When all this is over

"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.  

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.  

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?

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.

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.

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.

I used to joke that a month of Sundays (at least the lazing around the house type) would be dreamy.  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!

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?

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 Terri Garr's mother 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: andrà tutto bene.

https://www.thelocal.it/20200312/italian-expression-of-the-day-andr-tutto-bene

Silent spring

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.

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 waking my husband and me up.  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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"Tu peux pas savoir", 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Light and fluffy

I remember light and fluffy.  I remember strolling in the mall and window shopping or even buying some trinket I didn't need.

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.

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.

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.

I remember when my WhatsApp conversations went something like this:

Me: Hey, how are you guys today?
Mom/my sister/my friends: Ok, just going grocery shopping and working.
Me: Sounds good.  Off to pick up Alex and think of what to make for dinner.  Catch you later.

Now they're more like this:
Me: How are you feeling? No fever?
Mom/my sister/my friends: Ok, just going stir crazy in my house. No fever though.
Me: Yeah, same here.  Gotta find enough ingredients to make a healthy dinner.  More later.

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.

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 ;)


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.

I know the best time for us to go in the garden and get some of that precious sun (after lunch).

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.

I see that my white steps in the stairwell shine now (cause I finally cleaned them).

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.

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.

I see that the cat really doesn't do anything all day except go in and out and sleep on her radiator perch.

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.

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.

The war of words

« Lapin. »

« Bunny. »

« No, lapin. »

This is a conversation in my back seat.  Alex, a little over two years old, is surfing two languages.  His sister, 11, is trying to get him to say “bunny” which he actually knew how to say first and pronounces with an American slurring of the n’s- buhh-ny!  Big sis has already gone through the same stages of language learning but doesn’t remember when she too had to juggle with two words for everything.

I am not the only mom dealing with two languages at home and the trials and troubles and funny moments it brings.  There are beaucoup articles about this now, one very poignant and real that just came out recently about a Canadian mom with Polish origins living in London trying to teach her young son Polish.  Each time I find such an article, I eat up every word.  Not only is it a reflection of my own daily “struggle” but as a self-proclaimed lover of languages, it is fascinating.

You can say all you want about how bilingual folks may avoid dementia in later life.  Or that we may be able to problem solve or see things differently by having two languages to do it in.  But what interests me the most lately is the feeling behind those words- the cultural and emotional load in them. 

Just as the author of that article mentioned, each word “conquered” in the minority language (in our house, English) seems like a victory for me.  I can’t help but smiling more and encouraging more when my kids come up with English words and expressions.  And maybe it’s 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. 

Which brings us back to the famous “buhh-ny”.  This one started with an adorably illustrated book called Happy Easter Bunny.  My aunt sent it to Juliette when she was younger and now I read it to Alex and say enthusiastically at the end, “it’s bunny!” when we discover he has been hiding Easter eggs for his mouse friend.  Alex imitates the tone when he says it in other situations, and yes, that tickles me. 

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?!  He goes to daycare with twenty other kids and hears French words all day from the nursery workers.  It’s only natural he is learning all the animals in French and nursery rhymes in that language too.  It’s illogical for me to be jealous but that’s sort of the feeling.  So when he says “cochon” for pig I am happy he has learned a new word.  I say, “yes, cochon.  And “pig” in English.” 

That is how a lot of my conversations go in this house.  I repeat what my kids say in French and then say it in English.  Or in Juliette’s case, she often tells me about her day in French and I ask her follow-up questions in English. 

Perhaps that explains this recent exchange with Alex, growing up in a bilingual house.  The other night at dinner as we were watching the news, he started saying “mion” and I couldn’t figure out what he meant.  He repeated with the missing first syllable to say “camion” then repeated in English for me, “truck” (or “tuck” in his case, hey, he’s getting there).  Was he figuring out that when someone doesn’t understand the word one way, he needs to switch to the other? It’s a lot for a toddler to handle, but he is managing, just as his sister did. 

