A Sunrise at Châteauneuf-du-Pape

 Now how many schools do you know of that put a sunrise at Châteauneuf-du-Pape with singing, a breakfast picnic and a 4 hour hike following it on the program?

For the Saint's day (St. Michel), end of summer, beginning of fall, the 6th, 7th, and 8th graders (about 100 in all) plus many parents, all the teachers (including sports teacher and woodworking teacher) from our Rudolf Steiner/Waldorf school gathered together at 7:15 in the morning atop the hill-town of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, of gorgeous wine fame, beside the ruins of the old château.

For this event many of us juggled and exchanged kids -- Jonas went to my girlfriend's house and I took her two 8th graders, plus my two (Leo and Vivien, this year's host-child). Early to bed the night before and early to rise (6AM), we were in the car at 6:30 to meet at the school and pick up 3 more (remember, I've a 9 seater vehicle) and off we went to our destination.

It was truly magical. My photos I trust capture a bit of this. Once all victuals were shared, we headed off down through the cobbled streets, to the vineyards below, following the Rhône, then the branch between Ile de l'Oiselay and the river's edge (note, the winery Mas de La Lionne run by my fellow American, mentioned in an earlier blog post is here), over hill and dale, through the village center of Sorgues, to school in time for lunch.

Along the way I made the acquaintance of two new mothers to Leo's class, chatted with his teacher about Leo and Vivien, berated and nudged and tugged at some slow-pokes pulling up the rear, threatened to remove some ipods, mp3-players, etc., (no, the Waldorf world is not perfect, we too have issues with these items), and reveled in the extraordinary Indian Summer weather we're experiencing this year in Provence.

My chat with Leo's teacher was lovely and reassuring - he finds Leo more serious and present in class this year. Truly contributing to the energy of what is now a class of 30 pre-teens, scowling when others disrupt, etc., We also discussed Leo's physical size and presence -- he is the tallest of the class, and not whippet thin, nor in any way heavy. But he has physical strength and power that is unique in his class. His best friends are often smaller, lighter kids, including Vivien who is half his size, and very much his equal as he teases, provokes, and plays with the gentle giant that Leo is becoming. I at times worry that Leo, of a very reactive and sensitive temperament, might accidentally harm one of his friends as he lashes out, chases down, man-handles to the ground, etc., In a later discussion, Vivien reassured me that he is in no way afraid of Leo's power, and feels quite confident that Leo is master of it, and would not hurt him. This from a lad that I find often beneath Leo, head held in an elbow/arm grip that has me more than a bit anxious. However, I am witness to the provocation that has brought forth this wrestling hold, and thus restrain from criticizing. Though I remind Leo to be careful, and aware of his size and force.

I am finding it both wonderful and frightening to be a sole parent to my teen son. His father is in the background, yes, but I am the educator, the disciplinarian, the one who sets the limits and exacts certain behavior. I am the one drawing him towards responsibility, self-awareness, work, pride of skill and ability. I am the one pushing and tugging and urging.

He is stronger and taller than me now. And there are moments when it is just, well, a battle of wills. For the moment, it is working (as I see it). We have our tits -- the battle of the carrots was one the other night. To a refrain of "I just don't want them" (reminiscent of "I just don't like doing dishes") I simply insisted (remembering my horse-whisperer and her instructions to just repeat, insist, and keep the tone of voice calm). Amazingly, after quite a bit of urging, and more than a smidgen of uncertainty (hidden) on my part, I won the battle. Phew! Such a minor concern, and yet, I am still Mother. I am still the one who commands.

And then we've our morning battles -- ah yes, getting up in the morning... For me it comes down to respect for the rest of the household and for me in particular (he has often told me that he gets up with alacrity and good spirits at his father's, at friends' houses...). And, nothing gets me hot and bothered and distracted more than needing to call after him every 5 minutes from 7:30 to 7:50 every darn day. I forget things, I leave the house half-dressed and in a foul humor... and then I pummel him verbally in the car as we drive to school, begging for more effort on his part, less selfishness, and to somehow get through his head that mornings are tough on all of us, and we must do our part, no matter the overwhelming desire to stay in bed under warm covers...

I've now new weapons of coercion. Be this for good or ill, I have passed to Leo my old computer and my first Iphone. His time on these is limited, as is the content he is allowed to have on them. (i.e. for the latter, just music, skype, facebook and phone numbers, no games). His computer is reserved for the weekends and Wednesday evenings (mostly). This is working, sort of. There are moments of abuse. I'm doing a lot of hiding these objects around the house when I know I'll be out for the evening and he'll be here. He's becoming (with Jonas' help) adept at finding my hiding places (as my siblings and I were adept at finding my mother's hidden stashes of cookies/brownies/ etc., in the kitchen of my childhood). But at least, I at last have something that I can clearly remove from him when things get out of hand, and give back when behavior has improved.

Oh, the complications of raising a 14 year old. He is so sweet, and so stubborn. So interested in others, and so self-involved.  More on this later.

A new constellation of children

Well, the year is half-way over, or just begun. It depends on how you look at it. And my house is filling again with teens and pre-teens. From one sad child this fall with suicidal tendencies (she's now elsewhere, which I must say is rather a relief -- I was out of my league with her), I'm now the happy receiver/care-taker for three well-adjusted and pleasant young folk. The first was expected -- a 16 year old exchange student from Switzerland who's already spent 6 months in New Zealand, and is now getting her French up to speed. Joining her relatively quickly with the New Year is a young boy Leo's age, now in his class, part Belgian, part Dutch, and not a little dyslexic, but quite polite and friendly. And, the surprise, a friend of my 'suissesse' who was unhappily lodged with a different family in the school.

Apparently, the deciding factor is my somewhat abundant and generous welcome. The girls find me warm, funny, easy to be with, and my boys interesting company (particularly Jonas these days who is turning into quite the sociable and entertaining 9 year old). The house is comfortable, I'm not far from Avignon, I've yoga cds to borrow (plus yoga mats), my home-made bread is a hit (as are the cereal bars). The girls like my cooking -- a bit more adventuresome with them here: green lentils with bacon, swiss chard, onions and a pinch of cloves, diced root vegetable soup with Chinese noodles, cast iron stove baked sweet potatoes and sausages, twice baked mashed potatoes, home-made gnocchi... Yup. I do enjoy feeding a small horde. And, appreciation is what all cooks need, something my two boys are quick to give me for brownies and chocolate muffins, but less often for lentils.

