The year of Jonas’s birth, we stayed in Provence for Christmas. He’d been due for Christmas week, so it had been out of the question to travel. In fact, he decided to come early, and greeted Christmas as a two-week-old in my arms. Two of my former au pairs, one living in Aix and another living in Paris, joined us. My mother came over from the States, and after feasting and a little bit of music on the piano, we all set out to the little hill-side village of Séguret to watch the all-Provençal re-enactment of the nativity by the villagers (amongst them one of my favorite potters).
I'd learned of this event on one of the many visits to the potter's shop, or perhaps a day we went to hike the hills behind the village. And, I just so wanted to experience this unique event that has been held in the village from medieval times.
The potter’s father got us tickets and saved us well-chosen seats. The potter’s mother guided us up to the church from her house where I'd been happily ensconced with Jonas at the breast, enjoying the delicious smells of their Christmas Eve repast. I just love their home with the view over the family from the front window, the tiny fireplace, the cupboards full of home-made jams.
As we made our way to our seats, my hostess fussed over my tiny baby, suggesting he might be called upon as a last-minute replacement for baby Jesus.
It turned out to be an over two-hour affair with every character in a santon display spouting in Provençal -- not too difficult to understand, but still.... Leo, just 4 ½, was under the chair after the first 45 minutes, and no amount of whispered scolding could bring him out. Jonas went from breast to breast, nursing, sleeping, nursing, sleeping. A local village baby – weighing in at a huge 8 months-old – weepily managed the role of Jesus. And all went relatively smoothly as each villager reprised his traditional role of the blind man, or Joseph, or a shepherd, or the inn-keeper.
When the last strains of a capella singing from the young teenage angels (who, contrary to the other roles, were permitted to sing in French) had drifted into the darkness, we made their way out into the crisp night air. Above our heads, in a marvelously clichéd moment, the stars twinkled brightly and all felt magical and possible.
It was over an hour’s drive back from the village to Arles. Erick got us home way after mid-night, no doubt a bit uncertain as to whether his crazy American wife had improved Christmas with this extraordinary production, or simply added more work to his already full schedule.
But still to this day, I can see and hear my potter in his role as a shepherd berating the inn-keeper, ‘testo duro’ or hard headed nut.
Showing posts with label au pair. Show all posts
Showing posts with label au pair. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
I Miss My Au Pairs
Throughout my childhood my mother waxed poetic about the numerous French au pairs she'd had to help her when we were little. There was Jocelyne whom my brother wanted to marry at the age of two. And Francine who could sew Vogue patterns and had gorgeous long legs. Mom first shared the secret of her third pregnancy (me) with her. These girls apparently doted on us, and as I absorbed the stories, were absolutely lovely and all good. So, when I found my life rather out of control with the growing business of the cooking school and a small toddler to care for, I immediately considered the solution of an au pair. I didn't have family nearby, and didn't know Erick's aunt well enough to consider asking her to care for Leo.
Erick wasn’t too sure. A stranger in the house? No one else nearby had chosen this solution. However, they nearly all had mamies (grandmas), which I did not. So, I persuaded him that it wasn't normal that I was sick nearly monthly; and that, with the sleep deprivation plus the house responsibilities, I'd never be able to get the business off the ground if I didn't have help. Perhaps if I didn't have my father's sleep needs (8-10 hours), I wouldn't be in such need, but... Best accept this fact and proceed forth to a solution.
So, I sent out word by email to friends, family and cooking clients to let them know that I was looking for a good-humored, helpful, Francophile young woman to help with my toddler, dishes and house-work. Amazingly, Carrie, a marvelous, hard-working, gracious, funny, and adept French speaker answered my call and came across the ocean from the Mid-Western United States to help.
From the day of her arrival I leaned upon her heavily. I had months of sleep to catch up on, and gratefully would pass Leo to her waiting arms and then go back to sleep – firmly closing the two doors to my bed room so I’d hear no cries, squeeks or burps. As with many a new mother, I could sleep through the local garbage trucks, but not through my child’s peep.
