Why Antiperspirant is Important

A supposedly fun thing that I'll never do again?

Take a 11 hour flight sitting next to a ceaseless PDA couple.  I get it.  Really--You're young, you're non-conformist, you want me to know that lesbian is the new black.  No problem.  But on an extremely long flight with extremely little personal space, the least you could do is wash your dreadlocks and put on a little antiperspirant.

22 hours, two failed naps, and one double-espresso later, I finally made it to Lyon, via a seemingly endless Amsterdam layover.

Sunshine and Starbucks could only keep me grounded in California for so long.  I became nostalgic for the French. For the city life. For the language....and obviously, flan.  But even more so, for a certain someone.  A certain French someone.  Did I mention I've been dating a French man?  There, I said it. 

Let's back up.                               

Once upon a May 2010 ago, I met this French someone.  However, after ending a long distance relationship a few months earlier and being the quintessential commitment phobe that I can be, I was timid to start something new.  But along he came promising to never have dreadlocks and to always wear antiperspirant, and so I thought, why not just one date?!

And well, one date turned into two and three, which progressed and turned into a year.  The truth is simple: he's a man who makes me laugh, treats me well and as a result, I missed home, less.  He speaks four languages, eats the same two chocolate croissants for breakfast every morning, and has a penchant for ironing.  He loves scuba diving, soccer and me.  The language barrier is difficult at times, but he has a patient soul, a swoon-worthy 5 o'clock shadow and a kiss that makes my knees weak.  He didn't give up on me with my indecisiveness; Instead, he stuck around, planned weekends away and romantic dinners in French towns I had never seen.  He does, however, critique my inability to sing, but in return, I remind him that he can't pronounce his "H", because well, he's French.  "It's not an ug; it's a hug!" 

Somewhere between living far from my comfort zone, and his ability to make me feel so comfortable, I let the proverbial guard down and a love story transformed.  Except that for a girl that's absolutely not French, and a boy who is sometimes too French, that love story transformed into long distance.  That's what brought me back to France for two weeks. 

And you were thinking it was because I missed being an Au Pair. 

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.

Surprises

Being an Au Pair is full of surprises; surprises that aren't nearly as boring as you might imagine.

Like being told by a 6 year old on a Wednesday morning to stay in bed.  As if this wasn't delightful enough, 13 minutes later, I got this:

Plain yogurt with granola, green tea, bread and butter, and a glass of apple juice just the way I like it: 3 parts water, 1 part apple juice.

These girls learn quick.

So you see, it's not all bad, this job.

Except, guess who cleaned the kitchen from their breakfast making project?

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.

How To Misplace a Child in 5 Easy Steps (without even knowing it)

1. When the children's school starts at 8:30am, make sure you're running late to ensure stress and scrambling.

2. Once you've gotten downstairs from the 6th floor of your apartment building with the elevator made during the days of Yore, make sure the younger child ("CHILD A") realizes there's a page missing from her story-time book, a book that she doesn't need for school. This way, she will ask if she can go back upstairs to search for the page. This will take at least 6 minutes so you will tell her no, "Il n'y a pas de temps! We will be late!"

3. Cue Child A's tantrum, which will steal more time from your already rushed morning. You're more than halfway there. Let's keep going.

4. When the 7 year old ("CHILD B") asks if she can go ahead to school (which is only a few blocks away), ask if she knows the way. She says she does. Fall for her convincing affinity of independence. Don't consider the fact that you live in a large city and moreso, in the city center with lots of traffic and current riots taking place. She's totally capable, right? So tell her yes, "yes you can go ahead to school. We'll see you there." Assume that she won't get very far. Assume that the knot in your stomach is from the outdated yogurt you ate that morning.

5. Because you've had "that" kind of week, CHILD A will continue to throw a tantrum at the bottom of the stairwell for the next 3.5 minutes. Once you get her outside of the building, ensure that she throws a tantrum all the way to school, including in front of the police station (just for good measure and to add a bit of chagrin). Since you are running considerably late, assume that CHILD B made it to school just swimmingly because well, you didn't see her on the way. Comfort your doubts by reminding yourself that there are a few different routes to take. Drop off CHILD A in the nick of time, and voila, that's it!

You will return home to get your own books for school and then hear the buzzer ring, to which you will be stupefied to find that there is a strange woman downstairs with CHILD B. She will tell the heroic story of how she found CHILD B looking lost at a cafe on the corner of your block. You thank her. You inform the eavesdropping overly pretentious neighbor, when she asks, that the father returns from his business trip in two days (so that she will know when she can squeal to him about your incompetencies). Now you can proceed to take CHILD B to school, return home and take a breath.

