Change of Plans

What was originally planned as a two-week vacation back home to California with a return ticket to France, has now turned into an indefinite stay. The reason: assorted. My feelings (along with the contents of my suitcase): various and scattered.

Here’s the thing: Being an Au Pair? Not so much the ideal job, but yes, being in France was pretty ideal. More so, with my third au pair experience, I ended up caring for some pretty incredible girls. There were still moments of doubt; still moments where I had to muster up some courage, remind myself to breath, because the bottom line is that living with someone else’s family is just plain hard. Seeing your boss at the breakfast table in his briefs is no delight, either. The unfamiliarity of another country, trying to navigate the things that we normally take for granted (ie: depositing a check!): also hard. Ditto homesickness, snow, and a somewhat pessimistic culture.

But that’s not why I left, and I know that a few bad days don’t make the whole story. I know that aside from all of the coulda-woulda,-shoulda moments, it truly was an incredible experience. Sometimes, it’s just a matter of laughing it off and practicing the art of adaptability. I’ve learned the payoffs of being a risk taker, a follower of adventure, a truster in the universe. It all works out.

When living in a country that considers Nutella a breakfast food—a place that’s six hours from Barcelona, three hours from Italy, and a train ride to the Mediterranean—that I probably am where the grass is greener. Or, I was. But now, it’s time to get my life back on track, organized and time for me to tie up the loose ends that I left before going to France. Then maybe, just maybe-absolutely-hopefully, one day, one day sooner rather than later, I can return to France…..sans Au Pair.

Because, France, tu me manques.

On the other hand, sunshine and short-sleeves in March is always nice.

The Soldes

My dad (my real dad, not the host-dad), lover of black cashmere, modern men's fashion, and all things bargain, paid $1.20 a minute to call me internationally from California.


"Lauren, the soldes (aka sales) are going on in Lyon right now!"


The clouds parted, the skies opened up to the heavens and the angels started to sing.


But reality shook me as I immediately remembered:

1. I’m an Au Pair. I'm an Au Pair who is not inherently wealthy by any means. At all.
2. My dad was only telling me this so I’d remember to see if Celio Club had marked down the sweater he saw during vacation here.


And then the inevitable happened. I became nostalgic for a time that I previously loathed: the nine-to-five day job, a time of direct deposit and a salary larger than three figures.  Here’s the thing: the sales in France (and all of Europe) only happen twice a year.  None of this every-holiday-sale-stuff  (Name-drop: Macy's!)  Furthermore, they may not have soldes often, but when they do, they really do.


Some people collect antiques; some spend their earnings on restaurant outings; sports events, drugs, whatever.  I even know a woman who collects editions of Quicken software (sorry, Mom), and well, so what if I enjoy the occasional clothes and shoe sale.  I mean, can you really have enough pairs of black leather boots?!  Call me shallow, call me materialistic, call me selfish--I am all of those things and more; I’m American.


I don’t want to advertise, by any means, that money or materialistic goods will bring happiness.  Hell, I was the girl at North Country Elementary School who got her clothes from second-hand stores and Target; but then came the day that I tried on my first pair of Nine West heels, marked 50% off and take an additional 40%, and it was all over--I fell victim.  So all I’m trying to communicate is that if you’re between the ages of 20 and 29, looking at the possibility of becoming an Au Pair and you enjoy the occasional purchase, it’s highly possible that this job may not be for you.  Ditto if you place high importance on independence, privacy and vegetables.


Sorry, Dad, they didn’t have your sweater.

Joyeux Anniversaire a Moi

Disclaimer: Dad, you may want to bypass this one. Disclaimer: Dad, you may want to bypass this one.