Carrie was a godsend. Discreet, up-beat, adept at using humor to move the stubborn Leo around town—oh, you don’t want to walk? Ok, let’s just sit and watch the world pass us by. Just tell me when you’re ready…
With her there I was able to get myself back together, advance on projects, and improve my nightly cooking offerings. Having another adult to cook for helped me keep to meal rhythms, and knowing I was no longer on dish duty I was able to cook more inventively. Carrie was there for our first expanded Provençal cooking programs. She got to know the guests and proved an enormous help with set up, serving, dishes, and occasionally interpreting when I left the room. Can I say again that she was a godsend?
Carrie was also tall and skinny. I felt a need to nourish her. So for her benefit, I worked on my broccoli and cauliflower au gratin, my béchamel sauces, and other richer dishes. She loved food and enjoyed working alongside us in the kitchen. She even returned to France a few years after her stint with us and often assisted during our cooking classes.
But, at the end of the summer, it was time for her to go home. And so, another girl was hired. She lasted two weeks. And so another came over from England. She lasted one week. So I gave up for that year and asked Marie, my neighbor who ran the Laundromat if she would help me. From that point, I settled into a daily routine of awakening, feeding and dropping Leo off at the laundromat every morning, picking him back up for lunch. On days with cooking classes Marie kept Leo all day, bringing him home with her for lunch, etc.,
This was a nice arrangement, but, not the ideal one. So, when a client suggested her step-daughter, I jumped at the chance. Shortly after, the lovely and gracious dancer-writer from a prestigious New England private university arrived. More beautiful than Helen of lore, Betsy had cascades of thick gold hair down her back, the longest and thickest eye-lashes ever, and a swishing gait as she ever so gracefully took Leo to the park every day. Betsy wanted time to write, and to learn French (she spoke none upon her arrival). Helping her with these two desires was an easy exchange. Gentle and calm, she quickly earned Leo's affection as well as the attention of many young men in town. Numerous mothers of eligible men suggested they take out Betsy, and I encouraged her to accept. “After all, if it’s their mothers that set them up, they’ll treat you correctly, and what a good opportunity to practice your French.” So a bit doubtful, but laughing at the justice of the observations, Betsy went out with these various young men, and safely made her way back home without incident.
Betsy had been a vegetarian before her arrival in our home. But to prepare, she'd eaten a juicy hamburger back home before coming -- it made her sick. However, undeterred, she enjoyed everything we served, and became a fan of our gardian d'agneau with white wine, green olives and potatoes. A favorite dish that she subsequently made up in Paris where she chose to continue her studies for a time. I still remember seeing a little belly form on her previously ballerina figure, and teasing her (gently) about this. Nice to know what you have to offer is appreciated!
From Leo's 18 months to his eleventh birthday, I hired au pairs. Not many stayed longer than six months, even the best of them. They weathered 9/11 with me, and the build up to war in Iraq. They were there for Jonas’ birth (Carrie is his honorary godmother), and as the business grew and developed. They were there when Erick worked non-stop on the bed and breakfast and I took the clients all over Provence. I've seen the good, the bad and the ugly. Some were amazing, hard-working, delightful, good-humored, generous of spirit and infinitely bright and capable. Others were stubborn and unpredictable. One had her valium pills with her (she didn’t last long). Another took pride in arguing ferociously and declaring herself under-appreciated and under-paid, as well as taking a strange pleasure in speaking bad French to Jonas.
But then there was Penelope, with whom perfect moments were lived. We shared so much, the children, good food, outings to visit the hat-maker, outings to the beekeeper (Penelope briefly dated her stone-carving elder son), yoga, test hikes (for my then new program of Hiking and Feasting). She adored fun and quirky clothes. Gift giving was a treat -- at times a found object from the flea market, at times a flouncy pink top from Monoprix. Creative, generous, funny, sincere. The build up to the Iraq war frightened us all, and so she left early to be with her family. However, as with Carrie, we are still close and I treasure the innumerable gifts she gave me in her presence and assistance.