Then, go ahead and ruminate about what in the (profanity spoiler alert) hell were you thinking letting a 7 year old go to school by herself in the center of a city, with traffic and riots going on?!? You can proceed to question your own capabilities while a surge of anxiety washes over you. Out of resentment, you can then reminisce of the days in California when you weren't responsible for children. You can even Freud yourself, questioning if you did this on a subconscious level so you could be fired and sent home.

I'm not fired. I'm still here.

Let's do some gratitudes:

• I have a really really fantastic support system in California!
• My dad and brother are coming to visit in a little over a month!
• While studying at a cafe the other morning, an 85(ish) year old man bought me coffee and sparked up a conversation with me for the following 30 minutes. This fulfilled my longing for friendly strangers, which I think is rare here.
• I'm done with cranberry juice!

The Pre-Au Pair Guide

Maybe it’s something in the air. Maybe it’s the economy. Maybe it was the 10 page NY Times article on the 20-Somethings and our delay into adulthood; or maybe, just maybe, the itch has spread for some adventure, for travel, for a new experience away from a desk job. And this is why: Lately, I've been receiving a good amount of emails asking for advice by prospective au pairs. Why they deemed it a good idea to come to me for advice, I'm still wondering myself because even as Keith over at Taste of Garlic commented, "if you are thinking about becoming an au pair in France, it might be better if you don’t read The Au Pair Project until you’ve got the job!"

But hold on, let's not panic. I can switch gears and speak unbiased. No heavy lifting, no assembly required. I can even leave my resentment at the door and refrain from offering prospective au pairs my job here so I can return to the smoke-free skies of California. Did I mention that France is setting cars on fire while rioting and striking through the streets? So, just for the hell of it, for the sake of honesty, because I wish someone would've been honest with me, I’ll lay the cards out on the table.

Et bien... So you want to be an au pair? Really? No, but like really? You’re sure? You've put some thought into this? I admire your vigilance and possibly question your sanity, but okay. So what was it that lured you in? The travel? Let me guess, you love kids and you want to work with children one day? Or is it that the Au Pair Route is the easiest route to land yourself in a foreign country without completely draining your bank account? If it’s the travel, then wait. Save up and just travel. If it’s the love of children, then wait; this could (and most likely will) change your views. If it’s the latter, well then okay. Top sites for searching for a host family: www.aupair-world.net. There are beaucoup de sites out there for au pairs, but after talking with families and au pairs here in France, Au Pair World is the most widely used. Some sites advise that you use an agency, but I say skip it. Take that $200 fee that they will charge you and put it in your savings because once you find out your au pair salary, you'll need it. It's also You, who has your best interests at heart; not an agency. But if you're still hellbent on having someone do it for you, I'd be happy to search for you in exchange for a fee!

• When Searching for a Family: Let me demystify the Au Pair/Host Family vocabulary for you. Just outside of the city means: at least 30 minutes and unless you're in Paris, the public transport (aka the buses) end at an obscenely early time (even on the weekends) and aren't always dependable. Go ahead, ask my mom about the time I called her fed up because the bus to take me home never showed up and it was snowing and I had to hitchhike at 11 at night. Oh, the good ol' days. In short, be INSIDE of the city. Yes, families do exist there. The kids eat lunch at home means: find a different family because there goes your free time during the day. Pets mean: they will also, most likely become your responsibility. Just ask my friend Ife who lived on a farm with 3 donkeys, 2 dogs, x amount of birds, chickens, geese, cats, and this doesn't even count the stuffed animals that they kept inside of the house. And then there was the time that I lived with the American family that asked me to clean the cat's litter box. It's too bad I'm allergic. But more truthfully, I'm just allergic to all things that I don't like. Part of the family means: we want to feel comfortable enough with you to ask you favors without having to pay you extra--like we would with an eldest daughter. Strong willed means: ...it means that you never want to hear or read this from a parent who is describing their child(ren). This is also courtesy of my friend Clare and well, let's just say that the boy she cares for is so strong willed that she is thinking about moving back to Australia. Clare?

