shoes on people on tv,
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have
literally had to limit her to one shoe reference per day!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But before that I tried a few other
strategies which proved to be pretty fruitless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Letâs recap anyway:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><b>Shaming</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Taking a
page from my own momâs book, I told her about kids who had no shoes or shoes in
pitiful condition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even took to
finding her videos on youtube by typing (what else!) âkids with no shoesâ.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just my luck, one of the videos I pulled up
showed poor Mexican children, one of whom was wearing a Nike shirt, which my
girl was quick to point out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, it
didnât seem to have much of an effect on her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Though now if she goes on about shoes and I ask her if she wants to
watch a video, it tends to calm her down a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><b>Non-conformity
talk</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of course I
tried the old âwhy do you have to do what everyone else is doing?â talk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just because other kids wear something
doesnât mean itâs the best quality or even attractive, I tried to reason with
her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For this point I showed her the saggy
jeans fashion that exposes menâs underwear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She had a laugh at those pics and agreed that particular fashion was
stupid, but the shoe talk continued!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><b>Mom stories</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I read
recently that kids get a lot out of their parentsâ personal stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I told her how I was into Esprit clothes when I was in middle school but
how I generally only got a shirt from the bargain bin, because thatâs all we
could afford.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can still remember a
shirt full of bright geometric shapes that screamed 80s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mostly bought it for that little red
rectangle proclaiming Esprit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frankly it
was loud and ugly, when I look back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
told her in the end I realized I was following the crowd and that having your
own style is important.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><b>Ignoring</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When your
kid asks you over and over for Adidas in a five-minute period, using a tactic
she got from a ten-year old on tv, you just try to think of something else and
soldier on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It messes with your mind,
but this is good preparation for adolescence whining. When she says sheâs so
unlucky for not having Nikes, I tell her she will survive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><b>Hard
work</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I always
told myself once my kid started asking for brands that I would give him or her a
limited budget for school clothes shopping and tell them, thatâs it, make it
work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But weâre not quite there
yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the meantime I try to remind her
of the value of her money by getting her to buy trinkets she wants at the store
from her own piggy bank money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
recently got herself off-brand aqua All-star low tops at the discount store and
has been taking super care of them. My husband and I tell her she could get a
job later on as a teen or earn money for chores and use this to buy what she
wants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You might
be asking me why I just donât buy her the shoes she wants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One little pair, whatâs the big deal? We just
donât want her turning into a pretentious, name-dropper already.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or thinking that she gets whatever she asks
for immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sheâs barely out of
fourth grade!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hope she will value what
she has.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So in the
end, my strategy is a modified âif you canât beat âem, join âemâ one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She may get what she wants but not right
away- a little delayed gratification.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Donât
tell her this, but she will very likely get some shoes for her birthday⊠but
weâll buy large so they can last a while and sheâll hopefully take good care of
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Are your
kids into brands?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What strategies do you
use?</span></div>
Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-19734595672968460352018-05-17T15:45:00.001+02:002018-05-17T15:45:23.793+02:00The question every stay at home mom dreads<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Everyday at
noon itâs the same innocent question from my 9 year-old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>âWhat did you do this morning?â<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have just
picked her up for lunch from school and itâs normal she would ask me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ask her the same thing, after all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But since I have become a stay at home mom to