There was bubbly and delightful, super-competent Laura whom the children adored. She had Jonas completely under control. Evening after evening she'd bring him down clean and in pjs for his good night kiss before putting him to bed (we were in the kitchen or the dining area with clients -- it was a very busy year!). There was ever-good humored and mellow Ashley, Jonas' favorite. Leo greeted her by running to her and hugging her with his head pressed against her bare belly (the year of hipster pants, belly-button rings and short tops). She was in heaven with all the good food, Erick's cold-smoked salmon "à volonté" and the fun guys she met at the Irish Pub. (my English party-girl).
And last, but definitely not least, Hayley. My last au pair. All the way over from Australia, thanks to a couple who had briefly stayed in our b&b. She is perhaps the one I over-worked the least, who had the most time to enjoy Provence herself, and who was thus freer to help me as she could. She had the freedom to go to capoeira four nights a week, and to accept offers for weekends away in Switzerland and Spain. But I could count on her completely when she was with me. -- She epitomized what I'd grown to understand all along, that my au pairs were happiest when they were able to build a life of their own outside our house and family. They needed their own friends and social life, be it by joining a drumming group, going to French class, finding a boyfriend (not necessarily my favorite solution... but one that has to be accepted and adjusted to when it comes up, however obnoxious that may sound on my part) or learning capoeira.
The boyfriend thing is hard in that sleep-deprived and distracted is not the state of mind a mother ideally chooses for a young woman who has an hour's drive on dangerous roads to her sons' school. That they need to live their lives, and that that includes finding love where it is offered, I cannot debate. I was living with my first boyfriend at the age of 18 in my university dorm room. Thus I try not to be a hypocrite, and recognize the need to juggle, to understand, to adapt, and to adjust on both parts.
As I settled into my house in Avignon, and stopped returning to Arles every weekend, Hayley was there. As I worked on the garden, so did Hayley. She weeded right along side me, planted crocuses with Jonas, went running down our dirt paths, roller bladed with Leo, helped repaint the floors (a yearly task before the summer rentals), scrubbed the pool with me (ah, t'would have been nice to have her with me this year!). I could count on her to cope calmly with any crisis and manage tons of driving. Her first two months she spent nearly alone in Avignon with my boys while I worked non-stop in Arles. And never did I hear a complaint.
Hayley was also there when I first started seeing my vintner. She laughed with me at my comments, my reactions. She encouraged me in fun ways. We would sit out in the sun, painting our toe nails and chatting in a wonderfully girly way. We did an Ayurvedic cleanse together, each there to support the other and keep it up for the full month. I know she'd love to see my rose bushes now, and the vegetable garden well planted. She'd be beside me plucking the strawberries from the patch, removing the snails and laying wood ash beneath the leaves. She'd be amazed by the height of the butterfly trees, and sad at the death of the fig tree.
I--we-- asked a tremendous amount of these young women, barely finished with their studies. For some, I could give back sufficiently in kind to make their hard labor worthwhile, or at least give it some sense. For others, I was simply the taskmaster who expected way too much. The years the business was developing, and taking more and more of our time, plus our choice to put Leo into the Rudolf Steiner school -– an hour’s drive away--placed way too much responsibility and sheer hours of work on the shoulders of these young woman (and one young man). Those who managed were, as I was well aware, heroic. And, unfortunately, there were those who quit, who complained, who became disagreeable. Ironically, more than a few have asked me to write recommendations for their future jobs, graduate school applications and more. And this I've done with great pleasure, emphasizing their strengths under pressure, their willingness and ability to juggle many tasks, and to adapt to a house-hold and culture not their own.