• Step II: You found a family. It's time to ask questions; be a curious yellow because well, you never know. Let me just remind you that you're giving up the familiar to move to a foreign country and work in a home of strangers. Let me remind you that ASSUME makes an ASS out of U and ME, but mostly, just you. Let me remind you of the family I came here for that served me up full of creme-fraiche and bacon, forcing me to use my modest stipend to pay for my daily serving of vegetables. But which questions do I ask? If you stay in the house with the rest of the family or if your room is separate. Do you have your own room? Do you have your own bathroom? Is there a closet for you to put your things? (Like I said, don't assume). Who does the house-keeping (because keep in mind you take care of kids, not the housework)? Who does the grocery shopping? Do you have a curfew? Do you have weekends free? Are you able to go out some nights during the week? What are your hours (Ask for a schedule!!)? Do the kids eat lunch at school or at home? Do you have Wednesdays off or do you babysit? (Remember that French children don't have school Wednesdays) Who does the cooking? How have the children reacted to previous au pairs? Can you contact the previous au pair? Do they draft up an au pair contract? Will you be covered by Securite-Sociale? If you don't live in the city, is there a car for your personal use? Are you expected to drive the children places? etc, etc, etc... The main idea is this: You need to have a clear sense of your role and responsibilities. Furthermore, each party should have a well-defined understanding of each person's needs because then, everyone is happy!
• And as if you thought I forgot, ask about your salary. You can negotiate your salary. There is a minimum pay if they sign a contract with you (which should be required) of 300 euros a month, but if you settle on this, you might end up resentful when you realize what your job entails. A girl emailed me that a family wanted to hire her and just offer her room and board without pay. I told her to run away! The truth is this: People will give the least they can and take the most offered. It's basic human instinct and to heighten this theory, it's France. The country that gets a minimum, a minimum I tell you, of five weeks of holidays, but is outside rioting over retirement age. Remember the family I worked with for 3 months and was paid nothing? Do what I say, not what I do.
• To supplement your oh-so-generous salary, you can advertise private tutoring or English lessons at your local school, local boulangerie, patisserie, market, etc. Just make sure to ask the owner if it's okay to post your advertisement.

• Language Courses: The chances of finding a family that's willing to pay for your language classes is slim to none because the au pair sites tell them that they don't have to, which I think is pretty sneaky because with language classes that cost an average of 220 per month, you will end up with next to nothing for salary. Let's pretend you make 300 a month and you pay 220 to your language courses, which are required for your visa. Let's also pretend that you pay for your own transportation pass (which the family should pay for) and that's 25 euros with the student rate. Now you're left with 55 euros per month? That's not even 2 euros a day. You've now become on of those children on the donation commercials that are able to subside on next to nothing. Congratulations. But you want to take the language classes, I tell you!! It's time away from the house where you'll meet tons of people including other au pairs and hopefully, make some lasting friendships. If you're really really really "dans le rouge" and the thought of paying this fee every month is stopping you from taking the au pair plunge, then I will underhandedly inform you that if you stop taking language courses after the first month, the French government (or anyone for that matter) is not going to come check up on you. France is too occupied with strikes.  
• A great reminder that came from a fellow Au Pair Clare, is to pay for your language classes in bulk, which usually results in a discount. And don't forget to enroll for the au pair language program. It's cheaper than the programs for other students.
• Go meet some people, make some friends and get yourself away from the G-rated crowd once in a while! I can say with certainty and gratitude that maintaining my friendships has helped me to maintain my sanity. Aside from your language school, use meetup.com. It's pretty widely used here, according to others. Take an activity class like dance, singing, karate, n'importe quoi! And then, while you're at it, join meetic.com. Yes, it's the French version of www.match.com. So, what?! Everyone deserves a little "action".

Fact: If I had to do it all over again, I don't know if I would choose the Au Pair Route. I might seek other options like being a teacher's assistant or teaching English, but learn and live, right?! But it's also true that there are au pairs who love every minute of their experience. Lucky ones that end up with great families, their own apartment paired with a kick ass schedule. It also goes in reverse: there are families who end up with terrible au pairs. It all comes down to finding the right fit, which is why it is so so so important to ask questions and get to know each other. It's important.

Fact: I love living in France (yes, even with the riots, the manifestations, the lack of petrol because of the riots, and the worst customer service imaginable). I really do love this country. I love the language, the cafes, the culture, the flan, the way of life, oh the flan! I'm in love.

Fact: I also love my independence. Since I became an au pair, I haven't seen much of it. I miss going and coming when I want; oh what a beauty it was to have my own apartment. I miss not having to report to anyone on my whereabouts and I miss not having a curfew, but hey, 26 with a curfew isn't unreasonable, right?! Moving on...

Fact: I complain, I know, but the truth is that the travel aspect of this job that comes every six weeks (because French school systems break every six weeks) makes every part of this job worth it. I think I forget this sometimes, (these last couple of weeks especially). Without this experience, I probably wouldn't have had the opportunity to gallop and sashay my way around Europe; to get lost in the streets of Cannes or salsa my way through Barcelona; tan myself nude on the beaches of Croatia; hike the canyons of Casis; road trip through France or regret making out with the way-too-young-for-me med-student in Dubrovnik. I earn next to nothing but have gained so many experiences and stories. Traveling changes the soul. It changes one's outlook and opens the eyes to things you've only imagined. It's quite magnificent and for that, I'm grateful.
So, if taking the plunge as an au pair seems manageable, then take the jump. It could be something really fantastic. Bon Courage future au pairs!!