her little brother, I get that deer caught in the headlights
reaction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">have</i> I been doing since I dropped her off at 8:45?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So I run
off a litany of chores, if I got around to any.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">âErmm, I
unloaded the dishwasher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fed your
brother twice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched an episode of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jane the Virgin</i>âŠâ<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sometimes
sheâll say, not unkindly, âthatâs all?â<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yes, thatâs
about all I can get done with a baby I am still breastfeeding four to five <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>times a day in addition to his fruits and
veggies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not to mention keeping him
calm/occupied while I try to do something else between feedings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And making sure he has some tummy time (but
not right after a feeding!) to develop upper body strength and practice rolling
over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And maybe getting a load of
laundry in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And maybe making my
bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And maybe ordering groceries
online.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSU8NphgHrhbuRwmxpUfOV3YBBf4VHpaXdhlEQRCxpK2TWk28oDDz0BDT3M43xXyF-25-S6BDihq2NwOf930HYLYB_Bih_Nvi2uumehktqupatZ2Q3OUqXp8t4iGWpTtfGinEotABkZUGp/s1600/IMG_20180517_152416.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSU8NphgHrhbuRwmxpUfOV3YBBf4VHpaXdhlEQRCxpK2TWk28oDDz0BDT3M43xXyF-25-S6BDihq2NwOf930HYLYB_Bih_Nvi2uumehktqupatZ2Q3OUqXp8t4iGWpTtfGinEotABkZUGp/s320/IMG_20180517_152416.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am not
bitter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not overwhelmed (ok, a
little).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Itâs just that the world that
continues humming outside my house doesnât always seem to get that taking care
of a baby and running a household takes time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And every morning when I wake up with a to-do list imprinted in my
brain, I know full well I wonât get to half of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or whether I complete it or not depends a lot
on how my baby is or if he graces us with a nap (that would be just about
never).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Frankly, the
transition from working mom to staying at home wasnât as difficult as I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I have been thrilled to be home with my
little one and to be able to spend more time with my big girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What bothers me is more the perception by
others that Iâm not doing much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe
that I feel I must prove to them and myself that I am really doing a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Sometimes I
feel that same need to justify my hours at home to my husband when he comes
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, we are eating a frozen pizza,
baby was fussyâŠ<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or to my retired
no-filter <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>neighbor who points out the
clutter and dust in my home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, but
you try helping a fourth-grader with her homework and calming a baby and
finding time to dust!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyaAnvG-tT5NCHojZDpuJK6289NDp1XZmHWu7XGFhGvZWeZIs8Yva3vp1H6Q1e0eRHVVjYJhzSeDsGfimCTJnoDeR4wdBH6eogj20wrVusyRoJyIxbgSriDCCkBADrp5Urgom_tEpODixP/s1600/IMG_20180407_161804.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyaAnvG-tT5NCHojZDpuJK6289NDp1XZmHWu7XGFhGvZWeZIs8Yva3vp1H6Q1e0eRHVVjYJhzSeDsGfimCTJnoDeR4wdBH6eogj20wrVusyRoJyIxbgSriDCCkBADrp5Urgom_tEpODixP/s320/IMG_20180407_161804.jpg" width="240" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But in the
end it is myself I need to convince.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
must accept that I wonât get it all done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I must accept that my house wonât be perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must accept that buying cookies is ok if I
donât have time to make a cake for friends who come by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must accept that less is more if it means
that my baby is smiling and gaining weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I must accept that my to-do list can slide, morph into something more
flexible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And I must
answer without shame when my daughter asks me that question again, âI took care
of your brother. â<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because that is my
job for now, and I am doing the best I can.</span></div>
Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-87386023327102518852018-04-05T16:13:00.000+02:002018-04-05T16:13:35.504+02:00Perfection killed the catIt's nearly nine p.m. on a weeknight. My daughter suddenly thinks of a dozen things she'd like to clean up and organize before bed. It exasperates me. But the other evening as I was brushing my teeth at the same time as her I started tidying up the towels on the radiator (toothbrush still in mouth) and taking the dustpan to sweep up an annoying pile of something or another.<br />
<br />