I hope Alex will learn to love both his languages like she does, too.  At 11 she can do a passable British or Australian accent though when she speaks she is decidedly American because of me.  And I felt like doing a dance when she started using  the expression “turns out” repeatedly when describing some drama that happened at school.  Thanks to watching Glee she has picked up on some typical expressions (oh, and a few not so great ones like “to make out”). 

All in all this process takes time but seeing how well my first child managed, I shouldn’t worry too much about little Alex.  We’ll get there, one word at a time.  And we’ll try to enjoy the ride or should I say “voyage”. 

Jet lag of the heart

If you’ve 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 can’t recognize your own room as it’s 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.

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.  Air travel brought you home in 8 hours flat but your brain is still swimming in the home vibes.  You think you can just turn around and tell your mom or aunt something.  You think you can just see your sister next weekend instead of next year. 

This second kind of jet lag is more insidious.  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.  More than nostalgia for home, this sort of soul ache reminds me it will be a while before I am back home.

Leaving one’s family and country and culture behind all in one go is hard on a human body and soul.  I should be a pro at it now, after 17 years.  And if I cry less with time and experience, now my daughter cries more.  She is starting to understand just how far away America is.  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). 

To see her break down in tears a few days after our return is hard for me to watch.  I do my best to console her and extol the virtues of FaceTime and phone calls (trying to convince myself at the same time).  And when she asks me why I didn’t just stay in America and marry someone there, I have to remind her that I wouldn’t have *her* if that were the case.  And I wouldn’t have her brother.   Who by the way doesn’t seem to show too many signs of this” love lag”, though he may well be as sensitive as his sister and me.  Time will tell.

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.   I putter in my garden and try to plan cozy moments with the bi-cultural little family that is mine here.  And I hope (in vain) that one day they will come up with a cure for this jet lag of the heart.  

Travelling with toddlers: or just leave them at home??

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.

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).


In the car

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

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.

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.

In the hotel

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!

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.

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.

Out and about

 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!

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 only these types of events into your trip.

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.




Eating out

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)!


BYOC. 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.

In the end, go with the flow and try to enjoy yourself, too!  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!

Goodbye to the eternal summer

Goodbye to beach trips and ice cream cones with sand between our toes.  

 

Goodbye to letting the kids stay up late because “no school tomorrow!”

Goodbye to spontaneous picnics in the park and juicy watermelon that drips down our chins.

Goodbye to vacation and relaxing and not thinking about work. 

This end of summer is even harder for me because I am coming off of one year off taking care of my second child.  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 tomorrow’s classes (since I teach English).  And more importantly, I got to spend this year getting to know this precious person, my son.  

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.  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.

Now comes the hard part.  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.  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 son’s routine.  I then took a walk for the next thirty minutes while he was there on his own.  He did fine, though, playing with the other kids and toys.

The next day he stayed for two hours while I took my daughter to the library to distract myself (and her).  And then he stayed for three hours and ate lunch with the other kids.  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.  

Although I am doing better than I thought with all this change, occasionally I feel a sadness creep in.  Just like the other day in church, when we sang a hymn with the words, “be still my soul” and the tears started welling up.  My glorious “summer” of bonding and time away from my job is truly ending.  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.  Back to morning traffic and rushed meal prep at night.  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.

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.  I am trying to embrace the change but I keep seeing my son’s little face in my mind, the one I will inevitably see less of from now on.

Because it isn’t just the end of summer, it’s the beginning of the separation. After day care there is pre-school and elementary school for my son.  My daughter will be in middle school next year.  Things keep changing and I can’t stop it.  I gave birth to these miracles and from day one they start their journey to leave me.  Be still my soul.  

I know I will get through it.  I will find my new routine.  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.  It’s just that I have never been so good at goodbyes.  But I will give it a try.  And summer will come again (next year!), albeit a shorter version.