**Updated Nov. 9, 2010, because I care. 

The Sweet Life

Uh...Yeah right.

If I told you why I couldn't sleep; if I told you why even a Trazadone didn't do the trick; if I told you why no amount of Sleepy Time Tea or Melatonin could help; if I told you why I was up until 4 am, which gave me two hours of restless sleep and led to a very challenging, very grouchy day after, you would agree with my frustration. You would sympathize. You might even invite me to escape to your home for some peace and quiet. And wine. But alas, the details aren’t important. Just keep in mind that I live in the same apartment as the family, which happens to be a single dad. Keep in mind that my room lies in between his and the girls'. Keep in mind that single parents still date and sometimes, those dates are successful. Three hours of success.

This is tough. Sometimes, it's very tough. Yes, I am enjoying a year in another country, a year learning another language, and finally finding a family that makes this experience manageable. I love living in the center of the city. I love being able to go jogging along the river. I love meeting friends at a cafe in the evenings. But, this job still has its moments. It's hard to live with someone else's family. It’s hard to live with your own family at times, so I don't know what I was thinking. It's not easy being an adult who still reports to someone on my whereabouts—“I'm going to the market. I'm going to a dance class. I'm going...N’importe où!”

I used to think that what doesn't kill me, makes me stronger. Some of my innocence died, some of my optimism has been lost and I now know what doesn't kill me, gives me great anxiety and keeps the pharmaceutical industry in business.

So, I'm summoning positive thoughts; I'm listing my gratitude’s, I’m buying a pair of ear-plugs.Gratitude:

• Coming up with a list of gratitudes during a week like this week.
• I'm going to Grenoble this weekend for a dinner party. Yes, that's right. That is my life.
• Single parents that travel for work. How I can't wait to sleep tonight.
• Dance Master Class workshop this Saturday morning. Fingers crossed.
• The sun is out--although now that I said that, watch it rain tomorrow. Just watch!

Adam and Eve

The kids are now into their fourth week of school and I couldn't be happier. They are exceptional kids, I promise! But have you tried entertaining a 6 and 7 year old for thirteen hours a day, all while trying to keep their older sister from provoking arguments?! Let's just say that we've taken a lot of walks around the city and I've taken a lot of deep breaths. In any event, we know the Centre Commercial aka The Mall very well.

The kids, well, they aren't the only ones who had la rentrée. Yes, I've also headed back to school, which more simply means, I'm back in my visa-required, twelve hours of French courses each week. Which can then be simplified further as two weeks of my salary because not only is French a bitch to master, it's also incredibly expensive. But it's okay because it's an investment, right?! An investment in my future; my future which will most likely continue in California, where everyone speaks Spanish. C'est pas grave! That's beside the point because the point is, I can now tell someone off in French without pulling out my dictionary and have them walk off. Plus, learning prevents dementia, which has helped me to remember the endless French verb conjugations, but more importantly, prevents me from forgetting the children every day at 4:30 pm.

Since French children don't have school on Wednesdays, the Au Pair also doesn't have school on Wednesdays. I'll tone it down by saying that I used to loathe Wednesdays--the activities, the stress, the carpooling. But now, it ain't so bad, and I’ll venture to say it can be enjoyable to spend the day relaxing with the two young French kids. The problem though is I miss my French class and have to play catch up. I hate this. But what I learned on this particular Wednesday was worth so much more than I could ever pay for in a classroom.

Cue 6 year-old Petite Rose:

Our mornings have become quite routine. I love them. Her and I are the early birds of the household and so, we rendez-vous at the kitchen table for our petit-dejeuner. I have yogurt. She has Honey Nut Cheerios—so very French.

"Lolo, est-ce que tu connais l'histoire d'Adam et Eve?"

I set down my tea. "L'histoire de what?!" Already knowing that her version would be so much better, I replied, "No, Rose. Tell me the story of Adam and Eve."

"Well first, God created 'la terre' and then, he created un homme et une femme. Il s'appelle Adam et elle s'appelle Eve," she continued. "Et apres, God created an apple tree, but he told Adam et Eve that it was 'interdit' to eat 'les fruits'. But then Eve, she ate the fruit because she was distrait--"

"Wait a second," interrupting to make sure I heard correctly, "She ate the fruit because she was distrait? No snake or anything?"