I decided to own up to the situation. "You see," I told her, "I get crazy about stuff before bed time, too." She laughed and made a game out of it, telling me to stop cleaning the bathroom.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwp1kLFFtL71irEuuoJDa2v6z0p-oM3G_QndH09gLo1__s1GfNjkOxo3a4gW3cGl4QUc7s6wlvfEYVaOi2y_6vcDxn9fCeg1WXyU2z9HeaZExUz4_YPQYuGpThCiucEfc4XBUKlwfLwphC/s1600/clothing-2825301_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwp1kLFFtL71irEuuoJDa2v6z0p-oM3G_QndH09gLo1__s1GfNjkOxo3a4gW3cGl4QUc7s6wlvfEYVaOi2y_6vcDxn9fCeg1WXyU2z9HeaZExUz4_YPQYuGpThCiucEfc4XBUKlwfLwphC/s320/clothing-2825301_1920.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ah, doesn't that make you feel good?!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Just another way she and I are painfully alike: we are perfectionists. We don't feel right when that picture frame is off. We feel icky when the coffee table is cluttered. And though I often have to let these things slide due to lack of time, there comes a moment when I can't stand it and start tidying up in spurts. Only to get sidetracked again and abandon it for weeks.<br />
<br />
But I wonder if this nervous energy does us perfectionists any good? In fact, could it be dangerous? Flashback to me bending over with a toothbrush in my mouth, one of my husband's biggest pet peeves. I could have hurt myself, all because I was too eager to straighten things up.<br />
<br />
It could even be deadly. Recently France remembered the death of a famous <a href="https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/europe/the-mystery-of-cloclo-did-he-write-my-way-and-was-he-killed-while-changing-a-lightbulb-793985.html" target="_blank">singer </a>who died 40 years ago when he straightened a light bulb while in his bathtub full of water. Maybe it's proof that perfectionists can let that drive to orderly and clean bliss take over their logical thinking. Maybe leaving well enough alone is healthier all around.<br />
<br />
But like me <a href="http://lazygirlsblog.blogspot.fr/2015/02/my-house-doesnt-look-like-ikea.html" target="_blank">browsing the Ikea catalog</a> and feeling somehow calmed by those Zenly interiors or Modern Family's Claire Dunphy checking out "<a href="http://abc.go.com/shows/modern-family/news/scrapbook/150225-claire-dunphy-organization-porn" target="_blank">organization porn</a>" (closets, to be clear!), an orderly home or office can lead to a peaceful state of mind. Why else would people be so into decluttering their drawers and homes these days?<br />
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But with a husband whose job literally brings in potting soil into my house, a daughter who leaves stickers and McDonald's Happy Meal toys everywhere, and now a six-month old, I can kiss my dreams of that Zen home goodbye for at least ten years.<br />
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Perhaps that's a good thing because too much decluttering is cold. And perfectionists live ten years less than non-perfectionists. I just made that up to shock you. Nobody is perfect, after all.Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-90946443436522705622018-03-03T17:37:00.000+01:002018-03-03T17:37:08.753+01:00Let them eat soupDo you remember learning how Marie-Antoinette told the hungry masses to eat soup when there was no more bread? Me, neither. But she might as well have said that.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilDJt8up_cEgfMMuq4QieFijhXex4ZplGzrzatlMh5Q4shTF38yY_Sv0b_Aw9sZYpm0Ns3W97tFniCHBR_dR9LD8o9W5UIcUtwipwEhj7eIgia9-Araxz1EPsi1JADs3TvWOC4AFHutkgq/s1600/soup+heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="557" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilDJt8up_cEgfMMuq4QieFijhXex4ZplGzrzatlMh5Q4shTF38yY_Sv0b_Aw9sZYpm0Ns3W97tFniCHBR_dR9LD8o9W5UIcUtwipwEhj7eIgia9-Araxz1EPsi1JADs3TvWOC4AFHutkgq/s200/soup+heart.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Onion-carrot with cream; </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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It seems the French are a bit obsessed with soup. How many times have I heard Remi encourage Juliette to finish her bowl of soup because "<i>La soupe, ça fait grandir</i>!" (Soup makes you grow!) It's an actual expression, and though not totally <a href="http://www.doctissimo.fr/html/nutrition/mag_2002/mag1122/nu_6114_soupe_grandir_vf.htm" target="_blank">true</a>, soup <i>is </i>good for you and a way to sneak veggies in children's diets.<br />
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Then there's the ad campaign for a famous soup company that uses a play on words, saying, "<i>On ne dĂźne pas, on soupe</i>!" Translation: We don't dine, we soup (as in to eat supper, but the French word for this is <i>souper</i>).<br />
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<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yE4lAtmhT1Y" width="560"></iframe><br />
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Ok, maybe it's not all French but specifically my husband who is obsessed. This is a typical conversation in my house at 7:32 pm:<br />
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Him: Is there soup?<br />
Me: No.<br />
Him: But it's winter...<br />
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Or this variation:<br />
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Him: Is there soup?<br />
Me: Yes, tomato soup from a packet.<br />
Him: (<i>frowning</i>) What? But it's winter and fresh soup is better.<br />
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You get the picture. Before you ask me why he isn't cooking himself, I will remind you he often gets home after 7:30 and if I waited on him to cook my stomach would cave in on itself.<br />
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Nonetheless, in his ideal world there would be homemade soup every day from September to March and any day the thermometer drops below 70°F.<br />
