Working in the Garden

A weekend for projects in the garden. A pool to paint and protect -- then to empty, clean and fill with fresh water. Brush to be cleared away and burnt. And helpful young men working away at my and my neighbor's side.

Yes, this is what a three-day weekend is for, especially when the weather is spectacular (at long last) and my kids are here with me. A fun evening barbecue followed by a freshly made cake and strawberries from the garden to follow!

Caring for Other People's Children

This is my second year hosting other people's children in my home. Last year, the number never went over three, and the kids were older -- proper teens or nearly. Thus, I had to feed them, house them, pay for the hot water of their showers, the electric heater in the girls' room, do extra laundry, and often, add in trips to school for their older kid schedules. But that was pretty much it.

As a plus, I was able to go to my tango class every Thursday, knowing the household was under control. I could crash early if I felt particularly weary or fell sick, and ditto, know that the next morning I'd find the kitchen pretty clean, and the kids in good shape.

This is not the case this year. Little did I realize when I agreed (I had little choice) to take in these pré-ados that I was setting myself up for a lot more work this year. Ten, twelve and thirteen year olds rarely come to a new home fully-formed and educated. And, they come with burgeoning hormones, new levels of moodines they have yet to master, and, if they're only children, with spoiled behaviors.

Thus, I am finding myself getting firmer and more strict by the day. If the dishes are incorrectly washed, you get to do them again in the morning. If there is a spill on the floor, yes, you will go and get the mop and clean it up yourself.

But what riles me the most is the lack of initiative and the resistence to helping. If I put a trash bag by the front door, they will move it out of the way so they can go out to play. But, pick it up and bring it to the trash can? It doesn't cross their mind. If, as they go outside they brush against a coat and knock it to the floor, they leave it, and if needs be walk atop it. Pick it up and put it back where it belongs? Hunh? And a classic: Filou has a tendency to vomit up a bit of water if he drinks too quickly. Simply water with a touch of bile, no more. They will point it out to me up to hours later so that I can clean it up. God forbid a one of them grab a sponge or a couple of sheets of paper towels to wipe it up themselves. I'm floored.

If the designated child for tonight's dish-doing isn't there, I have no offers to help, but must give a firm request (that cannot be ignored) to one of them that he/she do the dishes this night in the stead of the other (with the promise that on their night, they'll be off dish-duty). And to this I get, No, I don't want to do the dishes tonight. And I say, sorry buster, you are going to do them. Period!

I've kept the tone of my voice down, but I'm just startled by the selfish, me-first attitudes I'm getting. I'm also very annoyed by the constant bickering and pretty nasty comments going on from my teen girl towards our more difficult young boy. It truly is not necessary and it certainly doesn't help.

But these two, far more than the others, respond to all situations by making them worse. They are the first to over-react, the first to duck out of jobs, the first to snap and tease. There are moments I just have a hard time even liking them. How do kids get this way? I've forbidden Leo to listen too much to them, and am begging him not to be influenced! Stay pleasant and helpful, I beg you! And to Jonas, watch it my man, you too need to start helping out more. Being the youngest is an excuse that is wearing thin.

When I've slept a good night's sleep, I awake with more patience, and the realization that de facto I've taken on their education as well as their selves. I've even had comments from the parents that they feel the kids are doing better under my roof than they were before.

But, I'm wavering. Winter is coming and I'm feeling the desire to hibernate. I want to cuddle with my boys around a Fred Astaire movie, with a hot cup of tea in our hands. I'm feeling a bit out of my depth handling these children day after day. And yes, as JP noted, I arrived every weekend this month in need of sleep and rest, not perky and ready for romance. I'm feeling the strain.

Vacation is just two days away. A restorative period will be beneficial to us all. I know that I in particular have mood swings linked to weariness/energy level. So, if I can hunker down and care for me, the boys and the house as I need to over vacation, I should be able to start up again with the necessary verve to get through to Christmas.

I am learning, yet again, my physical and mental limits, (so porous on most occasions). I am also gaining in respect for teachers and child-care professionals on all levels. How can this extraordinarily important and exhausting activity be so poorly recompensed in our socieities? It just baffles the mind.

Readying the house for four new arrivals

Friends look at me askance and wonder how on earth I could choose to house and feed four extra pre-teens (well three pre-teens and one teen-ager) in addition to my two boys. It is an unusual thing to do in these times of small families and private space. But as a family, my boys and I have chosen this arrangement. Oh it has its moments of stress and difficulty, but, it has innumerable virtues that only those from large families can comprehend. As of Monday I will have two girls, 11 and soon to be 14, and two boys, soon to be 13 and 15. They'll mix with my children, two boys, 7 1/2 and 12.

