Inside Out taught me about my brain and even mental illness

Another Pixar movie, another episode of crying in the movie theater.  That's me, the forty-one year old mom asking her husband for a kleenex and being comforted by her almost seven-year old.  "Don't look, mommy," Juliette said.  No doubt it was a little embarassing for her with her best friend being there as part of J's pre-birthday gift.  Oh, well, she'd better get used to it.  She's got a sensitive mom.

But to be fair, it was also a sweet and slightly emotional movie about, well, emotions.  If you're not familiar with this film, it's about the five vying emotions in a young girl's head: joy, sadness, disgust, fear and anger.  Most of the time joy wins out, especially when the character is a very young child.  But her family has moved across the country, she has no friends and even their furniture is stuck in transit.  And she's also 11, an age where things get more complicated.


In the movie we go on a journey into the girl's brain and see just how hard it can be to let the joy come out on top.  And also that we are a complex mix of feelings that are not as compartmentalized as it might seem.  We also get a glimpse of how adolescence is making the heroine a little less pleasant with her parents.  And maybe it was those moments where I could see the girl changing and evolving away from the little child she used to be that made the tears flow.

However I also found it an enlightening movie that could help me understand my own brain.  The way they personify the emotions, especially Joy, makes you want to root for her.  She is slightly fuzzy around the edges, perpetually glowing with a pixie hair cut and green dress.  It makes you think about how there are times we've got to work hard to find the silver lining and get the happy back on track.  But the other emotions all have their important role, like Disgust, voiced by Mindy Kaling in the English version.  Without her, we'd eat any old thing that fell on the floor, as this clip shows.


In the end (and I'm not spoiling it for you!) we see that all the emotions are important and work together.  Joy is probably the driving factor in the film and the one we also need to focus on, but moments of sadness are normal and have their purpose, too.  Sometimes they bring us together as a family and then we move on, stronger than before. 

But I also took away some more serious lessons from the film.  It made me think about depression and anxiety, and how these can be caused by an excess of those emotions of Fear and Sadness.   I knew this already, having had some moments in my life where these emotions got the better of me despite my efforts to turn things around.  I know that there are clinical causes to these conditions and that there is absolutely no shame in talking about them and especially getting treatment for them.  But seeing the emotions portrayed in the film, each thought or memory having a color corresponding to its emotional state, brought this message home to me.  I hope it will make children and adults alike see that the brain is a complex structure and that some people are struggling with a tidal wave of emotions.  And that it's nothing to be embarassed about and shouldn't be mocked.

Robin William's recent death brought serious depression into the spotlight.  I hope films like Inside Out will keep the dialogue open with kids and adults on these subjects.  And that we will help Joy to find her place in our days!

Stop Drop and Relax

My mom says I can't sit still. When she comes to visit me lately she says I never stop.  I come home, sweep up the grains of cat litter on the floor, start dinner prep (yes, I washed my hands before!), put laundry in the machine, take laundry out, put Juliette in the bath, water the plants, etc. This is not to say I never goof off and do time-wasting activities like Facebook (oh, and I seemed to have crept up from one to two or three FB checks per day again), chilling a bit in front of mindless tv or just staring off into space.  And I try to always put some useful free time in there like playing with Juliette, too.  But my mom is right that I don't give myself a lot of downtime.

Life is not a sprint.

Even when I'm on vacation, the very definition of relaxation, I find that I am always wondering and worrying about the next step.  Where will I park? Will the hotel be decent? Will I find my way back to the highway easily?  Will the e-tickets be acceptable or should I have printed them?  Sometimes I find myself anticipating the end of the day or even the end of the vacation because then all my "challenges" will be accomplished!

This is no way to live.  Just like taking a whole bunch of pictures without really taking the time to enjoy them at the moment, I seem to be rushing through life in general.  I know that it's the journey, not just the destination.  But how can I get off the hamster wheel of mild worry and constant cleaning up only to have the house dirtied again in two seconds.  Lather, rinse, repeat, as my friend Crystal likes to say in these moments.