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In my ideal world we'd order Chinese and Domino's pizza more often. And <a href="https://www.google.fr/search?q=jamie+outlander&rlz=1C1NNVC_enFR504FR691&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjcgbXEydDZAhVLWhQKHVkyC_MQ_AUICigB&biw=1366&bih=700" target="_blank">Jamie </a>from <i>The Outlander </i>would deliver it. Or <a href="https://www.google.fr/search?rlz=1C1NNVC_enFR504FR691&biw=1366&bih=700&tbm=isch&sa=1&ei=bM2aWoGDE4veUamDi8gN&q=rafael+jane+the+virgin&oq=rafael+jane+&gs_l=psy-ab.1.0.0l10.43577.48180.0.49986.27.17.0.1.1.0.144.1556.0j13.14.0....0...1c.1.64.psy-ab..14.12.1347.0..0i67k1j0i10k1.152.VfNCAs3uH3I" target="_blank">Rafael </a>from <i>Jane the Virgin</i>.<br />
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But like they say, when you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Occasionally. So as it has been pretty cold this week in France, I am sharing one of my soup recipes with you. Because you see, I actually do know how to make soup, and rather tasty ones, too. I'd just rather be watching Netflix.<br />
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<b>Milam's onion-carrot soup</b><br />
<ul>
<li>In a large stainless steel pot or enamel-lined pot (like my fake <i>Le Creuset</i>), heat your favorite vegetable oil. Add 3-4 diced yellow onions. Once they have gone from opaque to transparent, add about a liter (one quart) of water and lower heat. Add a bouillon cube. Alternatively use chicken stock instead of water and omit the bouillon cube.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</ul>
<ul>
<li>Add 3-4 potatoes, thinly sliced, and add these to the soup. Grate and chop 3-4 carrots and add these to the broth and onions/ Turn heat back up to medium and let cook covered for 20 minutes or until carrots and potatoes are tender.</li>
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<ul>
<li>Remove from heat and either use submersible mixer to mix until smooth or pour the contents into a heat-resistant blender and blend. Serve with a dollop of cream or grated cheese.</li>
</ul>
Or scrap all that and just open a good old can of Campbell's. If it was good enough for Andy Warhol, it's good enough for me.<br />
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<b>Discussion questions:</b> What's your favorite soup? Do you make it yourself or buy it? What's your favorite take-out? Which celeb would you like to deliver it?<br />
-Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-14621050476276710462018-02-22T13:49:00.002+01:002018-02-22T13:49:33.977+01:00The name's bond, baby bondWhen I saw my friend Rebecca last summer, the afternoon before we took off to return to France, I asked her what it was like with two kids. She's a mother to an exuberant nine-year old like me, and a precious boy of five. She loves those kids fiercely, as I do my Juju. She knew what it meant to worry about the bond with a new child. Would there be enough room after the all-consuming fusional relationship with the first child?<br />
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She answered with her wide brown eyes and her round accent that still lets the southern shine through. "The bond was instant," she said reassuringly.<br />
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I still had to see for myself, doubting Milam that I am. But armed with her advice, I wasn't worrying too much.<br />
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Then a month and a half later my baby came and was laid next to my groggy head after a c-section that wasn't planned. I don't remember much after the incision and the tugging feeling that made me ask them if the epidural was working. But I do remember stroking my baby and smiling goofily (got the pictures that Remi took to prove it). And feeling just fine, truly happy.<br />
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It could have a lot to do with hormones or the fact that it is a second child, but I have to say Rebecca got it right. The bonding happened quite easily, naturally. Despite the painful recovery after Cesarean, the late night and early morning feedings, I really did love my little Alex right away. It could also be that I know he is my last little one and I am appreciating these baby moments that I know will go so quickly. Doesn't hurt that he is a good sleeper!<br />
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And if you are a mom or mom-to-be reading this and shaking your head saying the bond didn't or won't happen right away, don't worry. With my first, though I felt that same euphoria as I came off the anesthesia high, those first three weeks of nursing <a href="http://lazygirlsblog.blogspot.fr/2008/09/tales-from-baby-front.html" target="_blank">difficulties </a>and sleep <a href="http://lazygirlsblog.blogspot.fr/2008/09/when-does-she-sleep.html" target="_blank">deprivation </a>took their toll. Though I adored my little one, I was more anxious as a first-time mom. There is no timetable or "right" way to bond. If dealing with your little one still feels like a struggle, that is perfectly normal. There are good days and bad days. And I hope there are more good ones for you (and for me).<br />
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I just simply wanted to sit back and admire how flexible and roomy our hearts are. How when we think our hearts are full, there is room for more. It's what I tried to tell Juliette before her brother was born, to reassure her that I would love them both. And thankfully, it's true. Her heart is stretching, too, making a connection to her little bro'. May wonders never cease...Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-50069824169403661032018-02-11T10:53:00.000+01:002018-02-11T10:53:41.712+01:00Why pencils have erasersI hate making mistakes.<br />