Some people have cake. Some people do parties, celebrations, take vacations, open presents-- you know, The Works-- and I am usually one of them. Last year, there was my Red and White (Wine) Theme Party. The year before that, there was the L-Theme Party. The Rock Star Theme Party, the 80's Theme Party, the New Orleans Theme Party, and who could forget the Super Sweet 16+7 Party for my 23rd?! Not to mention, the dinners at nice restaurants, the family parties and celebrations that took place. But let me tell you this: You have not lived a real birthday, you have not experienced it to the fullest, you have not become cultured until you've spent it at the French gynecologist's office getting your yearly woman’s exam (aka The Dreaded Pap Smear) as I did. It's true. Yes, I know, I'm an adventurer.

It wasn't my intention, nor was it on my Bucket List to spend a birthday being poked and prodded by a sixty year-old French doctor; but when you're an Au Pair with little availability, and Madame Gynecologue says there's an opening September 20th at 3:00 pm, (which will give you just enough time to get in, get out and pick up the girls from school by 4:30) you say, "Oui, merci" and add it to your planner.

So how'd it go you ask? With a grain of salt and mild chagrin, I confess that it was…it was… well, it was definitely something. You see, I'm used to the routine and privacy (or as much privacy as one can have during this type of exam) of the American doctors, where you're given a moment alone to undress, slip on the complimentary (albeit paper) robe and drape the neatly pliéd sheet over your lap as you perch yourself on the exam table to catch up on some light reading. After a tap-tap on the door, "Are you ready?" the doctor comes in, dims the lights and voila…does the exam. I wouldn't go so far to call it an enjoyable affair but it's not dreadful.

Fast forward to September 20th, 2010, 3:26 pm Western European Time, and you'll find me pillared nervously in the French exam room because yes, I've been warned these sort of things in France are different. For starters, the place looks like it could be someone's home office--desk, sofa, pictures of family, etc, but with a bunch of French sex and birth control brochures spread about the bookshelves. Just off to the side of the office is small exam room, barely big enough to fit the exam table and a four foot long counter. After reviewing my medical history en Francais, I stand, waiting for the doctor to politely leave me in peace so I can undress. But as I look around, I see that something's missing. Where is my paper robe and where is my sheet?! I ask in my most articulate French, but I'm received with a blank stare. Thinking that maybe it's the language barrier, I do the hand motions for putting on a robe. Still, nothing. Disregarding my agitation, she instructs me to undress and lie on the table. Lights stayed on; I'm completely exposed and suffice it to say, vulnerable. And maybe it was just me, but I swear there was a draft in the room. The exam and I had to be asked continuously to stop scooting away. By four o'clock, I walked out of the office with my 50 euro receipt and medical certificate (which I need for an upcoming race), swearing that the next time I need a pap, I'll book a flight home, first. But on a positive note, here's to being 26 and disease-free!

The rest of my birthday was a flawless success, as my very French boyfriend surprised me with a night aboard une Peniche (a French houseboat) with its very own indoor pool and spa. There was We sat down to the most delicious (butter-infused, I'm sure) Fruits de Mer (seafood) dinner accompanied by a bottle of Rose wine and spent the evening poolside with champagne (because yes, on the inside of our houseboat was our own swimming pool and spa). I did miss my friends in California; I did miss my family; and there was a part of me that longed for some Peanut Butter Golden Spoon, but, but turning 26 and celebrating my birthday in France (and seaside for that matter) was pretty unforgettable. When it came time to blow out my birthday candles and cut the cake, I got out of the pool and there waiting for me on the wall hook, was my very own robe. They do exist in France.

So here's to another year with new endeavors, new experiences, open doors and opportunities ahead; here's a wish for a little more insight, a little more courage, a bit of bliss and lasting strength. Here goes nothin'

Gratitude

• For my birthday, my mom bought me a massage and a local spa, which was nothing short of wonderful--although again, there were no sheets.
• My birthday horoscope had good things to say. I feel motivated for the year ahead.
• My host family threw a birthday dinner for me last night which was followed by raspberry birthday cake and yes, more champagne.
• This guy reviewed my blog... it's always nice to get feedback.
• The birthday messages from my family and friends made my week :)
• Dinner party this weekend :)

Clichés

I believe in now or never; plain and simple; What's done is done. I believe in walking the walk if you're going to talk the talk. I believe that money can't buy happiness (unless of course happiness you’re in the Nine West shoe section of Macy's). I believe there's always a silver lining; that there's light at the end of the tunnel and well, I believe home is truly where the heart is.