With the weekdays filled with prep and corrections for my class I've less time at home to garden, clean, cook, bake (t'is been a long time since my last batch of muffins! then again, the stash of Swiss chocolates we had to get through after Christmas dissuaded me from the need for more sweets for quite some time). There's nothing like being a new teacher -- I'm paid for the 16 hours I teach, but I put in 2-3 hours before every class. This is not a complaint as I am fully aware that this is the classic ratio, particularly for someone as green as I. But on top of this are the weekly meetings with colleagues and students and... Ah well, what's a few hours in the day? At least till the tourism season kicks back in, I've the time and energy to devote to my charges, both at home and in class.

The kids are back

The holidays when you are divorced are always a bit strange. The week from Christmas day till New Year's day I spent either with a girl friend, or alone at home working on the walls of the downstairs' room, or out dancing the tango. More about these last in future posts.

And then, at last, normalcy came back to my house. From quiet, alone time, time for meditation, yoga, listening to Women on the Edge of Evolution tele-series on my ipod, deepening my soul, my understanding of life, eating minimally whatever was within reach... I became a mother again, a head of household, responsible for others besides myself.

The boys are back, gifts in hand, filthy and in need of baths both, filled with more chocolate than a Swiss citizen, in good spirits, content and at ease. They enjoyed their time with their papa, and they're happy to be home. From the little princes that they were for a week, they're back in the world of emptying dishwashers, setting tables, cleaning their rooms, putting away laundry, washing pots, and generally helping out.

But they're also back to Mom who has movie nights in bed on her Macbook. And this week's choices were Al Gore's An Inconvenient Truth and the Lucille Ball version of Mame. And they being my sons, even though Leo's first choice for a film was Bad Boys II (Will Smith et. al.) they totally got into my selections.

Leo was riveted to Al Gore's analysis. Jonas got quite a bit of it, and discussions ensued as to why their Mom has chosen to live so small when friends back in the US have so much and it's such a cool thing to have all that. They learned what a glacier is -- and that they may never see one. They learned about automobiles and emissions, about rising water levels (no Jonas, it isn't equivalent to a huge meteor hitting Earth). They paid attention, particularly Leo, and absorbed what they could. A film to be revisited perhaps next year?

And then Mame, songs and all. Open a window and let the air in, be open-minded, be your own person, live life, accept all challenges with a smile and grace and creativity, find like-minded people, don't be a snob....

I didn't do it on purpose, but I do think I've begun this New Year by sharing with my two children my deepest self, my most profound philosophy, my personal heroes and what makes me tick.

Where to from here?

Left-overs, presto, changeo = veggie burgers....

Okay, more getting nourishing things into un-suspecting children. I really did a doozy on them last night. My first veggie burgers. Oh, I've made Erick's cereal gallettes many times (5 flakes, grated cheese, chopped onion, herbes de Provence, eggs, salt, fried in olive oil and served with soy sauce). But this time I worked with what was in the house:

Camargue red wild rice (about 2 cups cooked went in)
my last evening's lentils (lentils, onion, garlic, carrots, a touch of cloves and curry) - about one cup
my other last evening's walnut sauce (walnuts, almonds, garlic, olive oil, water, salt) - 1/4 cup, that's all that was left.
grated gruyère cheese, - a good handful with a bit more by special request from Leo
eggs (three)
more minced garlic (onions would be picked out by Jonas)
salt

I tried frying it in oil and it all fell apart, so, I added some whole wheat flour as a binder and tried again.

Perfect! They even looked like burgers. And yes, in this at least half-way American household (living in Avignon, mostly French, but...) ketchup was on the table. What can I say? I've raised ketchup (organic when possible) eaters, not mustard folk. I know, I'm abérrante. I've already shocked the new beau with such glaring lack of class (hey, I do well on other fronts, but well, isn't ketchup a vegetable? Lysine any one?).

Result -- they loved them! Even Jonas! I kept the recipe a secret though. No allowing for potential dissention in the ranks.

A young man is coming into his own

Hard to believe how tall he has grown. Hard to believe he is already 13. And, at least sporadically if not 24/7 he is proving to be growing inside as well. I wonder how much I can attribute to the arrival and now departure of Gaetan? Living with our teenage boarder for two years seemed to have both a dampening effect but also a stimulating effect on Leo. On the one hand with Gaetan being the elder, helpful, male presence in the house, Leo didn't need to be. On the other hand, Gaetan was there to observe and to learn from.

Hence Leo felt quite at ease digging through my tool box and dismantling the bicycle wheel the other day to replace a punctured inner tube. I watched him as the parts strew upon the floor, the chain hanging, and simply encouraged and/or got out of the way. Twenty four hours later, all is put back as it should and the wheel works. Wow, he actually knew what he was up to.

Another moment of pleasure for this mom came in the shape of a homework assignment for a boy who'd been talking in class. His (brilliant!) teacher asked him to write a poem. And what a poem! I had no idea my son had such a way with words, rhythm and wit. Am I over-doing it a bit much? Hey, I'm proud and pleased.

Un bon élève

Un bon élève en se balançant
rêve en pensant à trouver ce qu'il sait
chez lui avec son repas toujours cuit
ses devoirs non-faits il va se coucher
le matin il pense à rien
à son école couché sur ses épaules
il est sensé travailler, bah non; il reste couché
le prof n'est pas content
il se dit, eh bin, cet enfant
il se croit chez lui
il est cuit

Do I do a mini-translation? so much would be lost. It is in the rhythm as well as the sense that it has strength. Basically it's the story of a lazy/spacy child who forgets his homework, sleeps on his desk and gets caught by the teacher. Self-referential humor. Not bad, eh?