And now, on my own, with three more children under my roof to boot, I miss the companionship almost more than the assistance that they offered me so freely. An American in France, in small towns of the South, it took me a long time to find my French friends. And, friendships that you make as an adult, at least for me, don't necessarily have the open context of being silly, girly and frivolous that friendships from high school or college would permit. So I regressed with pleasure with my girls, enjoying their Anglo-saxon openness and spontaneity. I enjoyed their presence and their complicity. I appreciated immensely being able to count on them. I also enjoyed teaching them, showing them Provence, stimulating their political curiosity and interest. We went on hikes together, they accompanied me on visits, we biked and explored, shared personal frustrations. And yes, they were aware of the cracks in my marriage before many another. They learned to love my children, for which I am ever grateful. It was rarely just a job, and they were rarely just an employee. I was lucky, very lucky, to have girls who were okay with that arrangement. It is never easy asking another to help you with one of the most important aspects of your life. And, it is a big deal to shoulder that responsibility. Thank you again.
Erick wasn’t too sure. A stranger in the house? No one else nearby had chosen this solution. However, they nearly all had mamies (grandmas), which I did not. So, I persuaded him that it wasn't normal that I was sick nearly monthly; and that, with the sleep deprivation plus the house responsibilities, I'd never be able to get the business off the ground if I didn't have help. Perhaps if I didn't have my father's sleep needs (8-10 hours), I wouldn't be in such need, but... Best accept this fact and proceed forth to a solution.
So, I sent out word by email to friends, family and cooking clients to let them know that I was looking for a good-humored, helpful, Francophile young woman to help with my toddler, dishes and house-work. Amazingly, Carrie, a marvelous, hard-working, gracious, funny, and adept French speaker answered my call and came across the ocean from the Mid-Western United States to help.
From the day of her arrival I leaned upon her heavily. I had months of sleep to catch up on, and gratefully would pass Leo to her waiting arms and then go back to sleep – firmly closing the two doors to my bed room so I’d hear no cries, squeeks or burps. As with many a new mother, I could sleep through the local garbage trucks, but not through my child’s peep.
Carrie was a godsend. Discreet, up-beat, adept at using humor to move the stubborn Leo around town—oh, you don’t want to walk? Ok, let’s just sit and watch the world pass us by. Just tell me when you’re ready…
With her there I was able to get myself back together, advance on projects, and improve my nightly cooking offerings. Having another adult to cook for helped me keep to meal rhythms, and knowing I was no longer on dish duty I was able to cook more inventively. Carrie was there for our first expanded Provençal cooking programs. She got to know the guests and proved an enormous help with set up, serving, dishes, and occasionally interpreting when I left the room. Can I say again that she was a godsend?
Carrie was also tall and skinny. I felt a need to nourish her. So for her benefit, I worked on my broccoli and cauliflower au gratin, my béchamel sauces, and other richer dishes. She loved food and enjoyed working alongside us in the kitchen. She even returned to France a few years after her stint with us and often assisted during our cooking classes.
But, at the end of the summer, it was time for her to go home. And so, another girl was hired. She lasted two weeks. And so another came over from England. She lasted one week. So I gave up for that year and asked Marie, my neighbor who ran the Laundromat if she would help me. From that point, I settled into a daily routine of awakening, feeding and dropping Leo off at the laundromat every morning, picking him back up for lunch. On days with cooking classes Marie kept Leo all day, bringing him home with her for lunch, etc.,
This was a nice arrangement, but, not the ideal one. So, when a client suggested her step-daughter, I jumped at the chance. Shortly after, the lovely and gracious dancer-writer from a prestigious New England private university arrived. More beautiful than Helen of lore, Betsy had cascades of thick gold hair down her back, the longest and thickest eye-lashes ever, and a swishing gait as she ever so gracefully took Leo to the park every day. Betsy wanted time to write, and to learn French (she spoke none upon her arrival). Helping her with these two desires was an easy exchange. Gentle and calm, she quickly earned Leo's affection as well as the attention of many young men in town. Numerous mothers of eligible men suggested they take out Betsy, and I encouraged her to accept. “After all, if it’s their mothers that set them up, they’ll treat you correctly, and what a good opportunity to practice your French.” So a bit doubtful, but laughing at the justice of the observations, Betsy went out with these various young men, and safely made her way back home without incident.