You might remember the old stop, drop and roll from fire prevention videos.  It's still the best thing to do in case of fire, by the way.  But why not stop, drop (whatever you're doing, as long as it's not breakable) and relax.  It could be the remedy for letting everyday stress go.  And it could prevent that drive for unattainable perfection from getting in the way of savoring life.  Or letting too much technology spoil enjoying the moment.  Sometimes I feel like saying to myself, put down the phone and no one will get hurt.  I know I'm on it too much.  But isn't everyone?  It's the acceptable addiction today. But maybe it gets in the way of unadulturated free time.  If I am always in the middle of a texting or email correspondence, it feels like I'm always in suspense.

So as my own vacation approaches, I want to be mindful of my tendency to overachieve around the house or want things just so.  The world keeps on turning even if my closet isn't organized.  And maybe life is still fun when things aren't planned out to the last detail.  Maybe it's even more fun.  It's ok if we get a little lost on our road trip.  Doesn't that make for a great memory after (as long as knock down-drag out fights don't ensue)?  And I will try to put down that darn phone and FB in favor of face-to-face interactions.  People, not just pixels.  Ok, a few pixels, too.

Let's stop racing and let's start living.

My country or yours?

It happened the other night.  And unfortunately it wasn't the first time.  It was Sunday July 5th.  I told Juliette to try the watermelon.  I reminded her that it was part of the July 4th menu (since we had missed it the day before) and that's what people in America often eat on this day. She replied in the withering way that today's pre-tweens do, that "We aren't in America."  And to add insult to injury she said it in French.


I quickly replied that she is half-American and I am American.  I didn't push the issue too much, but inside my American soul I was feeling a little wounded.

Sometimes I'm not sure I'm going about this bilingual bicultural family thing quite right.  I only speak to her in English, even in front of her friends.  I will sometimes say something in French to her and them to make things easier.  However, this year my little girl has really played the part of the French first grader to the letter.  Like coming home with new schoolyard expressions and "I know it all" attitudes that just seem that much snarkier when spoken in French.  I find myself asking her (pleading, sometimes) to speak to me in English.

"But you understand French!" she'll say with a sigh.  And she's right.  But I tell her it's easier for me to speak in English and I do understand it better.  When I don't understand her because she's mumbling in French, she gets exasperated with me.  And I can't always play dumb and pretend I don't understand.  Sometimes I put on an exaggerated American accent and say something in French to prove that I'm not French.  Abit like the dog Pollux in this cartoon who pronounces his "r" like an Englishman.  At least we get a good laugh about it.


I'm learning to back off and let her respond in French but I keep on talking in English.  I have noticed some encouraging signs though.  She likes watching her Disney shows in English and will often revert back to English for bathtime or when we make the Playmobil characters talk.  Bedtime stories are usually in English and at this calm time of night she tends to speak more English.  And when she wakes up and I come in her room she will invariably say, "Carry me!" in a sleepy voice and in English.

If it sounds like I'm keeping score, it's because I kind of am.  And I know it shouldn't be about one language or culture "winning" but I feel it's my duty to make sure she has that exposure to the English language and my heritage (which is hers, too).  I think I would be remiss not to give her this side of her origins.  I suppose it doesn't matter if every word coming out of her mouth is English, as long as she can understand it and communicate with my family.

As far as culture goes, she is part of the French education system and so can't help but be influenced by it.  She's growing up here, visiting French historical sites and soaking up this architecture.  It's not such a bad thing.  But I want her to know there is another part of her background, another country and set of traditions that make up her personal history.