Now, if only I can convince him that it would be far better to work towards purchasing a new computer than to take the advice of one of his friends and return to the public schools for 3 months in order to benefit from a local program offering computers to their grade. He is baffled that I don't see the sense in scamming the State. Why should he go through all his old toys and books and sell them at the flea market to make money, and/or save all he receives and/or find some small jobs to do when in his mind it would be simpler to go to a different school (paper work much?) and thus take advantage of a special offer...

I'm working on my skills at convincing him. But that inner need to earn what you receive... apparently it isn't there yet. We'll see what other opportunities present themselves to expand on these lessons.

September - A New Year?

Well, the year is off to its start. If the beginning of the week was a bit 'rude'; my system took a hit with the car trouble, the returning imperatives of caring for kids, being in the daily rhythms of cooking, waking early, getting out the door and simply coping. But that seems to have passed, and I'm getting back into the flow of something I know oh so well, but from which I had unprecedented vacation time this summer.

The kids are back in school, both very much enjoying their teachers and friends. We've taken in just one extra child this year -- a 15 year old girl -- and thus life is infinitely calmer than last year. What a difference! Rather than rowdy, easily-upset pre-teens learning to deal with emotional surges and freaking out, I've a very calm, mostly autonomous and gentle teen female. Ahhhh. And just in time.

Leo and I are turning over a new leaf. This year I will survey his homework, follow-up on what he is doing/learning/preparing at school. I will do as I can to teach him better study habits (no more silly errors on those dictés please!). Somewhere, somehow, if only by being more present, able to truly concentrate on him every afternoon, I will help him be more grounded, more attentive, conscious of the importance of working at school. And he is grateful! The first afternoon after our long discussion on this subject he was there ready to show me all he'd done, assuring me that he'd finished his homework before listening to music, before playing outside, that he had taken me seriously and was ready to go forth into this new way of being. I am constantly amazed by my own children!

Jonas is 'vif', present, delighted to be again with his favorite friends, eagerly eating up the intellectual nourishment of school. I've taken to reading him Laura Ingalls Wilder's Farmer Boy. He is hearing and absorbing the story. As a Steiner teacher from Manhattan once told me, it is perfect for 3rd grade. He is at that age, open, curious, and amazed as I describe the days of this little boy, and the quantity of food he consumes! If Jonas has one or two pieces of toast and a bit of hot chocolate for breakfast, little Almanzo has sausages, a stack of 10 pancakes, two slices of apple pie and??? He's anything but fat!

And with the new fall, a new start. One of my summer tango partners has demonstrated that he'd like to be more. Hmmm. A calm, lovely, and very tall architect with two boys just a tad older than mine. A new world for me. And so I begin something anew. With my wits about me, gently, slowly, open and willing, but not yet head over heels (a good thing I think), we shall see if we are compatible (kids included!). And if nothing else, I'll be dancing more and more tango...

In the meantime, the next few weeks are filled with clients and tours. So, keeping my head on my shoulders, planning carefully, working out all the kinks (such as car repairs, rental vehicles, kids' swimming lessons and tennis...and all those lovely things!), I'm busy, occupied, focused, here.

Looking Back

I've been writing this blog now since February 2009. Not that long, and yet, well over a year. I re-read my posts from April last year, to get a sense of continuity and space. I've never been much of a journal-keeper, and thus it is a new sensation to have so much personal information available to myself about myself... if that makes sense?

So much I lived then I continued to live throughout this year. But there've been changes. I am no longer so worried about my boys. Last year I was intensely aware of my need to get them on track, of my need to be there, of an urgency in repairing some of the unintended damage that years of working very long hours and foisting them on au pairs had wreaked.

And now, that seems like a distant dream. Leo is reading, handling his homework with relative ease (and some nudging from me). He's seeing a writing therapist weekly to improve his grammar and handwriting. Jonas is happily back in his own bed (he shared mine throughout the winter, but seeing as I kept the house super cold, you could say it was as much for shared body warmth as any affective need on his part), in his own room, strong, independent, yet still very affectionate and eager for me to read to him at night. The bickering has calmed down (who would'a thought?). The house is truly quite peaceful. I feel that my boys have gained a solidity, a firmness in themselves. They are present, verbal, communicative, relatively and mostly willing to help me. They understand me, they know me, they work with me. I'm theirs, and we are a very tight family.

When the boys went off for a 'colonie de vacances' for a week during spring break, they became closer. Leo included and protected Jonas. Jonas looked up to and easily kept up with Leo. Apparently Leo even helped carry Jonas when he had a bit of the stomach flu one day.

Mealtimes are lovely. I no longer need to fetch a child out from under the table, nor do I much need to badger about eating/tasting various food groups, and basic table rules have been absorbed. It's 'acquis'. The daily expectations of house chores, rules, etc., are part of them. No more surprises.

Leo and I no longer have our late evening chats as he is happily reading in bed -- devouring Eragon and Harry Potter and various other marvelous reads. But we are making up for this in the front seat of the car as we go to school. The urge to communicate, share, learn is very present in him. And as no topic is off-limits for me, he is free to do so and takes advantage of his most loquacious mom.

In a week I'll begin working lots again. I'm quite booked with culinary and artisans tours this season, and it will be okay. I've a new neighbor whose kids are in the school, and we'll be going over my schedule to see how he can help me. My kids can easily be at home alone now. They eat their snacks, clean up after themselves, carefully lock the door if they leave for a bike ride... They know the routine. We've moved onto another stage of our lives together.

What a difference a year can make.

Long Hair, Serious Attitude

It's been a while since I've written about my boys. Mostly, things are progressing quite pleasantly. Leo's hair is longer and longer, and as I study him freshly clean from his shower, dressed in clothes I don't recognize, sitting beside me eating his pasta and fresh goat cheese on a large, thick slice of my dark bread I notice how large his hands are. How long the fingers. I'm tempted to stop him in mid-bite to measure mine against his.

I get up to clear away a dish and look back and I see an impressive quantity of dark and long hairs on his lower legs peaking out from under the just-long-enough pants. The shadow on his face has moved beyond his upper lip to delicately darken his chin and the still small and fragile-seeming line from his temples to his jaw.