Betsy had been a vegetarian before her arrival in our home. But to prepare, she'd eaten a juicy hamburger back home before coming -- it made her sick. However, undeterred, she enjoyed everything we served, and became a fan of our gardian d'agneau with white wine, green olives and potatoes. A favorite dish that she subsequently made up in Paris where she chose to continue her studies for a time. I still remember seeing a little belly form on her previously ballerina figure, and teasing her (gently) about this. Nice to know what you have to offer is appreciated!
From Leo's 18 months to his eleventh birthday, I hired au pairs. Not many stayed longer than six months, even the best of them. They weathered 9/11 with me, and the build up to war in Iraq. They were there for Jonas’ birth (Carrie is his honorary godmother), and as the business grew and developed. They were there when Erick worked non-stop on the bed and breakfast and I took the clients all over Provence. I've seen the good, the bad and the ugly. Some were amazing, hard-working, delightful, good-humored, generous of spirit and infinitely bright and capable. Others were stubborn and unpredictable. One had her valium pills with her (she didn’t last long). Another took pride in arguing ferociously and declaring herself under-appreciated and under-paid, as well as taking a strange pleasure in speaking bad French to Jonas.
But then there was Penelope, with whom perfect moments were lived. We shared so much, the children, good food, outings to visit the hat-maker, outings to the beekeeper (Penelope briefly dated her stone-carving elder son), yoga, test hikes (for my then new program of Hiking and Feasting). She adored fun and quirky clothes. Gift giving was a treat -- at times a found object from the flea market, at times a flouncy pink top from Monoprix. Creative, generous, funny, sincere. The build up to the Iraq war frightened us all, and so she left early to be with her family. However, as with Carrie, we are still close and I treasure the innumerable gifts she gave me in her presence and assistance.
There was bubbly and delightful, super-competent Laura whom the children adored. She had Jonas completely under control. Evening after evening she'd bring him down clean and in pjs for his good night kiss before putting him to bed (we were in the kitchen or the dining area with clients -- it was a very busy year!). There was ever-good humored and mellow Ashley, Jonas' favorite. Leo greeted her by running to her and hugging her with his head pressed against her bare belly (the year of hipster pants, belly-button rings and short tops). She was in heaven with all the good food, Erick's cold-smoked salmon "à volonté" and the fun guys she met at the Irish Pub. (my English party-girl).
And last, but definitely not least, Hayley. My last au pair. All the way over from Australia, thanks to a couple who had briefly stayed in our b&b. She is perhaps the one I over-worked the least, who had the most time to enjoy Provence herself, and who was thus freer to help me as she could. She had the freedom to go to capoeira four nights a week, and to accept offers for weekends away in Switzerland and Spain. But I could count on her completely when she was with me. -- She epitomized what I'd grown to understand all along, that my au pairs were happiest when they were able to build a life of their own outside our house and family. They needed their own friends and social life, be it by joining a drumming group, going to French class, finding a boyfriend (not necessarily my favorite solution... but one that has to be accepted and adjusted to when it comes up, however obnoxious that may sound on my part) or learning capoeira.
The boyfriend thing is hard in that sleep-deprived and distracted is not the state of mind a mother ideally chooses for a young woman who has an hour's drive on dangerous roads to her sons' school. That they need to live their lives, and that that includes finding love where it is offered, I cannot debate. I was living with my first boyfriend at the age of 18 in my university dorm room. Thus I try not to be a hypocrite, and recognize the need to juggle, to understand, to adapt, and to adjust on both parts.
As I settled into my house in Avignon, and stopped returning to Arles every weekend, Hayley was there. As I worked on the garden, so did Hayley. She weeded right along side me, planted crocuses with Jonas, went running down our dirt paths, roller bladed with Leo, helped repaint the floors (a yearly task before the summer rentals), scrubbed the pool with me (ah, t'would have been nice to have her with me this year!). I could count on her to cope calmly with any crisis and manage tons of driving. Her first two months she spent nearly alone in Avignon with my boys while I worked non-stop in Arles. And never did I hear a complaint.