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It doesn't matter that I know that pencils have erasers on the ends because, to err is human. It doesn't matter that I sing along with Shakira's <i>Try Everything</i> song from Zootopia, and remind myself that "I'll keep on making those new mistakes." It doesn't matter that I tell my daughter these same things when she goes on a perfectionist rage (wonder where she gets that from?!).<br />
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It doesn't matter because I still get that pit in my stomach (even if it disappears quite quickly) when I realize, damn, I goofed.<br />
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Take last Tuesday morning: I put the numbing lidocaine patches on baby's thighs as instructed by the doctor, one hour before the supposed appointment for the vaccines. And I arrived at the free appointment room only to notice that the doctor comes every other week. As in <b>not </b>this week. So I put the patches on for nothing and got baby bundled up for nothing.<br />
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I could feel the hint of a tear come to my eyes at the mistake, or more at appearing silly in front of the nurses and employees there. But they weren't judging me or chastising me at all. It was just me being hard on me. Fumblingly I stripped baby down to his onesie for the weighing and visit with the nurse. That I could still do and ask a few questions about baby's health.<br />
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I chatted with another mom whose baby boy was six weeks old. Alexandre was about that age when I first brought him here for his first weighing with this free service. I listened to the lady who had come to talk about children's books and asked her about books for babies Alex's age.<br />
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While talking with her she noticed my accent and asked where I was from. There I was thinking I didn't have much of an accent anymore, but I guess I always will! And she asked me if I knew any English lullabies. As she goes around different communities and does singing and other activities, she wanted me to sing her one. And so a few minutes later I was singing <i>Twinkle Twinkle, Little Start </i>and she recorded it on her smart phone.<br />
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Then I saw the nurse and got Alex weighed. He is over 12 pounds now (5.6 kg) and alert as always. I asked her about cradle cap (don't worry, she said, no need to scrape it off) and when to start solids (six months is what they say now). And then I dressed baby back to face the cold and said goodbye to the lady who had recorded my voice singing. I told her I could participate in an activity if she wanted in the future.<br />
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So out of my "mistake" grew a chance meeting. A few conversations and smiles. Not bad for your ordinary Tuesday.Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3115132896435909080.post-1112261233991757172018-01-29T10:28:00.001+01:002018-01-29T10:28:15.197+01:00Tug of warYesterday morning my 9-year old flounced past me with a side pony tail she had done herself. It looked cute with her blue floral shirt and jean style leggings that she had chosen herself. But there were strands of hair coming out and it was a bit messy. My left arm was tied up cradling Alex as I nursed him and I couldn't have properly fixed her pony tail with one hand. Remi is no expert at girls' hair styles and it was time for him to take her to school anyway. So I had to let it go.<br />
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This is my life version 9.0. As in a nine-year old and a zero-year old. Totally different needs and ends of the spectrum. On the one hand I am arguing with the big (no, she says, not big yet!), er, medium girl about how she needs to memorize the times tables, on the other I am trying to get a not yet four-month old to not cry when I leave the room. With Juliette I can make silly jokes about things we've seen on TV or on the street, with Alex we are just trying to make him laugh, period.<br />
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One evening as he was crying and I was straining to hear what Juliette had said ("You never listen to me," is her new mantra), and the fatigue was showing on my face and audible in my voice, she said, "Yes, that's what it's like having two kids." Out of the mouths of babes. She was only repeating something I must have said at another time to explain to her that I had to share my time between them.<br />
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As Coldplay sang, "Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be this hard." Oh, Chris Martin, you said it. My heart is full with two kids but it is also tugged in two directions. Constantly. Which is why the moments when they both seem to be enjoying each other's company are golden. Like when I put him on her chest right before bed and he lifts his head up and makes her smile. Or I pretend he is talking and telling her "baby jokes." She is eager to have a bro she can interact with more and until he gets there, I "animate" him for her.<br />
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But the gap will always be there, with new challenges at each age. I am afraid to think of her 13th year and his 4th one. God help me. Thankfully I'll be able to drink alcohol again by then, because I can see a glass of white becoming essential when the petulant years and pre-school tantrums coincide.<br />
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And since I can't drink now, I'll just blog. As I spend these next months at home I will try and blog once a week. To record those baby and big, oops, medium girl milestones. And to keep myself sane.Milhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647139896187096733noreply@blogger.com2