"Non. She was just distrait. And then, Lolo, then they had lots of babies who grew up and had their own babies and that's how the world was populated.... But I don't really believe that. Do you?"

So there you have it; Eve was absent-minded-- Absent minded. So she ate the fruit and populated the World.

The end.

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…

Why MC Hammer Pants Aren't Making a Comeback

I once read that the ability to be happy is nothing other than the ability to come to terms with how things change. Though I still haven’t dissected the “how”, I have accepted that time provokes change. It’s inevitable, I get it.

Remember those magical days when the sun was shining, the birds were singing, I had pep in my step, and my French life as an Au Pair was going oh so swimmingly? Well, let’s just write it off as the “Honeymoon Period” and never speak of it again; because as we discussed, things change. There comes a time when you grow out of your favorite pair of shoes; when you realize that McDonalds Happy Meals make you more nauseous than they do happy; when you come to terms with the fact that Hammer Pants will never come back into style (Ditto Overalls, legwarmers (outside of the dance studio), sideways baseball caps and men with piercings); But most of all, there’s a time when it’s blatantly clear that if you keep volunteering as an Au Pair, you’ll end up passive aggressive with a dollop of resentment and wishing that Xanax was sold chocolate covered.

Here’s the truth: I love kids. I really do. (Well, I think I do. Or I did. No, I’m pretty sure I still do. Well, whatever.) This is despite the fact that I really didn’t love one of them very much this morning when they threw a tantrum to be heard three houses down. But as I was saying, I love kids. I love their appreciation for simplicity; for creativity; for everything chocolate and sugar coated. I love baking “Kitchen Sink” cookies with Julia and then packing them up with her book for a picnic in the park (even if my arm is still itching from grass allergies). Or when she pauses to put down her book and superfluously inform me that she has a friend, "Margo, who once lost her tooth, swallowed it and pooped it out a week later.”

I love building Lego houses with Sage and then agreeing with him as he un-rhetorically demands, “Isn’t this the most awesome thing ever, Lolo?!” I love that little-Lauren insists on jogging with me every morning, (even if it does mean I have to wake up an extra hour earlier so she can go). I love pretending that it was the kids who ate all of the gummi-vitamins or that they were the ones who added lemon sorbet and Italian almond biscotti to the grocery list. And I love the verbal acumen they provide when they inform you the mistakes of your dating life, the better choice of shoes to go with that dress, or that your bras are “so much smaller, no, but like a lot smaller than our mom’s.” Thank you, kids. You say the darndest things!

But, in the interest of full disclosure of the things I love, I love me. That's right, I said it! I love my life. I love doing things for my life. And yes, I do love me more than those candid and delightful (when they’re not shattering my ears and my patience) little quislings. (Did I mention we had a very difficult morning?!) A bit arrogant? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely. But when one finally does get to that point of realizing their own time matters, it’s a pretty relieving revelation.

However, for a person who welters between balancing their insidious tendency to please others with their newfound appreciation for their own self, I suppose it’s important to ask how much of yourself you're giving up and if your own needs are still being met. And if they’re not, if you find yourself feeling over extended and underappreciated, it’s time to finish that dream you had the other night where you were in a plane about to go skydiving, but afraid to jump. It’s time to abdicate the despair, embrace the unknown, and trust that the parachute will release.



Time for another change. Time. To. Jump.

Gratitude:

• Thursday, I leave for London
• Summer weather... finally!
• Music from the jazz festival last night was amazing!
• I'm done packing!

This Little Piggy...

This little piggy went to the market. That little piggy stayed home. One little piggy had roast beef while the other little piggy had none.

Here’s your hint: I don’t eat beef… And to ruin the riddle of Guess Which Little Piggy Is Which, the one that went to the market is the same little piggy who tends to three children that are not her own (and after being an Au Pair, having 3 kids is so out of the question). Among the other duties this little piggy manages (while the dad piggy stays home to eat the aforementioned roast beef), she somehow got lassoed into also doing the weekly shopping.

One might think that with my love for all things involving a list (To-do lists, packing lists, bucket lists, shopping list, etc…) that I would find grocery shopping to be an enjoyable affair; but with great chagrin, let me just confess that I hate grocery shopping. Yes, my name is Lauren and I would rather spend an entire day listening to a twelve year-old explain the complete teen Twilight saga until my ears bleed, than grocery shop for a family of five (plus moi). I used to enjoy it (the shopping, not the Twilight). In California, I did; but I was also buying for one person (sometimes two, if you include a pudgy dog or the occasional date night). Furthermore, my grocery jaunts took place at a Trader Joes, which is one third the size of France’s Carrefour market and more times than not, I was eligible for the “10 Items or Less” queue.