Which brings us back to July 4th.  This year I guess I didn't do my own American heritage much justice either.  I bought watermelon but rushed out after our hamburger and rice dinner that night to meet with friends.  That's why I didn't eat it till the 5th.  I spent part of the evening of the 4th on a sidewalk café next to cobbled streets sipping some daquiri type drink and laughing with English-speaking friends.  There were no fireworks and I didn't wear red, white and blue.  But I still wanted to hear all about what my family and friends did back home.

I guess I'll have to let Juliette pick and choose which parts of her two cultures she wants to celebrate.  That's sort of what I do, after all. 

Can we stop with the craziness?

Juliette is at an age where she gets into kid movies.  I'm not just talking about Despicable Me or Tangled, but any sentimental live action movie, too, however predictable and mediocre the plot may be.  As long as there are kids (and preferably animals), she will beg to watch it.  So it has become part of our weekend ritual: watching a kid movie on the couch (which I usually fall asleep halfway through). 

But for the parts I've stayed awake in, I have noticed a few key things.  There is just about always a bad guy/gal or guys.  And Juliette can pick them out right away.  Of course, they often have wild, unkempt hair or look grungy or smarmy.  They might have a deep tough guy voice or a pipsqueak one, but she knows they are the ones who will be kicked in the knees at some point in the movie.  And she's right.  The good guys always win in kid movies. 

Too bad life isn't more like a kid movie.  When we happen to be watching the news during dinner time, she sees plenty of bad guys, too.  We tell her the ones who kill cops or innocents are the "bad guys", and that they have been caught or are being pursued.  Don't worry, we tell her.  They aren't here.  They're in another city or country. 

She knows about war, too.  From things she's heard on tv or history lessons at school.  And when they show images of a war-torn country on tv, she asks, "It's not in France?"  No, there is no war in France, we tell her.  In her mind, France decided to have no more wars, as one of her teachers must have told them.

The thing is, life is just a lot more complicated than that.  So complicated that I try to avoid watching the news with her around and therefore am rather ill-informed.  But I still hear about the bad guys and scratch my head that there are so many around.  And that they kill in the name of God or history or some psychological disturbance.  Just today my mom emailed me about a beheading near Grenoble, in the south of France.  It appears once again to be related to Islamic fundamentalists.  The reporters say these groups want to bring "war" to France.  It's not the first time I've heard it said out loud. 

And it's not just France, of course.  If some misled southern boy goes on a shooting spree in a South Carolina church, we know evil is just in our backyard.  If a right-wing mentally-disturbed Norwegian can kill his own countrymen in some zealous rampage in that normally peaceful country, we certainly don't feel safe.  Total safety from these kinds of attacks just doesn't exist today, no matter how hard we wish it did.

If only it were as easy as Juliette told me the other night before bed.  She said we should just change the bad guys.  It's easy to change people, she reasoned.  You can change the color of their hair or their clothes, she told me.  I told her it was a bit more complicated.  We have to change their hearts and their brains, I said.  Like the boy in your class who's naughty, I reminded her.  Even if the teacher tells him to behave, he might act up again. 

Only problem is, the bad guys of today have automatic weapons and bombs, not just spitballs or dodgeballs like the kids in school.  And no stern talking to will change their minds.  So it's up to us "good guys" to keep the faith and stand up somehow against the darkness.  Because we know how this movie is supposed to end. 

Pre-tweendom

It's not that I want my little girl to grow up fast.  It's just that lately she's been showing signs of attitude, backtalk and pouty faces.  I had to give her a little talk about politeness and respect towards Remi and me.  And I had to threaten her with missed outings or no more morning cartoons if her attitude didn't get better.  And please, stop it with the sighing, I added.

The pout because I didn't buy that key chain.

But she's not even 7!  And the tween years are supposedly 10-13.  Her first grade year has brought changes, as I've mentioned before.  She's more poised but also has adopted the language and sometimes nonchalance of the other kids in the schoolyard.  Along with the newly acquired marbles and Pokemon cards she's been trading, there's more assurance in her walk and her talk.  As in, she knows better!