Hayley was also there when I first started seeing my vintner. She laughed with me at my comments, my reactions. She encouraged me in fun ways. We would sit out in the sun, painting our toe nails and chatting in a wonderfully girly way. We did an Ayurvedic cleanse together, each there to support the other and keep it up for the full month. I know she'd love to see my rose bushes now, and the vegetable garden well planted. She'd be beside me plucking the strawberries from the patch, removing the snails and laying wood ash beneath the leaves. She'd be amazed by the height of the butterfly trees, and sad at the death of the fig tree.
I--we-- asked a tremendous amount of these young women, barely finished with their studies. For some, I could give back sufficiently in kind to make their hard labor worthwhile, or at least give it some sense. For others, I was simply the taskmaster who expected way too much. The years the business was developing, and taking more and more of our time, plus our choice to put Leo into the Rudolf Steiner school -– an hour’s drive away--placed way too much responsibility and sheer hours of work on the shoulders of these young woman (and one young man). Those who managed were, as I was well aware, heroic. And, unfortunately, there were those who quit, who complained, who became disagreeable. Ironically, more than a few have asked me to write recommendations for their future jobs, graduate school applications and more. And this I've done with great pleasure, emphasizing their strengths under pressure, their willingness and ability to juggle many tasks, and to adapt to a house-hold and culture not their own.
And now, on my own, with three more children under my roof to boot, I miss the companionship almost more than the assistance that they offered me so freely. An American in France, in small towns of the South, it took me a long time to find my French friends. And, friendships that you make as an adult, at least for me, don't necessarily have the open context of being silly, girly and frivolous that friendships from high school or college would permit. So I regressed with pleasure with my girls, enjoying their Anglo-saxon openness and spontaneity. I enjoyed their presence and their complicity. I appreciated immensely being able to count on them. I also enjoyed teaching them, showing them Provence, stimulating their political curiosity and interest. We went on hikes together, they accompanied me on visits, we biked and explored, shared personal frustrations. And yes, they were aware of the cracks in my marriage before many another. They learned to love my children, for which I am ever grateful. It was rarely just a job, and they were rarely just an employee. I was lucky, very lucky, to have girls who were okay with that arrangement. It is never easy asking another to help you with one of the most important aspects of your life. And, it is a big deal to shoulder that responsibility. Thank you again.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Rediscovering Motherhood by Necessity
Unless otherwise noted, all materials on this blog are (c) 2009 by Madeleine Vedel
Sometimes I feel I must be "waxing poetic" a bit heavily on the pleasures (and trials) of being a mother. I have an excuse -- if I need one -- and that is though I had my children by desire, I was, however, in the midst of working very long hours and endless days on a business I loved and gave everything to. My kids came, I was able to nurse them for a good long while, for which I'm grateful, but I wasn't there to raise them, no matter that it was a home-based business. Or so it seems in retrospect and so quite a few of my au pairs would independently confirm I'm sure.
While we ran the businesses (b&b and cooking school), I worked from 7AM to 11PM more often than not. First the breakfast shift, then dishes, then laundry (never-ending laundry... sing it to the theme song of the Never-Ending Story), then emails, then more laundry, then shopping/prepping for a cooking class, then a brief break, then cooking class, feast, dishes, and bed. On other days I was up at 7, making a quiche, preparing a picnic, coming out to be sociable at breakfast, then out the door at 9, driving from 30 minutes to an hour to our destination, visiting/hiking/wine tasting (things I very much adored), lunch, then back to the b&b. While the clients rested I was on email, paper work, then the kids would walk in the door, and I'd cross them as I went down to the cooking class, dinner, dishes, bed.
Where did the kids fit into all this? In fits and spurts. From November till March we were more available, but from Easter through October, mostly not. The result -- which rather hit me in the face a couple of years back -- was children who had minimal to no table manners, chaotic schedules, too little sleep, anxious behavior in school, and the beginnings of the syndrome "tuning out all around me."