Once, in the past few weeks, I was granted a clear view of his face. The day we went swimming with JP at the pool in Nîmes. With a cap on his head, I could marvel again at the beauty of his bone structure, and remember the many times he'd been taken for a girl when he was but two years old. I am only slightly impatiently awaiting the day his hair is long enough to put in a pony tail -- if he will agree that is.

He is lengthening. I barely saw him this vacation. And these two weeks of distance have marked him. The first week he spent with his brother in a 'colonie de vacances' on a boat, péniche on the Canal du Midi. I had the pleasure of picking up the boys at the station when the tour was finished, and reveled in their bubbling up of stories as we enjoyed pizza and profiteroles at our favorite restaurant on the island. Though they assured me it had truly been nul I could see their smiles, hear their stories, and learned of the kids they met, the facts about sharks they'd learned, the interesting experiences they'd lived. Leo didn't like the pâté served the first night, and politely explained that he was allergic to pork. For the rest of the trip he ate with the Islamic kids, sharing their pork-free dishes. He accepted the situation gracefully. And clearly, the boys had gotten along very well together, Leo protecting and including Jonas throughout the week, even carrying him back from an outing when Jonas had had a tummy-ache. They spoke in surprise of the little boy who was younger than Jonas, and shorter, but who weighed as much as Leo! He almost crushed the back of the small pony he rode atop! Stories spilled out of them both.

Only a day later I passed them to Erick, to share his birthday and to spend their week in Arles.

Tonight, the night before school begins, I got them back. In two weeks, so much can occur. I'll put out the measuring tape tomorrow. I do believe Leo is a few centimeters taller. Certainly his shoulders are broadening. Are his shoes getting tight?

As they walked into the house at 8PM -- Leo's homework yet to be done, neither bathed nor showered in over a week, etc., I was both joyous, and conflicted. The list of things to be done, my expectations for them came flowing out of me. There I was chopping, mincing, and pureeing the vegetables for the evening's pasta sauce, and before me were my much adored boys, the elder of which was showing serious resistance to getting started on his homework (and why hadn't he coped on it before coming back to me???? - what is this excuse about having left his book bag in my house???) and loathe to shower, and taking his own sweet time to make his bed, and procrastinating rather than immediately going to Gaetan to tell him that yes, he'd borrowed his bike without asking for the week, and why and that he'd cared for it and...

How quickly can a mother get into a dispute with her adored elder child? Seeing he had to get going on at least one of the many things on the list spewing from my mouth, he ducked out of my sight and headed to the shower. I followed a bit later and started over, but a bit more carefully:

Leo, I have expectations for you. I know that in Arles you find it great, awesome, relaxed, easy. Your father just lets you do as you please, and never gets riled. But my dear, you are old enough to take on more responsibilities. And you have it in you. I believe that you can be respectful and thoughtful and immediately go out to Gaetan and explain why you had his bike, not wait for him to finish mowing my lawn. And, I believe that you could be more helpful and take the initiative yourself to help mow that lawn. And I think nearing 13, it is up to you to be sure you do your homework, and get your papers, contact your friends for the questions, etc., Waiting till late Sunday night just doesn't cut it. You can be responsible. Your father had no idea what you needed to get done. You need to communicate, and you can. I am here to help you grow up and be the young adult you are. I believe you can be better. So yes, I come down on you hard. It's way easier at Daddy's. Perhaps it's super-chiant here. But it's because I believe in what you can and need to do.

So, dinner's in 5 minutes. Get out of the shower and get your butt down to the kitchen.

And, shortly afterwards appeared this tall and gangly young adult. Dinner was quite pleasant. Dishes cleared away, and homework begun. Will he get it done tonight? Will he need to get up early tomorrow? I couldn't resist reminding him that even if there are only three questions to answer, he cannot just whip out a single sentence for them. He needs to write down all he can think of that could answer the question. He may need to put down five sentences, and perhaps even a page full of writing... Skimping is no longer acceptable.

Hopefully the message got through? Yes, I'm struggling to raise his own standards for himself. I am doing as I might to convey the importance of trying harder, reaching higher, aiming for more...

That Fisherman Metaphor

Remember the ancient Chinese prover? Give a man a fish and feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and feed him for a life-time?

Well, I think I'm living this metaphor. Or at least, that's one of the ways I'm currently viewing my relationship, living in France in general, and being a single woman. I accept and honor that I choose to be here and with this person.

And yet, (a big) part of me would just love it if someone (he) would take the load off, share the burdens of this life, let me sleep late, take care of repairing my car, be a strong presence in the life of my kids (wouldn't it be nice to share that educating and disciplining role?) etc.,

Ahhh I can dream. But, that's what you do for a child, not for an adult. Yes, it is far more lasting to be pushed to cope on my own, to learn how to fish, much as I squirm and resist at times. But clearly, I'm also aware of my learning curve in this area (somewhere in my subconscious).

I receive suggestions: "when you talk to your mechanic, list all that needs doing, and ask for an estimate (the all important word 'devis') before bringing your car to him." Done and handled, repaired and paid for. All by my lonesome. Goodness, I feel like I just added a year to my maturity level.

And I receive encouragement, and periodic praise as I do my best to raise my kids on my own : "tes enfants se sont bien comportés à table l'autre soir." Um, yeah, it's amazing what eating with your kids every night (or nearly) for two years can do... glad you noticed. And yes, I did it pretty much by myself with some help from the other kids I care for, my mother in the summer, ...

Okay, I can still be sarcastic. But fear where my kids are concerned is something I've learned to accept and carefully chisle away at... We're getting there: one weekend/evening/outing/meal at a time.

In the meantime, tourism has picked up. Lovely folks are coming to Provence, and I've a new neighbor with whom I can carpool. Yippee! Just call me an enthusiastic maturing adult with a very active inner child.

And actually, I'm a pretty good fisher woman -- my brother taught me long ago: I can filet, clean, behead, scale and de-fin with the best of them.