In her eyes I can be the worst mom in the world if she doesn't get something from the bakery every day after school (and she doesn't).  Or she complains I'm not helping her clean up her toys (though I did help even though I didn't get them all out).  At other moments she is way too candid.  Take for example a few of these gems she's spat out lately:

As she watches me brush my teeth: "Mom, when you get old do your teeth turn yellow?"

The day after my haircut.: "I liked your hair better when it was longer."

Talking with other moms of kids in this age group, I think it's pretty common to have these growing pains.  One mom said her child had been pretty attitude-y and the girl told her one day that she and the other kindergarteners had been pretending to be teenagers during recess.  Another mom said her son can get pretty angry over small things at home.  So I know I'm not alone. But there is the question of how to deal with it. 

I find myself saying quite often, "attitude!"  Or I say simply, "don't talk to me that way."  But I think there has to be a subtler way that makes her realize she's gone too far.  Maybe doing as my friend Jessica does and getting quiet when her kids are not polite and waiting for them to ask in a better way.  Or I should flat out say she's hurt my feelings by her words.

The other morning before the school gates opened I was observing the 9 and 10-year olds. The girls were wearing stylish sandals, small heels and kid-sized trench coats.  Their hair was crimped or perfectly tied up.  They were color-coordinated and fashionable.  I looked downright frumpy compared to them. These are kids who will either go to middle school next year or know they will be at the top of the elementary school pecking order come autumn.

My daughter, for the moment, doesn't care if her socks don't match or if she is wearing pink and red and purple in the same outfit.  She'd generally rather wear cheetah leggings than a dress.  But she's growing up, and heaven knows I can't just put a book on her head and keep her little. 

Maybe she's worried about second grade herself, as she has told me a few times.  Or maybe she already feels that she'll be higher on the school ladder when the "little" first graders come next fall.  In the meantime I know she's still a kid who wants to set up her Playmobil and pretend to be a Dalmatian on the couch.

And I know she's a good kid beneath the occasional sighs and eye-rolls.  Like the other day when I took her to the pool to practice dunking her head under water she was holding my hand and said, "I love you, mommy.  More than the blue sky and the sun."  I held her hand tighter and promised to hold on to that sweet moment. I know there will be more of them.  At least until she's 13.

Mon quartier, my neighborhood

About six years ago I wrote about how I would regret leaving my old neighborhood and the connections I had made there.  I had only lived there about 2 years, and now I'm going on six at my new place.  I shouldn't have worried too much, because I quickly made this new part of town my home.  And on most days, as I putter from J's school, to the pharmacy or bakery and the park, then home again, I realize I can truly call it "mon quartier" or my neighborhood.

I am lucky to be in a place where I can easily walk to most amenities: aside from the bakery and pharmacy there is the little grocery store, the laundromat (which I used this week for my winter comforter), a few restaurants, my general practitioner, two furniture stores and several hairdressers.  And when I strike up a conversation with my pharmacist or baker, I am glad to have formed these little casual relationships with them all.  It's not like we hang out or anything, but we appreciate the cordial exchange.  The shopkeepers have seen Juliette go from newborn to shy toddler to chatty first-grader.  Now she eagerly (though sometimes it requires prodding) says "bonjour" and "au revoir" to them.  The area is small enough that we get to know each other but large enough that there is still some anonymity. 

And though there are days I am blasé or have my head in the clouds, I love discovering new nooks and crannies or appreciating the architecture.  It's close enough to the town center to have some pretty bourgeois buildings but is also a working class neighborhood with some government or subsidized housing (like my own).  Here are a few things I (re)discovered this week in mon quartier.

I love blue doors! Wish I could live at number 8.

Leafy entrance to the park.

Arches make everything elegant.

The abbey (not Downton!).

Wrought iron balconies and imposing doors.

The view from the alley.

Cherub ornamenting a window.

I pass under this statue all the time but roadworks made me cross the road to see it better.

