A New Dog in the Family

JP received a four-legged Christmas gift from his kids this year. It (or he) was quite unexpected. I think JP was rather getting adjusted to his status as partial parent to my Filou and what with his mother still up at the Mas and her large black dog a semi-permanent resident (other than when he heads back to town to be with his urban buddies), well, the winery wasn't lacking in a canine presence.

But, that said, his opinion was not requested, and Perro arrived on Christmas day.

I just have to laugh.

What is it about seeing a man who cherishes control, calm and order deal with a chaotic, wildly tale-swinging, super-enthusiastic, slobbering and loving animal that just melts my heart? Or leaves me chuckling royally.

Suddenly Filou is the most discreet and well-behaved of dogs (excepting the fact that his poodle parentage breeds true in his tendency to bark quite sharply and way too much when he's rough-housing with the other dogs). Filou sleeps quietly at the foot of the bed (on the floor) till I move -- this could be till 7AM, 8AM, 9AM. He patiently awaits the levée of his mistress.

Oh but not Perro! At 6:30 sharp he's there all eager and excited, wacking his tale, licking and nibbling his master's nose, raising his paws upon the pillow (yup!). Be he in my home or at the winery, he is one rambunctious and large dog. With a good bit of German Shepherd in him, he'll be a large and powerful dog when he grows to full height. Right now he's the sweetest and funniest of beasts. Attentive to his master, great with the kids, playing wildly with Filou, jealous of anyone coming near either of us (Filou included) and likely to knock me down as I walk up the steps to the winery's front door.

Mealtime is now quite ritualized for both animals (when they haven't had their afternoon snacks down with JP's mother). We eat our lunch while they wait patiently, preferably lying dowon on their cushions. Then Filou eats indoors and Perro scarfs up his meal outdoors (carefully measured out). Ditto at dinner time. If we didn't separate them at meal times, Filou wouldn't get a bite! At my house, I put a cup of food into Filou's bowl when I awake in the morning. I fill the water bowl. Et basta.

JP brought Perro with him to my place last week when he helped me in the garden, with the shed, etc. All went well, but I hadn't realized that truly, I needed to put all edibles at least on shelves 6ft high. What was to be a special treat of brioche for my boys disappeared in a second, bits of torn plastic strewn on the floor. Filou has never stolen food. Naive woman that I am, I just hadn't expected this.

There are also the occasional accidents from over-excited beasts left to their own devices in the living room. We'll get past all this. But it is amusing. Life throws you curve balls all the time, particularly if you are a craver of zen and calm moments before -- just perhaps -- the universe has decided you are deserving of such.

Choices for Women, for Single Mothers

Divorced mothers have choices. At times they are forced upon you. They can be painfully difficult, rife with conflicting sensations, awkward and more.

Simply, do you, can you, will you remarry or at the very least shack up with another man while your children are young? (or ever). And if you do so, will that man find it in him to love your children? Can he love children not of his own flesh and blood? Will he help you, support you, encourage you in that love and care, or will he be that which draws you away from them? Will he seem to, but then, if you have a child with him, will his own take precedence, and yours of another man be pushed away? And what do you do then? Can a woman choose between her first child, her choice of a mate and the second child they've had together? Why must she? I've seen this, and the pain and awareness of the situation in the eyes of the first child. I've heard the worry and strain in the voice of the mother on the phone. But what do you do? How can you choose? You don't leave a second marriage with a second child lightly... and if, God forbid, you are dependent financially on this second husband, and thus truly feel your hands tied... How do you cope? In this particular case, the elder child is now at a boarding school. Thus, the new husband and new child have been chosen over the first. A variation of Sophie's Choice.

In my own situation I've found some level of rhythm and sanity. It is not perfection, but it has its lovely moments. I have children I care for during the week, and a man who cares for me over the weekend. Rarely do they meet. However, as they rarely meet, I keep the moments of jealousy and weirdness to a minimum. My children do not need to compete for my attention, and I don't have a man who feels excluded when I care for them. They each get my undivided attention all to themselves, during their alloted time slots.

This is not perfect. When I heard the words carefully spoken from his mouth I felt like I'd been kicked in the belly. All hopes of making a new life, truly making a new life with this man evaporated. As how could I continue to love and adore someone who didn't find my children lovable? And yet I did love him, and I didn't want to end what we had. And I still do, but differently. I've put distance between us, learned to protect myself, put up some barriers, and just stopped looking for more from him than he is able to offer. I've stopped asking, stopped suggesting. I've learned to consider only the good, and push aside what hurts, for now.

Nevertheless, my children are of my flesh, they are also me. It's the package deal. How can you take one without the other? Apparently, it's not such an unusual situation. I am not alone in living this conflict, nor this arrangement. And so for the moment, I've accepted and adapted to it.

And yet...

Perfect would be a man who loved me, (ideally adored me) but also contributed to a stable family unit with me, who could be good to my kids, fun, fatherly (though not their father), attentive, concerned with their education, and collaborate with me so as to avoid conflict. Ideally we would have joint projects, and approach life as partners in crime. We would go forth together, and my boys would fully be part of our lives.

Is this simply a dream? A fragile mirage?

My mother never re-married after my parents separated. She worked and she raised me. If she saw any men, it did not encroach on our time together. I think I would have welcomed a love in her live, but, for the duration of my time in the family house, it didn't happen.

I've received comments from readers of this blog who simply found it easier to raise their children alone, and then go dating once the youngest was on her/his way out of high school. Mixing children and new love was just too stressful and fatiguing.