Doing Dishes - a personality profile

I've been listening to a lot of podcasts recently that repeat in different terms that we as a human race come in four basic molds. I learned the Steiner (which refer to the medieval which refer to the Ancient Greek) definitions of melancholic, sanguine, choleric and phlegmatic. The four basic humors. But I'm hearing variations which refer to our nature energies (nitrogen, oxygen, hydrogen, carbon) or to our crisis selves (rage, depression, distraction, avoidance), etc., etc.,

In this household, I'll probably stick to the first set of terms. I know them well having studied them during my Waldorf teachers' training and I'm ever amused by the many ways they manifest in daily activities in my household such as: doing the dishes.

There's the child who whips through the task, manages to soak the curtain beneath the sink, and then disappears. Often, there are dishes right behind him he neglected, and more than a few that require my rinsing them further.

There's the child that takes hours to delicately remove every tiny scrap of food with the point of his sponge. Scrubbing energetically isn't natural to him, so there are times he seems to be manipulating a powder puff on china rather than a scrubby on cast iron. His physical self, repulsion at having wet hands, etc, are far more present in his spirit than method and adapting to the tools at hand. In the end, the dishes are pretty clean, but not always.

Then there's the mellow kid. He sets up the two sinks -- soapy warm and hot clean water -- puts a chair in front of the work area (being eight, he's still a bit short for the task), and calmly gets to work. When he's finished he comes to me, ready to brush his teeth, put on his jammies and be read a book. All is calm, no hysterics, and the next morning I put away the dishes with ease. All are clean and sparkling.

These tendencies carry over to how we wash and vacuum the car -- he who sees half of the job no matter the explanation, and who is done in 5 minutes. Quickly done, poorly done, more than half left for me. If I push him to return to the task, I get a flash of moody, temperamental attitude. (no, this is not Leo). In fact, my own two were pretty on the ball for this task. Vacuum in hand they worked carefully on the seats and the floor. That I was right along side removing dust from the interior and mud from the exterior was reassuring, at least for them. For my little choleric, it was the annoying and heavy presence of a surveying adult.

Even the way they sponge off the table... yes, there's one that never gets the table fully clean, the other who sensitive to textures and moisture never completely squeezes the sponge out enough, and so though he does the whole table, it takes a while to dry... And my little one who is closest to the task, and yes, seems at this point to be the most calm and thorough in manner.

And me? a recovering and joyous sanguine. I do dishes quickly, mostly pretty well. I enjoy scrubbing and the hot water is lovely, and if my hands get torn up, oh well. However, I'm not a particularly adept wine glass washer. I leave that to JP (when he's around). I once had an au pair who took hours to do the dishes. She drove me batty -- how could you spend an hour on something that I do in 15 minutes? But goodness, her glassware sparkled!

How to appreciate our differences... That choleric? he's the moving force in many a bike ride/tennis game and more in this household. He definitely has his virtues and I would be the last to deny them. And my texture-sensitive one? He's a faithful and attentive friend to those he loves. No one will be written off. Simply, I hope, understood a bit better.

Worrying about a child

Well, I did a Grandaddy Brady. And what does this mean you might ask? Let me explain. We've a thing in my family about worrying and testing for appendicitis. My mother's appendix exploded and she contracted peritonitis and was hospitalized for three weeks. Everafter my grandfather (a doctor himself) carried the torch of checking for sore stomachs, poking that right hand side below the belly button, and hurrying us to the hospital should the symptoms be indicative.

In fact I did have my appendix out when I was fourteen. I'm thus the only one of my siblings to have actually experienced the pains, the vomitting, the craziness and the urgency of it all.

And so, I must admit to being rather pre-disposed to consider this an option when my little one just doesn't seem to get better from his gastro, when he's just continuing to be wracked by dry heaves, deeply in pain, unable to fall back into a restorative sleep, crying out at the sharpness of the stabs in his abdomen. He wasn't even willing to get into a warm bath! (Unheard of in my family).

It was while I tried to take advantage of that bath (mustn't let hot water go to waste!) that it dawned on me that Jonas might be really sick. That I had no more than 5 minutes in the water before he called for me was also a sign. So I got moving.

At which point my support network totally failed me. I called seven different parents who drive -- if not the exact route I do -- extremely close to my house. And not a one answered his/her cell phone. I didn't want to leave my little boy alone in the house while I went to get the others. He just was so miserable, and I was really beginning to worry. But, pas de chance, off I had to go to get the others, leaving Jojo alone.

That extra time decided it. As quickly as I was able to drop off the older boys, I grabbed Jojo, his slippers, coat and a blanket, and piled him into the car and off to the hospital.

As we waited and waited and waited (two hours in the waiting room can seem very long when you've a very sad child tensing, moaning, crying with you) I felt as helpless as a flea. You want to be taken seriously -- I don't think I over react when it comes to my kids, probably I under react, if anything. But you see the nurses sending in the girl with the sore shoulder before you. Of course, all babies get priority treatment, which is as it should be. But isn't a possible appendicitis important? Are they thinking this is just a simple gastro and thus are letting us wait it out. Perhaps they're waiting for Jojo to fall asleep and thus show that he isn't truly that sick. Or?

At long last we did get taken to the doctor, and Jonas finally felt better. I watched how she tested to see if he truly had an appendicitis or not. I absorbed the lesson, felt hugely relieved, but also weary from all the tension of the day. And then, losing my way once, then at last finding it, carried my little boy back out to the car and home to bed.

And now, to sleep. I don't know if I'm humbled, or just weary. I'm sad to carry this burden alone. I suppose I could wonder why today of all days was one where the universe decided I needed to carry it all alone. I felt so completely demoralized when I couldn't reach anyone to help me get the boys back from school. Total system breakdown. But then, I coped, as I had to, and the day is over, as I suppose it was meant to be.

And now yes, to sleep.

Personal hygiene for a pre-teen

Leo has always had a ton of hair. But, he's a boy. I was able to keep it relatively short, and if I didn't brush it smooth every morning, well... let's say he had a recognizable look. La tignasse they called him (lightly translatable as mop head).

These days he has decided to let his hair grow long. The last time I was allowed to come near him with scissors was this past summer. The hair is now past his shoulders. And, blessed as we are in this family with incredibly thick pelts, he has a ton of hair.