Along with grocery shopping, I don’t particularly enjoy meal planning (again, that’s aside from the occasional date night). I would be perfectly content eating vegetable omelets with a side of ketchup or Fage Greek yogurt for the rest of my days, resulting in short and succinct trips to the market. With one lap around the perimeter, I could be in and out in less than twenty minutes with a smile and aplomb, on my way to Golden Spoon Frozen Yogurt a few shops down.

Europeans used to shop in a similar manner: frequenting the quaint little markets for the freshest produce, buying just enough to conclude that day’s meal. But somewhere in the timeline (despite The French’s ridicule for all things American), France became Westernized and those quaint little markets transformed, now rendering a shocking resemblance to those famous “Superstores” that are coming to a neighborhood near you! The assortment of products grew but the patience of customers shrunk. The lines became crowded, the shopping transpired into a chore and in some employee’s distorted logic, the oatmeal became situated in the back of the store next to sanitized shelf milk. I don’t get it, either.

But on this particular week, I rebelled against the crowds, the headaches and the Superstore. I said “no” to the enormous Carrefour and “yes” to the enormous Croix Rousse Open Air Market. A place where one will encounter over a hundred vendors selling the freshest produce from French local farmers. A place so popular, that you spend more time searching for street parking than you do completing your shopping list. A place where the people are pleasant, the air is fresh, the cultures are as varied as the produce, and before you know it, you find yourself immersed in conversation with an elderly Jewish vendor about his recent trip to California. A place where after you lug fifteen kilos of fruit and vegetables to your tiny two-door Twingo, you can walk back to the vivacious market and shop the fashion and household-items side. Then, after some two-plus hours have passed and you realize you only paid for thirty minutes of parking, you wrap up your conversations, take one last visual snapshot and make a bee-line for the Twingo.

To which this little piggy living in France, appropriately went oui oui oui all the way home.

Gratitude:

• Bike rides. Specifically, bike rides before the rest of the family awakes in the morning.


• I may hate grocery shopping but because I do it, I pick out what we eat, resulting in a fridge full of cherry tomatoes calling my name.


• The sun is out!


• I just started reading The Help, and so far, so good.


• New music aka The Resistance CD by Muse... because Lady Gaga will only take a girl so far.

Photo courtesy of www.Lyon-photos.com (because apparently everything I bring to France either becomes lost or broken. Camera included.)

Hi, Have You Met....

A fortnight ago, my new host family returned from their vacation in the US and it was the start of my new Au Pair life. Being the worrier that I can sometimes be, okay fine, the worrier that I usually am, I’ll admit that based on the previous Au Pair experience, I was mildly apprehensive about how things would go in the new setting; if I would still open up a fridge to tubs of crème-fraiche and packaged ham; if their kids, my laptop, my luggage, and the French postal service would unanimously try to turn against me (the postal service still does); if I would still long for the invention of a Lexapro Martini . Then something happened: The day before they arrived, I realized I was really looking forward to their homecoming (even aside from knowing that they’d be returning with Red Vines and peanut butter… Okay, yes, I was looking forward to that, too). My spirits were high, my anxiety was low and I was ready for a new venture

And how has it been going, you ask? It’s been nonstop. Fourteen nonstop days of activities, reading, swimming, trampoline jumping, tutoring, story-time, play time, homework time, and dinnertime; Riding scooters with the little boy and riding bicycles with the girls down to the small town center to pick up fresh baguettes and fromage to accompany dinner. If you aren’t yet sick with how cliché my French life has become, let me add that we spend our summer evenings dining outside, talking about the highs and lows of our day, then revert back inside for herbal tea as the sun lingers until nearly ten pm. So I’ll go ahead and admit that yes, it’s going quite well. But enough about me… Let me introduce the family.

Terra and Christian have been married for the better part of thirteen years and as she put it so perfectly, “We definitely bicker, but we’re madly in love.” It’s true. They provide hope. Hope that happy marriages do last, that relationships involve passion and friendship, and that after years of being with someone, they can still make you laugh. They’re cultured but unpretentious; sociable without shallowness. They’re from Idaho (and yes, they do like potatoes) but moved to France to give their children an experience. Terra just started culinary school and Christian is a business entrepreneur from Cal Berkely. I’ve been introduced to more French products living with them than I did with my previous French host family, as they’ve kept the Carbonara-crème-fraiche-ham pasta at bay. They’ve help me realize that being an Au Pair can actually be quite nice and dare I say, fun, at times?! In the midst of traveling, music festivals, and full-time careers, they produced 3 beautiful children.