Meandering streets on a picture perfect day.

Passion flower growing on a south-facing wall.

The same passion flower vine covering the wall.

One-way streets are annoying for cars but lovely for quaint views.

Colorful balconies bighten drab buildings.

I guess you could say I'm proud of this little neighborhood that I've made my own.  What do you like about where you live? What have you recently discovered there?

Weather showdown: Alabama versus France

I have heard a lot of well-meaning French people tell me it was hot this week.  I just have to laugh.  And if my fellow American teacher is around at work, also from the hot and humid southeastern US, we happily gang up on any students and tell them, naw, this is just warm.  And pleasant.

Terrace cafés: the good weather place to be!

It just goes to show how much your perception of weather depends on where you are from.  I experienced the scorchingly hot summers of Alabama for the first 28 years of my life.  I never liked that much heat, and since my ancestors are mostly Scotch-Irish and I'm a strawberry blonde, my skin didn't like the summer either.  I can recall many a summer weather forecast from Alabama where the highs were 98-99 or over a hundred every day (between 37 and 38°C).

And then I moved to France.  The northeastern corner of France, to be precise.  This week my region made it to about 33°C or 91°F.  And it made the news.  As in the first story.  And the fact that all of France had warm sunny weather at the same time also made national news.  The next day it was stormy, because apparently this part of France can't go more than a day and a half with that much heat without exploding.  And that also made the news.

 So it's no wonder that how you speak about the weather can change depending on your culture and where you live.  Here's a crash course on weather chat in France versus Alabama.

Describing heat:
Alabama-speak: "Hot enough for ya?"
Like most Americans, we Alabamians like a little saracasm and teasing.  That's why on a particularly hot day you'll hear this friendly jibe. 

French-speak: "Il faut trop chaud d'un coup." (It's too hot all of a sudden.)
The French are very practical sometimes. Too practical.  You're having a nice warm day and they start saying it's too hot for the season and it won't last long ("Ca ne va pas durer").  Come on, people, let me bask in the warmth!

Dressed for extreme heat in France?

Describing extreme heat:
Alabama-speak: "It's a scorcher out there."
We have so many great words for hot weather. One of my English teaching podcasts (Real Deal English) even goes over all these words, like "sizzling".

French-speak: "Il (ne) fait pas froid." (It's not cold.)
Ah, the French love understatement.  Instead of saying, it's hot (which they do say, too), they like this subtle mind trick. This phrase would usually be accompanied with an exasperated look and maybe a "pheww!" sound.
 
Describing upcoming rain:
Alabama-speak: "Ah, thank God it's gonna rain this afternoon!"
After a "scorcher" (over 98°F/37°C), we look forward to those "pop-up" storms on a summer afternoon to cool things down. 

French-speak: "Ca va claquer. Il va faire de l'orage." (We're going to have a thunderstorm.)
I was just getting my warm on (91°F/31°C), and once again the French like to rain on my parade, literally. It's warm and pleasant, and they're already anticipating a storm.  And the worst thing is, they're usually right about that forecast.

Describing pleasant weather:
Alabama-speak: "Football weather is around the corner."
In Alabama at the end of summer when we dip under 24°C/75°F, we start thinking about the fall and tailgating (barbecues out of the back of your car).  Ok, not me, but other Alabamians say this.  It signals the start of fall and temperatures you can breathe in.  

French-speak: "Ca fait du bien. On profite." (This feels good. We're enjoying it.)
For the French, those same temps, 24°C/75°F, combined with sun, means it's time to get out the garden chair and relax or head to the beach (before that storm comes!).

20°C/68°F in France at noon. Break out the shorts!

At any rate, today was a pleasant day (24°C/75°F) with fluffy clouds and a light breeze.  Hope it was a nice one for you, too.  As my favorite group Crowded House said, "everywhere you go/you always take the weather with you."

What expressions do you have in your country or region about the weather?