Beyond a certain touch of personal insanity and masochism, my house is large enough. I've two rooms to spare. One had been for the au pair, the other a living room. But, when it's just the three of us, we don't ever use these rooms. They might as well be closed off. We're an odd family with no TV, nor a family computer (mine is for me alone), nor another such object around which we might cluster in a family room or salon; we happily enjoy our "family time" in the kitchen, or outside on the terrace. I also take the hackneyed statement, "the more the merrier," with nary a grain of salt. Whatever the potential disasters, it is nonetheless true that with more children boredom is just not an option. Life becomes a party. And yes, with a house that is larger than we three need, the mortgage is commensurate. Hosting four children does bring in a bit to help ends meet at the end of the month.

For myself, I've imported kids to play with my children, to exchange, to learn from, and to live alongside. My boys are benefiting from the need to welcome, respect and be considerate of others. They share their space, take their turn in the bathroom and get to spread amongst six the burden of household chores and errands. Justice is paramount: together we make up a calendar of the various chores to be handled on a daily basis. Coupling up (e.g. the youngest and the eldest will do dishes together), and collaborating when the going gets tough -- I've five cords of wood on order that will need stacking--is necessary. Many hands make light work of just about any task.

For the children it's a mini-sleep-away school. A prep-school it is not, but they're in outside lodging and need to bend to my not very onerous expectations and requests. They're testing their limits, distancing themselves from their parents, striking out, and learning autonomy (particularly as concerns their homework) in a safe environment with plenty of good food and warmth.

For the parents, they've put their children in the care of this odd American who speaks fluent and fast French, cooks up a storm and promises lots of organic meals, light-handed parenting and a certain regularity and firmness balanced with a good sense of humor and the ridiculous. They're all relieved, and more than a bit pleased that I've no TV in the house. We all want our kids to read more (goodness don't we all!), and they hear tales of chess playing, backgammon, cards and baking bread with a hint of nostalgia and wistfulness. If the Steiner/Waldorf world does one thing, it brings together the many of us who flee the threat of media-overdose and its nefarious effects on our children. However, few have gone so far as to banish the TV completely. Thus these kids will get their fair share when they go home on the weekends, no doubt.

In fact, a common trait of the kids I'm boarding is a touch of hyper-activity and difficulty concentrating. Something that is more and more common in our overly electronic world, and a frequent trait in children who come later in life to the Waldorf schools. They've each been to visit or are scheduled to begin visiting speech and writing therapists to bring them up to speed. Alert, friendly, good-hearted, yet struggling with the basics of reading and writing. They're loath to take up books for pleasure, preferring movement, or a computer screen (if it were available). I hold out this torch of a promise that maybe, just maybe, with no other options open to them, they might pick up a book or two for pleasure during their time in my house. At the very least there'll not be a battle over TV after school and getting home-work done.

I've now readied the rooms, made the beds, vacuumed and mopped the floors and dusted the surfaces. All is ready for Monday afternoon and the arrival of my beasties. Other years we welcomed au pairs and cooking assistants into our lives, now we welcome children. My boys take it in stride, and truly, I think they'd miss the presence and warmth of the extra bodies. Certainly, they'd miss the regularity and variety of my week day dinners. Nothing like having an army to feed to get me moving in the kitchen.

My boys are back

I've got my boys back. At last. They're with me and we're all three in Avignon.

I've missed them terribly these past couple weeks. They've been with their father. It was his turn to have them during vacation. I gave them up to him upon our return from the States on the 11th, and have felt not a little bereft ever since. I missed their curiosity. I missed the structure they give me. I missed their easy presence and acceptance of me and our lives. I didn't miss their terrible bickering, jealousies and constant struggles for dominance one over the other (even with four and a half years' separating them!). As that story from the Magical Tree House series so beautifully described using a tiger and a lotus blossom for symbolism, you have to accept the ugly with the beautiful. They come as a pair.

I know, and cringe at, the quantity of TV and computer time they've had these past weeks. I know nothing has been expected of them, the meals have been haphazard at best, and between the heat and the running of the b&b, outings have been ever too few. Erick just couldn't manage more, not for not wanting to, but, it just wasn't possible.

So, I got them back wired and wiggy, ready to clobber each other, tired and out of sorts, hyper-excited and under-exercised. Such is life. We piled into the car with all their things, crates of toys we'd brought to Arles back in June, Filou, roller blades, etc., and headed up to our house in Avignon. On the way we stopped by the organic dairy in Tarascon to purchase our fresh, raw milk.

It is Ramadan, a time when the local Muslim population makes their own variant of fermented milk. I arrived just before a few van loads of Moroccan men come to get their fresh milk for this important element of their regime. One of the ironies of this world is the awkward co-existence of the Arab peoples and their French hosts and employers. As an example, I didn't have exact change for the farmer, but she reassured me that she trusted me to pay her the Euro I owed on another visit, something she wouldn't permit for the clients waiting outside. How sad that our local Moroccans make up a far larger number of her clients than the local French (or random American such as myself) yet she has this mildly antagonistic relationship with them.

Back into the car and home. We had time to chat about the boys' memories of Michigan, the program for the next few days, the kids who'll be living with us this year (our new boarders), the brief chores that awaited them upon our arrival, what I'd planned for dinner, etc., I'm a chatty mom, but they willingly kept up their ends of the conversations. So far, so good.