Lauren (aka Lolo, which coincidently is also what they call me) is the type that will restore your faith in human kind, especially the youth. She’s 12 going on 22, and a humanitarian at heart. For her 8th birthday, her “party” involved her and her friends helping out at a homeless shelter. She likes her pizza with hot sauce, her chocolate dark, and her meat on someone else’s plate. She’s a creative spirit with a passion for cinematography, reading, acting, and –in typical preteen fashion--Twilight. “Team Edward” to be specific. She adores Audrey Hepburn, The Beatles, everything Vampire, and driving her dad to insanity by mirroring The Teenager Attitude…. Oh, and she can produce best French accent by an American on this side of the Rhone.

In ten years, 8 year-old Julia will be at a college somewhere, majoring in entomology, the study of insects. There isn’t a beetle she won’t try to capture, a worm she won’t touch, or a spider she won’t dissect. When we found a fist-sized spider in the garage (exaggeration unlikely), she ran inside searching for her dissection kit despite our pleas not to. And leave it to her to find the biggest beetle when we were at the park. She’s a girly-girl who isn’t afraid of dirt, loves all things green, and hates-hates-hates losing. Did I mention she’s a bit competitive? Spunky, stubborn, and full of sass with a laugh that’s contagious and a smile that barely fits on her face. Then, just when you think you’re familiar with all of her mannerisms, she’ll turn to you in a voice famous to the 1930’s, and say “Hey Shoogs!”

Then there’s Sage, whose name deceives him because let’s face it, while he’s wiser than most would like to give him credit for, he is far from calm. Very far from calm. He should’ve been named after whatever means “fantastic curly hair.” He’s an instigator and a manipulator, but mostly, he’s a lover. He gets attached to people, to relationships, to your word. Don’t lie to him, because like I said, he’s wise. He remembers. If you say you’re going to be there or read a story or take him to the park, so you better be there with a book in hand and en route to le parc. There are times when he acts in a way that makes you want to pull your hair out, but then there are the moments when you call him over to read The Adventures of Frog and Toad, he cuddles up on your chest and it melts your heart.

Lastly, there’s Beaujolais the cat, who is far too interested in Toute-Suite, our not-so-spring-chicken. Everytime Toute-Suite comes to our back door for its daily serving of Special K, Beaujolais tries to approach her, only to be attacked and scared off. So the next time someone asks why the chicken crossed the road, it was probably to kick the cat’s ass.

And that's the family. While we're at it, let's take a little trip down memory lane. Cue Old Room:
Before:


Cue New Room:
The After:

Granted only two people have seen my old host family's home to have a sense of comparison, but here is my new place:

Gratitude:

• We started looking at tickets to Corsica today!
• Two of my best friends are moving to San Diego!!
• I had a hilarious conversation with my dad this evening, who asked who it was I started dating because he only read the first part of my last blog post, up to the part about being naked, then stopped, assuming that I was talking about being with a guy. Oh, Dad...You make me laugh!
• I started an online course :) If only I could find the time to begin lesson one! 3 kids are definitely more than a handful!

Easter Beginnings

I’m a little fuzzy on the religious meaning of Easter. Plus, with a mom that’s a recent Jewish convert, a dad who still holds some comfort in Catholicism, a brother who’s Agnostic, a grandmother who prays to that we won’t forget her See’s candy, aunts, uncles, and cousins who reside somewhere between Christianity, Catholicism, Baptist, and one that I assume to be Atheist (?), it’s passable to say that we don’t bask in the religious facet of the holiday. Nonetheless, we all agree that Easter includes family, baskets of chocolate with shiny plastic grass, Peeps, the hard-boiling, dying, hiding, and hunting of eggs, Peeps, an Encinitas family brunch, the ending of whatever we unsuccessfully gave up for Lent (which knowing my family, was probably sugar), Peeps, fresh flowers, and new beginnings…And did I mention the Peeps?

Oh, right, new beginnings. Winter is over, Spring is here, new flowers are blossoming, and is it just me or does the air just seem fresher? Out with the old, in with the new, and it’s sufficed to say that I’m not the only one with new beginnings in line. I have a friend moving from Arizona to start a new life, a friend moving to Arizona to start grad school, a friend awaiting the purchase of a new home, a dad with a newly remodeled old home, a friend starting a new job, a friend planning a new vacation, and a grandmother who I assume is sitting with a new box of See’s chocolate on her lap. As Bob Dylan would say, “The times, they are a-changin’.” Yes, Bob, yes they are.