The teachers at school are beginning to complain. So we got him a bandanna to hold it down and permit him to see in class without needing to permanently wipe the hair from his eyes, and to limit the flick of his head to the right (and a possible krick in his neck at the tender age of 12 1/2). I've chosen not to make this a battleground. Let him test out the long hair thing now. And likely, just as my brother did when he was a teenager, he'll get it out of his system and in the end prefer a simpler style that requires less maintenance.

The bandana helps -- though he often forgets it at his father's over the weekend, so I cut up old sheets into large squares as replacements. Soon a rubber band will be in order (though for the moment, this latter he scorns). I realize that my child has never learned to properly use a hair brush. Or rather, he knows how to physically manipulate one, but that this can and should be done on a daily basis escapes him. After a shower, he is often caught combing his hair for hours in front of the mirror, trying different doos. But in the morning? fresh from bed? So, for Christmas he found a brush in his stocking... along with a razor and shaving cream.

The next step is to get him to shower more frequently. When he was a little boy, the nightly bath was just part of the ritual. Somehow, we've lost that, and it's a job getting my child into the shower after hand-ball practice. Hey, I tell him, you're an adolescent now, three times a week is the minimum! And, your hair is not only full of dust, but it's getting greasy and heavy. It's all part of your age and where you're at. You don't stink yet, but that too will come. And if you want to avoid getting pimples you need to keep your hair clean and off your face, and no poking at them with your fingers. You'll need to cultivate a daily routine of washing your face and your hands frequently...

Yes, this is part of our patter and discussion these days. Slowly, the message is getting through. Now, the next thing to learn is that showers can be a mere fifteen minutes long... not thirty.

Curious. I don't think mothers of girls go through quite the same routine and educational process.

Why Choose France?

Beyond the food and wine and the weather... why choose France? What is the lure of this European country that so stands apart from others? Why have I and so many visited and then settled here. Why have French ex-pats living in the new world returned?

A dear friend came to dinner the other day and expressed quite eloquently why she chose to return to the country of her birth. She had been living in comfort in Australia, enjoying the great weather, the super friendly people, the beach a hop away, tennis daily... She'd built a business there, had an income... but when the choice needed to be made she returned to France.

Like myself, the education of her children, both social and academic, is too important to be left to chance or to others. For the time that they are her responsibility, it is a main factor in where and how she lives.

And so as we and friends were conversing around the fire, a lovely glass of wine in hand, nibblies on the table between us, she let drop into conversation the following lines:

Je tiens à une culture du débat; à une culture de l'intellecte; à une culture d'exigeance.

She returned to France to secure for her children the education, both social and academic, that she felt would best prepare them to live their lives -- wherever they may choose to live in the future. And here, in France, they would be encouraged to express themselves, to argue, to debate, to have opinions. They would be in a world that demands that they push themselves academically to succeed, to not settle for alright or okay.

As a child of academically advanced parents, living just outside New York, I was certainly pushed in my studies, encouraged and driven. So this is a value that I carry in me from my own culture and family and I do my best to convey it to my offspring. However, the culture of debate, of discussion, of arriving at your opinions through heated arguments... this is something I have cultivated since I arrived on French soil. I do believe I was more willing to be bland when I was younger. Certainly I was politically apathetic and rather horrifyingly ignorant. "I don't know" and "whatever" were more common to my vocabulary than "I believe" and "I insist."

Upon my arrival in France it was soon quite clear that the French are aware of and informed about American politics. They have opinions and express them. And if before them I was less knowledgeable than they about my own country and its recent history... Well, suffice to say that I am proud enough to inform myself and remedy my ignorance when faced with such a situation. And so, I read, I learn, I think, I care and I express myself.

Would I have done so to the same extent had I stayed in the US? I just don't know. To a certain extent no doubt. The US has lived through very interesting times (to quote Chuang tzu if I'm not mistaken) in the past two decades. I can't deny being a person who cares and who reads the NYTimes since high school. However, it wasn't till I lived in France that I jumped from the Arts and Leisure section to the Opinions and Editorials...

That France and the French in general prize the intellect. Yes, I appreciate this. The most daily evidence of this social value is the art of conversation. Witty, sensitive, attuned to others, liberally sprinkled with references to politics, literature, cinema, history, song, public radio debates...

Still in operation here is the carefully designed table and social get-together. When invited to my friend's wedding years ago, we were just two amongst over a hundred, but it was clear that the table placements had been carefully thought through and we were with individuals we had much in common with, and with whom we were able to enjoy a marvelous evening of varied subjects.

The conversation is a living entity to be enlivened, encouraged, spread throughout the table. Monologues are discouraged. Sensivity to your neighbor is prized, but the forcefully expressed opinions of one who's drunk a bit much are not undesirable.

As I often told my French language students: the French will not ask you personal questions, however, they do love discussing sex, religion and politics. These being traditionally taboo at the WASP tables of my youth, I find this unceasingly entertaining when I am proven to have spoken truly again and again and again. Unfailingly, one of these directions (or all three) will be the chosen spark for a dinner table discussion. These do have the virtue of not excluding others, as in general, we do all have opinions on them that could be expressed. (A tête à tête is another matter). You can thus understand perhaps, why we sit from 8pm till Midnight over the many courses, wines, and coffee, perhaps topped off with a cognac. When pursuing subjects of this nature, a simple hour just isn't enough.

And so, we are back to why one would choose to live in France. It all converges at the dinner table. And, if we follow that thought to its natural extension, there's sense in the family dinner sans TV, with multiple courses, shared by all. But I do believe I've already gone into this... No?

A reorganized household

Just before Christmas it was mutually decided that my pre-teen girls would return to their parents' homes during the week, newly able to carpool with neighbors. I am thus now a den mother to four boys, rather than to six pre-teens. It all got shuffled around. At first we were a bit dismayed and out of sorts, but very quickly a new balance of personalities and personal needs fell into place. For the moment, the girls have not been replaced, and, it's turning out to be a blessing in disguise.

Leo and Mael -- our two that had been paying court to our 13 year old girl, and who'd often had their feelings toyed with by her -- have now joined forces. Leo came down from his shared room with Jonas, and Mael came up from his shared room with Gaetan, and now they share what had been the girls' room (and before that my living room, but that's ancient history at this point).