Once in Avignon it was a mixed bag. Leo was helpful, Jonas less so. But then Leo was badgering and ordering Jonas about like a general. Already, over the past two years Leo has tried to take the place of the head man of the house with his brother, and I've done my best to calm him down and reassure him that I'm parent enough for Jonas. However, I've a sneaking suspicion that he's playing the role of father to his brother even more forcefully and frequently in Arles than here. In any case and whatever the truth of my suspicions, Leo was way out of control. Though I wanted Jonas to help, I fully sympathized with him as his over-bearing brother came down like the proverbial ton of bricks. Thus I spent a goodly part of that first hour orchestrating who did what, and getting Leo out of Jonas' space.

Jonas then proceeded to have a mild breakdown at the thought and act of putting away his clothes. To protest, he lay down on a nice cold stone step (not a bad idea really, considering the heat of the day). I left him like that and went out to clean the pool, he (eventually) came down to re-negotiate terms. I'd said, "put away your clothes and then we can jump in the pool, have dinner and ice cream as a special treat for dessert." He wanted a swim first. Now, in sticky, muggy weather a refreshing dip to gather his forces and finish his appointed task made sense. So I gave in and said yes, come and swim but promise to get your clothes put away right after. As things go, I had to give a bit more. He did obediently go up after his swim to put away his clothes, but hadn't finished when dinner was ready. He finally got everything put away closer to 10PM while I was reading The Odyssey with Leo. And then, at long last, he got his ice cream. Thank goodness for the lure of sweets! All's well that ends well on that point.

The shift has been made, and not too painfully: Daddy for Mommy, TV for books, no expectations for household chores, chocolate nutella for carrot sticks, town for country. We'll be set by Monday, I think.

The Garden takes over

Summer abundance. Foliage everywhere. Bay laurel and thyme laurel reach new heights. Tomatoes weighing down their stems. Rose bushes in a sorry state due to too little water and some nasty little spiders. My garden greeted me and reprimanded me. How could you let me get into this state? No one here to care for me through a long hot summer? Barely watered grass, and the rest, completely ignored to do as it might.

My new sprinkler is missing a piece -- so it goes, perhaps it became a toy for the numerous children amongst the renters? -- so I set up the old one, with a very small radius, and every hour or two moved it about the lawn, close to the tomatoes as the evening (relative) cool set in and the danger of the burning sun had passed. I doused the compost pile for a few hours -- hard to make good black earth out of dry, dry, desiccated matter, and there too, I doubt the renters added to it. A pity. The range of plants along my back fence are out of the reach of my hose, so I hooked up a "home-made" attachment (one of my pool hoses) to better soak the climbing roses and the pink oleander. Perhaps one of the climbing roses is no longer (the one I planted this spring, surprise, surprise), but I'm crossing my fingers.

My sore thumbs, wrists and pectoral muscles are witnesses to my gung-ho effort (what is it about being in one's home, without children, and post-vacation that just spurs you on to crazy challenges?) to prune all the bushes. Now, I have to admit my gardening ignorance is high, and, when possible, I have delegated these tasks to others (in general strong men with the proper tools). But this time was different. I was on my own, and rather content to be so, and, I had only a very old and not particularly sharp pair of clippers at hand. Thus, with a rudimentary tool and will power, I went at those bushes, wacking off height, breadth and too many pockets of spiders to count. One pouch sent flying by my efforts landed a handful of miniscule, pale, nearly see-through, baby spiders upon my arms (and no doubt my hair too, but I wasn't really thinking of such as I just kept at it). Good thing Jonas wasn't with me. His fear of spiders already had him sharing my bed far more than once this summer.

Needless to say, I started in the somewhat cooler air of the morning, but by the time I had accomplished my tasks the thermometer was nearing 35C (93F) if not topping it in the sunshine, with more promised as the sun crossed the sky above. As I moved the hose through the kitchen to the front garden and my rose bushes planted there, I felt sad. I do hope my roses will come back next year. The combination of severe dry weather, and these spiders that leave white sticky deposits on the stems is a bit much. I was drastic in my pruning (after reading a gardening book stating that I could prune in August), and hope I've not delivered the fatal blow. They brought me such joy this spring. Never before in my life had I had a rose garden. Such a simple, and for many a trite, pleasure derived from the natural world surrounding me.

Spring in Provence is one of those moments that keep me here. Though the summer can be beastly me hot and send into hiding, the spring is magical, a moment of gathering momentum, colors suddenly transforming from pink to green, blossom making way for leaf, a range of tones and promise that enchants. I thought often of this as I looked around me in Northern Michigan. Could I give up spring in Provence for a new life in these northern woods? Would a magnificent (if very long) winter and glorious autumn compensate? Perhaps, but the nostalgia would be there.

Meantime, it is summer, I'm sweating buckets, and all is cooked, as far as the eye can see. Lethargy sets in, or restlessness. Next burst of energy I'll attack the spider webs all over the house, but for this, first to the store for more vacuum bags. At least the mosquitoes are few.