I certainly have my amazing au pair Hayley to thank for even being able to start dating my vintner. If she'd not been there after my first date, and my subsequent multiple sleepless nights -- Pandora's box of emotions and torment had just been opened within my heart/head/body making sleep just impossible, and eating too -- I couldn't have coped. She got my kids up, to school, to tennis, fed, while I slowly recovered from the emotion-struck vegetable I'd become. After a week I was newly vertical, but continued to be a highly distracted individual for another few months.

It was not an easy thing to mother my boys and start a new affair. If I'd not had help, could I have done it? When you know that you have a problem with sleeping beside a new man; that fun though making love will be, and joyous as it is to fall into that new man's arms, you'll be a total mess in the morning having not closed your eyes once throughout that night... can you allow that night to happen? If the kids are home and waiting for you, counting on you to be copacetic, on the ball, a proper mother...? I'm just not so sure.

And so I look around, I consider, I wonder. I see the world in shades of gray. There is an idea of the perfect situation, but can it happen? It doesn't for many. Perhaps I'm destined to simply raise my boys, do the best I can do, and through yoga, healthy eating habits and a bit of face lotion, keep up my looks and potential attractiveness so that when at last I'm fully available, men will still be interested. But if I choose this route, will I be depriving my boys of the potential presence of an interesting and interested man?

Crossing the Rhône-Changing Values

Unless otherwise noted, all materials on this blog are (c) 2009 by Madeleine Vedel

I spent the first fourteen years of my French life on the Eastern side of the Rhône, in Provence, the hub of the former Roman Catholic Empire. Erick, the father of my boys, though an avowed atheist, has all the habits and mannerisms of a good Southern Catholic: distrust of the taxman, very generous, a bon-vivant; he can be chaotic, letting money burn the proverbial hole in his pocket. He lives in the moment, often neglecting his health, his future, but with few regrets.

His is a good personality for receiving people, for dealing with whatever comes up. And, I am the first to admit, a crazy and ambitious American wife 16 years your junior isn’t the easiest person to bring into your life, attractive though she’d been. I’d always said his gray hairs dated to my arrival… and the complexities and twists I added to his life.

With his skills in the kitchen, and his love of his region, plus my marketing skills, enthusiasm, and willingness to constantly try new things, to explore and seek.. we built our culinary tourism business centered on the cooking school and Erick’s recipes. Later we added the bed and breakfast, making everything from scratch, as organically as possible. With Erick's funky renovations, it all came together. The fun people who came to visit, the visits in themselves, the hikes, excursions, conversations, meals and more fully occupied my life for the over 10 years.

From Catholic Provence I crossed over the Rhône to the West, the Gard/ Languedoc-Roussillon and there found my organic vintner. Protestant France with its history, its traditions, greeted me. Here many battles were fought for the freedom to practice a different faith, and the over the years, a majority has chosen a simpler, more legalistic, restrained living style. This world is familiar to me. I'm living moments reminiscent of my Protestant New England background: waste not, want not – JP actually is willing to eat left-overs, something Erick would sooner let mold over than dig out of the fridge - and prepares just enough, never in excess. He keeps his house cool, spends a minimum of money, believes sincerely in “if it ain’t broke, don’t replace it)” and spends quite a bit of his time repairing old tools and vehicles. His house is spare, minimal, with no excess. No piles of books, mail, magazines toppling over on every surface, few but well-chosen art pieces on the shelves and walls. Old and serviceable, if not particularly good quality pots and pans.

Part of this world is comforting to me, but it's also disorienting. I was order to Erick’s chaos, and now I am apparently chaos to JP’s order. How far can and will each bend to accommodate the other?

You take up quite a bit of space, he said to me this summer. Yes, I agreed, I brought cooking utensils because I like to cook, and I brought a ¼ of my summer wardrobe, because I like to look well – which you appreciate as well I believe. I brought photos of my boys, and my dog, and my cat with her 5 kittens. And yes, I brought my boys for a time as well. OK. I don’t travel lightly. But, ahem, have you made room for me? Your closets are full, and what closets there are are small. Your kitchen is minimalist if artistic, built for two people who rarely cooked, or rather took small pleasure in cooking. And, forgive me, but I am simply amazed that you were able to share a closet of a meter’s width with the mother of your children …..

The discussion brought me to look at my own house, my manner of living amongst my belongings, collected over multiple lives, in plain view. I have no closets, no attic, no basement or garage. Nor do I really want them. Why hide what I possess? Then it wouldn’t exist anymore, and what purpose would it serve. I am a visual. Either I see and use my possessions, or I might as well get ride of them. And yes, I have (had) cats, and a dog. They get on the furniture, and are frequently on the knees and in the arms of my children, warming their nights. My rooms are painted in different colors, and I frequently bake and have music blasting. Sights, smells, sounds. It is a lively place filled with warm and active bodies who leave their prints.

Meantime JP couldn't operate more differently than myself. Nothing goes to the Goodwill, nothing is thrown out. There is a huge barn on the property into which he's put everything from his past life with the mother of his children and his now-grown children. There it all stays, safely molding away, stashed out of sight. His closets shut with opaque doors behind which order is not always a primary goal (though he's definitely making progress on this aspect). Thus visually communicating a certain Zen ambiance. He lives and eats simply--not monastically, but terribly reasonably and rationally.

Though we have many elements in common, in many important ways we are trying out the cliché of “opposites attract”. Will I adapt to his more restrained ways? Will he adapt to my exuberance and more colorful existence? Lovely as this year has been, the future is yet rather uncertain. Time will tell.