Hard to limit TV time when you're not there to turn off the tube and propose a game of Monopoly. Hard to insist on reading if you're not there to encourage the early efforts. Hard to insist on green vegetables when you're not at the table. Hard to teach them what it is to converse, be considerate, wait to speak, say please and thank you... if you're not there. Social skills come from being socialized. Civility comes from being a part of civilization. School and au pairs can't do it for you.
So, as I saw myself unhappy in my marriage, I also saw the beginnings of a nightmare with my two children. This is not what I wanted in my life, nor intended. I did not put these two beings on this earth to badly raise them. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Subtlety was never my strong point.
When I first moved to Avignon -- in the winter of 2006 -- it was the first time the boys and I were alone together. No father, and no au pair. Being "off-season" I had four months to instill a schedule, expectations, rhythms. These were regularly put into jeopardy by our weekends back in Arles. But nonetheless I persevered. However I had need of au pairs still. Though not at the b&b on weekdays, I still held to my position as the person who did all the day trips, and orchestrated the adventures of our culinary travels. As such, my au pair handled the home base, school trips, etc., and I headed south to Arles and my clients from April through the fall. And, as might be expected, the kids regressed to spoiled brats (sweet spoiled brats, but, spoiled nonetheless).
No matter that I would want the au pairs to help the kids clean their rooms by themselves, or to eat vegetables or whatever, that is a lot to ask. When faced with stubborn and lazy children, how many young women have the fortitude to insist? So, they cleaned for, not with, did for, etc., Be it dishes, laundry, cleaning their room, putting away their clothes, it was easier to do it themselves then to fight stubborn little boys.
When present I would lay down the law. When with my mother, she would help me. But again, can you raise kids in fits and starts?
Since last year, I've worked far less, and completely passed the b&b to Erick (until it sells). I still love doing the day trips, visiting the food artisans, tasting wine, hiking in the wonderful countryside of Provence. I very much want to continue my business, but, on a much smaller scale. I'd rather cut back my financial needs, work when my kids are in school, and be there for them when they are home.
For the first year in many, I've no au pair. No au pair, and three extra bodies to feed and care for! It's a handful--an exchange of sorts. But, the teen boarders are equals to my kids. Together we've put together weekly schedules of household tasks. My kids no longer mistakenly think they are princes to be waited on hand and foot. They understand that we are a household where everyone pitches in.
And, if I weren't seeing impressive results in their behavior, their gratitude, their willingness to help, their socialization in public, their eating habits... I perhaps wouldn't be as militant in my unwillingness to leave their education to chance again.
Hence yes, I do wax rhapsodic on the wonderful moments. I try not to think of the many special times I no doubt missed out on. Life is lived in waves and stages. It took a while for me to fully acknowledge and accept my state of motherhood. The career-woman in me had a hard time contemplating putting work on the back burner. But now that I have... it is my obligation to raise these boys to be civil, considerate, healthy and happy adults. It's visceral, if not all-consuming.
I don't see myself as truly off the treadmill, just re-adjusting my priorities (and thus my income) till a certain task is finished. Hopefully, doing lots of yoga, staying fit and able, working more at 50 won't be too difficult.
Sometimes I feel I must be "waxing poetic" a bit heavily on the pleasures (and trials) of being a mother. I have an excuse -- if I need one -- and that is though I had my children by desire, I was, however, in the midst of working very long hours and endless days on a business I loved and gave everything to. My kids came, I was able to nurse them for a good long while, for which I'm grateful, but I wasn't there to raise them, no matter that it was a home-based business. Or so it seems in retrospect and so quite a few of my au pairs would independently confirm I'm sure.