My name is Lauren, and I hold a penchant for clichés. Scoff if you must, but it's true because well, I’m banking on the cliché that promises, “Third time’s a charm.”

Let's cut to the chase:

First, there was the time I spent as an Au Pair with the ever-so-delightful French family that lived just outside of Lyon, and well, we all know how well that went. But no, I'm definitely not bitter that I spent January through April, forty-five minutes outside of the city with lack of transportation and nothing to do but watch the snow fall. Right?! No, I'm absolutely not bitter because I believe that what goes around, comes around.

Then there was the “transitional” period with an American family who was kind enough to take me into their home. It was a vast improvement, yes, until I eventually became exhausted, drained and penniless (and I swear at one point my hair started falling out); but I'm not bitter about that either because yes, time heals all.

I left them in July for what we'll go ahead and classify as Stress Leave (or more simply, a vacation to London, Croatia, Paris and Provence) to rejuvenate my mental health. And it worked—I swear I'm better now! I spent time unapologetically unwinding, un-aging and even undressing on the beaches of Croatia. During that month, I had plenty of time to reflect and concluded that I'm not quite ready to call it quits and end my time in France. Blame it on the heat, or maybe even dehydration, but the truth is this: I signed up for France for a year-long adventure. I came for an experience and I just don't feel I've gotten what I came here to find. No, I'm not exactly sure what I'm looking for but I do know that I just want to look some more.

And that brings us to what we'll now label, "The Third Time" as once again, I signed up as an Au Pair with a French family here in Lyon. Here's The Charm: my first week of work started as a seven day vacation with them in L'Estartit Spain.

Single dad. Three daughters (ages 12, 7 and 6). Apartment flat in Lyon Centre (No, but seriously, it's as Center-of-the-City as you can get). They're definitely not your picture-perfect family; they're not keeping up with the Jones; and they're a bit dysfunctional, but maybe that's why we mesh so well together. They're quite lovely and so I'm keeping a glimmer of hope, my fingers crossed and possibly even wishing on a star that this one's the ticket.

Here goes nothin…

Away Message

I jumped. I jumped and guess what happened. I landed on two feet; or more accurately, I landed on a flight from EasyJet, but more on that later.


You can delete my previous French address from your iPhone, Blackberry and address books because no longer am I living with the American family. They went their way and I went mine (And not to boast, but my way still includes Europe, Nutella, and good wine). Will I miss the kids? I think so. Did they thank me for the anxiety provoking round-the-clock care of their children? Sure didn't. Can I let out sigh of relief? Finally.

I wish them the best.
I should have left earlier; not waited until July. I've known this for a while. But I also should've not trusted a French woman to cut my hair two months ago; should've drank more water; eaten less sugar; should've put on sunscreen yesterday; ordered the fish instead of the chicken; and should've doubted my mom in 1996 when she suggested I perm my hair. But, today is a new day. So with my sunscreen already applied, I'm off to explore; sans children; sans Au Pair services; sans anyone else's direction but my own. And with that, here's what happens:
Hi. You've reached Lauren. Sorry I'm not available (even though I'm not) to return your call, text, Facebook message or email (unless, of course, it’s my dad, wanting to send money). I am currently traveling at the moment (and by "moment," I mean "The Entire Month of July"). London, Croatia, Provence, and then heading up to Paris where I will finish my solo travels and meet my dear California friend Rachel. We will proceed to dance our way through France, ending in Cinque Terre, enjoying everything Italian influenced and garlic infused. I invite you to leave a message and I will get back to you as soon as my tan has developed, wine glass is empty, and/or I find the motivation to leave my view of the Adriatic Sea. Ciao.