With two fewer bodies in the house, the raucus games of hide and seek have dissipated, to be replaced with far more card games, juggling, more attention to homework, and miracle of miracles, night-time reading! At least for Leo and Mael. Gaetan is just not a reader, but he has enough homework to keep him up till late at night.

My internat de garçons, boys' boarding house, is remarkably calm, free of spats and -- dare I say it? shall I jinx myself? -- relaxing.

I spent the fall in an intense tither, coping with the multiple personalities, clashes, snits, spats, mini-explosions, petulant appetites and crises emotionnelles. Too many Saturday afternoons were spent simply exhausted, sleeping as long as I was permitted (three hours was perfect) to simply recuperate from the effort.

And now? Well, I've fewer funds. The girls' boarding fees were going directly to pay my boys' school fees. Thus with these no longer coming in, I'll be scrounging a bit more than I would have liked. But I have much more head time to myself, time to contemplate getting that part-time job, time to write, and, with this new constellation of bodies, I can even go out an evening during the week and know they'll be okay.

I guess I should just accept that I'm a mom of boys. Having not had my little girl, I'm not too experienced on that front. Interesting.

A Winter Soup -- 'Chinese style'

Whenever I roast a chicken or a rabbit I toss the post-meal bones into a stock pot with a few herbs, perhaps an onion, cover them with water and make stock. With the wood stove going nearly non-stop, it serves as the perfect slow simmering spot to draw out the flavors from those bones over a twenty-four hour period.

Once I've my two to three cups of stock, I drain it through a sieve -- putting the scraps outside for Filou and his friends to devour. It is then ready to add to my kids' current favorite soup.

This is my cheap, nourishing winter meal.

2 tablespoons olive oil
2 carrots peeled and diced very small
one onion diced very small
1 quart of water
my chicken stock
one organic vegetable bouillon cube
a handful of frozen peas and/or corn
A package of Asian rice noodles
some soy sauce to taste




I drizzle the oil on the bottom of the stock pot, toss in the carrots and onions (or if I'm getting a bit daring, chopped leeks and cabbage, but I'm afraid my kids weren't too psyched to recognize these green bits in their soup this past time), lightly sweat these before covering with the liquid ingredients, adding in the bouillon cube and letting simmer till soft (about 30 minutes on my wood stove). I then add in the peas and/or corn and the rice noodles. When the rice noodles are tender, I check the flavor, add a bit of soy sauce and serve.

The kids get a kick out of mastering chop sticks. They already are fans of gomasio (sesame salt) and add it if needed to punch up the flavor.

The broth fills them up, as do the noodles. Warmed from within, homework and bed to follow come naturally on this dark winter's night.

Kids and Letters

Yesterday evening was a quiet one. Well, relatively. Once the game of hide and seek was over; once Leo had finally taken his shower and shaved (the once a month removal of very dark if minimal mustache); once Jonas had brushed his teeth, calm again reigned in the house. And to my bed crept a little boy, eager to work on his 'homework' with me. Can we call it homework when they're only 8?

Proudly, attentively, insistently, we read through (he read through!) sounds and syllables and simple phrases. He knows his French letters, and most of the combined sounds now -- ou, on, en, an... -- but we had some difficulty with 'ai' and 'au' and all those annoying silent letters. However, there he was pronouncing with the most lovely gutteral 'r's the most precise whistled 'u's. My little French boy. I resisted (and corrected myself as needed) from stating the alphabet in English... I kept wanting to say a and i with the English pronunciation, and then would repeat them a and i with the French. Some lapses just need to be accepted...

When Leo was little my mother and I worked on his reading in English alongside his reading in French. I don't know if this contributed to his current confusion when it comes to writing both languages, but it might have.

Jonas is another boy, growing up in a different time. I'm not in the kitchen teaching classes and cooking with clients. I'm in bed with him night after night open to whatever he brings to me. And, he's brought his joy at doing his school work. He's getting bigger and proud to be so, and I've convinced him he's not going to have half the difficulty his brother did. (positive mental reinforcement much?). Though this seems to be true from the get-go.

Gra gri gro gru grou groi gron; pla pli plo plu plou ploi plon; dra dri dro dru drou droi dron...

and on and on. We had about 30 lines, each one more difficult than the last, each presenting a similar rhythm and direction.

One of the scary aspects of the Waldorf education for many a driven parent (like myself) is that reading and writing are taught later than in the public school. The reasoning goes that until the physical body is ready (this moment of being ready is signaled by the loss of the first baby teeth) all the life forces in a child are needed to build himself, and it would be detrimental to occupy them in intellectual pursuits. This is not to say that creativity, play and many sorts of lessons aren't encouraged and done before this age, but, purely intellectual activities like reading and writing are put off till the first and second grade.

So, when you've a child like Leo who came to reading very very late and who still has horrid problems with spelling, you wonder if you made the right choice. When you've a child like Jonas who seems to jump at the chance to learn and who is delighted to share all his accomplishments and school projects with you, all seems right with the world.

By the way, while Jonas and I were working on letters and pronunciation, Leo was devouring the third in the series of Percy Johnson and the Olympiads. So, at least on this note, we can end my years of worry with delight and pride. Not bad to be 12 and reading as easily in one language as the other, n'est-ce pas? We'll see if the orthophoniste (speech and writing therapist) can help with his catastrophic grasp of basic verb conjugations, spellings, etc., One problem solved at a time.

Back to the Kids - dealing with anger

I am, as many of you know, housing, feeding and selectively educating a small group of pre-teens who attend my children's Waldorf school just north of Avignon. As this is one of the rare Waldorf schools that goes through high school in the country, and the only one in the South, kids come from all over to attend it. So it has become de facto a boarding school for a small percentage of the student body. However, there is no official structure linked to the school to house the kids, it is up to various parents to offer their extra rooms, generosity, welcome, food, etc., to permit these kids to be here.

A fellow single mother at the school -- a dear friend who is an amazingly resourceful woman coping with the private school tuition of her two sons, feeding her household mostly organic, raising chickens, making gorgeous shawls and working full time as a nurse -- paved the way for me to open my house to kids from the school. I observed how she structured the house rhythms, what she expected from the kids, how much she charged the parents, and have since checked in with her when things go awry in my own household.