While we ran the businesses (b&b and cooking school), I worked from 7AM to 11PM more often than not. First the breakfast shift, then dishes, then laundry (never-ending laundry... sing it to the theme song of the Never-Ending Story), then emails, then more laundry, then shopping/prepping for a cooking class, then a brief break, then cooking class, feast, dishes, and bed. On other days I was up at 7, making a quiche, preparing a picnic, coming out to be sociable at breakfast, then out the door at 9, driving from 30 minutes to an hour to our destination, visiting/hiking/wine tasting (things I very much adored), lunch, then back to the b&b. While the clients rested I was on email, paper work, then the kids would walk in the door, and I'd cross them as I went down to the cooking class, dinner, dishes, bed.
Where did the kids fit into all this? In fits and spurts. From November till March we were more available, but from Easter through October, mostly not. The result -- which rather hit me in the face a couple of years back -- was children who had minimal to no table manners, chaotic schedules, too little sleep, anxious behavior in school, and the beginnings of the syndrome "tuning out all around me."
Hard to limit TV time when you're not there to turn off the tube and propose a game of Monopoly. Hard to insist on reading if you're not there to encourage the early efforts. Hard to insist on green vegetables when you're not at the table. Hard to teach them what it is to converse, be considerate, wait to speak, say please and thank you... if you're not there. Social skills come from being socialized. Civility comes from being a part of civilization. School and au pairs can't do it for you.
So, as I saw myself unhappy in my marriage, I also saw the beginnings of a nightmare with my two children. This is not what I wanted in my life, nor intended. I did not put these two beings on this earth to badly raise them. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Subtlety was never my strong point.
When I first moved to Avignon -- in the winter of 2006 -- it was the first time the boys and I were alone together. No father, and no au pair. Being "off-season" I had four months to instill a schedule, expectations, rhythms. These were regularly put into jeopardy by our weekends back in Arles. But nonetheless I persevered. However I had need of au pairs still. Though not at the b&b on weekdays, I still held to my position as the person who did all the day trips, and orchestrated the adventures of our culinary travels. As such, my au pair handled the home base, school trips, etc., and I headed south to Arles and my clients from April through the fall. And, as might be expected, the kids regressed to spoiled brats (sweet spoiled brats, but, spoiled nonetheless).
No matter that I would want the au pairs to help the kids clean their rooms by themselves, or to eat vegetables or whatever, that is a lot to ask. When faced with stubborn and lazy children, how many young women have the fortitude to insist? So, they cleaned for, not with, did for, etc., Be it dishes, laundry, cleaning their room, putting away their clothes, it was easier to do it themselves then to fight stubborn little boys.
When present I would lay down the law. When with my mother, she would help me. But again, can you raise kids in fits and starts?
Since last year, I've worked far less, and completely passed the b&b to Erick (until it sells). I still love doing the day trips, visiting the food artisans, tasting wine, hiking in the wonderful countryside of Provence. I very much want to continue my business, but, on a much smaller scale. I'd rather cut back my financial needs, work when my kids are in school, and be there for them when they are home.
For the first year in many, I've no au pair. No au pair, and three extra bodies to feed and care for! It's a handful--an exchange of sorts. But, the teen boarders are equals to my kids. Together we've put together weekly schedules of household tasks. My kids no longer mistakenly think they are princes to be waited on hand and foot. They understand that we are a household where everyone pitches in.
And, if I weren't seeing impressive results in their behavior, their gratitude, their willingness to help, their socialization in public, their eating habits... I perhaps wouldn't be as militant in my unwillingness to leave their education to chance again.
Hence yes, I do wax rhapsodic on the wonderful moments. I try not to think of the many special times I no doubt missed out on. Life is lived in waves and stages. It took a while for me to fully acknowledge and accept my state of motherhood. The career-woman in me had a hard time contemplating putting work on the back burner. But now that I have... it is my obligation to raise these boys to be civil, considerate, healthy and happy adults. It's visceral, if not all-consuming.
I don't see myself as truly off the treadmill, just re-adjusting my priorities (and thus my income) till a certain task is finished. Hopefully, doing lots of yoga, staying fit and able, working more at 50 won't be too difficult.
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