Ostensibly I do it for the money -- it definitely helps to have a bit more cash flow coming into the house, and it also offsets my kids' tuition at the school. I am also doing the school a favor.

What is fascinating is the myriad of ways having these children in my house teaches, stretches, challenges, and at times frustrates we three who normally live here. Right now I am taken with the magic age of thirteen.

Now, I must stress that we are in France, the food supply is not riddled with growth hormones, and kids are still hitting pre-adolescence/adolescence at the relatively normal age of thirteen. Leo's teacher once accused his American side of bringing on early pre-adolescence, now two years ago??? And I simply looked at her like, what? Are you insane woman? Are you accusing my half of his genes for his early mustache? His grace with the female half of of his class? his moodiness? In any case, raised on French food, and a majority of that organic, he shouldn't have any excess estrogen flowing through his system...

In the past few weeks we've had some interesting moments of upset in the household. In particular, our young man (thirteen this February) slammed a door in anger (he was being gently teased) and caused another to fall and thus broke both the door handle (lovely, antique brass) and a corner of a table. My reaction? Get ahold of your anger kid. By all means, feel it, do not deny it, but please, do not break my house! If you're feeling physical, go for a run, go kick a (big) tree, but leave my house alone!

And yes, if you're wondering, his parents will replace both the door handle and the table. All will get sorted out.

Later, it was our young girl's moment in the sun. She is fully thirteen and aiming quickly towards fourteen. And goodness, she has her moments of being rightfully pissy and bitchy and snide and harumphs off, stomping her feet and (before I gave them all hell for this) slamming doors. I let her blow off steam and come back of her own accord. However, this would be normal, yes? I can handle most of the basic details of pre-teen moodiness.

What worries me is the way she seems proud of making the majority of her teachers angry with her. To her mind, she is fully justified in slamming chairs, stomping off, slamming doors, etc., to go outside and cool down when she feels that otherwise she would piquer une crise, i.e. have a fit. And for this, she was expelled from school for two days. Somehow, I think a bit more went into the school's decision... but I haven't had the full story.

Her mother has had her time with her, and things seem a bit better now... However, she is living with me, under my roof, for many more nights this year than at her mother's. My role is thus -- forcibly -- to educate and cajol and advise over and beyond providing her with a bed, food and hot water. And so, I've said my two bits. Basically, that being angry, feeling that intense hit of emotions overwhelm her is normal, and scary, but an important part of growing up is mastering these, not letting them master you. Far more easily said than done. But I've suggested strongly to my young girl that even when she's feeling about to burst, that she request permission to leave her class room to get herself under control. If she did that, it would not lessen her in the eyes of either her classmates or her teachers, and more importantly, I believe her teachers would respect her choice to quietly cope with the waves of emotion hitting her, and grant her this permission.

Leo, my son, is not yet thirteen. He will be so in June. As yet, we've really not had any great great upsets -- well there was that half hour of extreme depression and groaning this summer but since then... And so I asked him if he was curious about these two who are not so brilliantly handling their anger; does he sense that soon he too may be in the same boat? Not really. What followed was a question on his part as to whether a boy's handling his sex is normal.

I said yes, but in private.

Three mellow pre-teen boys

Life could be a lot worse that cozying up to a nice warm fire early winter. Hm? Ah, the lack of complications when dealing with boys... broken furniture and/or doors occasionally yes, but hissy fits, no. This was a rare girl-less evening when we just enjoyed dinner, chatted, laughed, built up the fire, and just hung out.

The stove is hot

As I sit here enjoying the warmth of my cast iron stove I'm noticing the melted wax on the carpet and on the seat beneath me, the strange forms painted??? on the windows of the stove, and various other minor damages to my house caused by over-active pre-teens. At least two of these are easily handled with a hot iron and lots of newsprint -- a learning moment, n'est-ce pas?

Over the past couple of weeks a spurt of uncontroled anger by one has broken the ancient brass door knob on his door, and the corner of a table (his parents, I believe, are now aiming to repair and replace said items). My elder girl had a major tiff at school and has been grounded for two days. Flying off the handle, out of control emotions, losing it in front of teachers and others, taking everything to the utmost limit and feeling justified to physically react and respond to any and all insults or frustrations... Isn't this what growing up is all about? Getting ahold of yourself? Learning to master your feelings so that they are not master of you? Allowing yourself to feel, not denying, but, not over-reacting either?

Their parents deal with them as they choose. In both cases they are making efforts to be attentive. I'm the outside parental influence, the one that has them living with me, but who doesn't have the emotional connection. Am I non-biased? No, I can't admit to that. But I can hope to teach them some elements of simple human behavior -- or at least what I find to be useful and best adapted to coping in this world. In general, slamming doors, breaking walls, bursting into tears, freaking out, haven't proved successful operating procedures for me. But then again, I rarely cry, and have struggled to be calm and to let things pass from early childhood. Anger rarely got me anything worthwhile, nor tears, so I learned my lesson, and aimed toward a more subtle mastery of manipulation. Ah, that is communication...

And life goes on. Perhaps I'll get the Christmas decorations out today?

Teamwork hits the nail on the head

When you see kids sitting around looking bored. When they start doing silly things like slamming doors and causing plaster to fall. When the teasing gets a bit out of hand. When you've a collection of young people in your home and you have no TV, nor do you permit computer or other electronic games. Well, they need to be occupied.


There I was with lots of spare wood from my friend's house, and at least five bicycles that would last out the winter weather far more happily in a shed. So, to work.


Time to build a bike shed as an add-on to our store bought garden shed. Time to get creative, to put all hands to work. Time to solve our small dilemma and involve all in the process.


It's not quite finished -- we've still to put the roof on -- but it is far advanced and it quite did its job of bringing together my disparate pre-teens into a functioning team of upbeat workers.

Between bike sheds and piling up 7 cords of wood, we're getting somewhere. Truly, the more often I can get them working as a team, the better the whole household functions. I keep thinking of my cousins and their wall-building/ step-fixing/ roof-cleaning projects. They truly had something there!