And for me, well, I couldn’t be more pleased and excited about the new beginnings that are literally just around the corner (across the street, down the road, through the gated community, and less than a mile away). By this time next week, I will be writing on this blog from a new location, in a new bedroom, with a new family, as a new Au Pair to three fantastic kids that I fell in love with my first week here in Lyon. They’re American, they’re here for the same reason I am (to experience the French culture), their son has play-dates with my current host-family’s son, which is how I met them, they’re my new family until July, they’re my saving grace from the dark days my current status-quo, and they’re extraordinary.

Though the doors to winter are being shut and the pea-coats and snow boots are being put away, the lessons I’ve learned during those three bleak months have revealed. It’s been a relentless pattern of reflecting, rediscovering, and even regretting at times, but I’ve learned. I’ve learned that putting something off (like quitting) makes something instantly harder and scarier, that wishing things were different is a great way to torment yourself, that there’s splendor in the monotonous 8-to-5 job, because when you quit, you don’t have to still see the employers at the breakfast table. I’ve learned it’s true about little boys being made of snips, snails and puppy-dog tails, but unfortunately there are some girls who are made of sugar, spite, and everything that makes one want to run for the hills. I’ve confirmed the importance of being earnest, honest, and a good B-Complex vitamin. I’ve learned that I’m strong, I can endure, and I have the most incredible support system back home that would make any onlooker green with envy. I’ve learned that doors will close, hopes will fall, relationships will end, but dreams will prevail. Life, well, it rarely turns out the way you plan… I just didn’t realize that it applied to my life.

And lastly (for now), I’ve learned how great friends can take the place when family is absent, that when you’re a tidbit homesick for the familiarity of an Encinitas Easter brunch (and Peeps, of course), a brunch with a new generous host-family and a post-office delivered Easter “basket” from your best friend will certainly make you smile.

Thank you, Courtney, for my amazing care-package Easter basket! (not photographed: Aleve pills)

The kids of my new host-family, on search for Easter eggs!

The backyard view of my new home

He found the golden bunny! The girl was not happy at all!

Gratitude (this will be easy):

• Change (yes I know, I really did admit that)
• Incredible friends
• Eating Sour Patch Easter Bunnies while wearing new Easter socks and starting a new book
• An Easter brunch that included roasted chicken, deviled eggs, asparagus, tomato and mozzarella salad, and yes, mimosas :)
• One week left....

Not To Be Fooled

Well, I did it. I quit. I resigned. I surrendered. I gave notice and gave up. I threw in the towel. Bowed out and checked out. I terminated my contract, my mental anguish, and accessibility to a year’s supply of Pasta Carbonara. And it only took me 3 weeks of lost luggage, one broken Macbook, a post-office misplaced care package from my mom, a returned care-package from my dad, one broken $200 pair of Versace prescription glasses, a handful of phone calls home, a bout with what I am convinced was frostbite, a flight of “pneumonia,” and the desire for a glass of wine.

The best part: This isn’t a belated April Fool’s joke. It’s true.

After yet another encounter (and the worst to date), with an 8 year-old’s tantrum (videos to come) for reasons still unknown except that she hates the world (and me), I confirmed that life is too short, my time is too precious, and well, my metabolism isn’t getting any faster. Plus, this is ___(fill in censored word of your choice)__ nuts! So, after dinner (if you’re guessing what the meal is, you’re probably guessing correctly), I approached the Madame and Monsieur of the household, attempting my best at appearing cool, calm, and collected, all while apprehension, agitation and anxiety flooded my veins. Did I mention that I hate confrontation? Well, I do.

I used the best of my communication conflict skills. I stayed focus, I used my “I” statements (or my “Je” statements), I spoke truthfully and assertively, explained that I’ve tried, struggled, and pleaded with their little princess, all without prevail. Oh, and I did this all in French, thank-you-very-much! And then, without reciprocation, I listened to their criticisms with concern, I responded with as much compassion as my inegrity would allow, and tried my hardest to see their point of view. I even offered to continue the contract until they found a replacement.

And how did it go? Well, Internet, I could say it was swell; that they reasoned with my pleas, consoled my distress, and empathized with my discontent. But if I did, therein would lie your April Fool’s joke. Instead, it turned into a one-sided version of the blame game of my “incessant faults” and the reasons I caused this. That I need to have more respect for a girl who screams, yells, hits, and hates me. But, how?! Then, when pinching myself and blinking would no longer hold back tears, I hurried for a conclusion and politely excused myself from the implacable linguistic wilderness.

So, there it is. I guess it’s sufficed to say that I feel defeated, angry, resentful, and well, I feel hurt. Yeah, that’s about right. I know, I know, "sticks and stones may break your bones, but words will never hurt you"… except that they do. They do for me, at least. However, I can see the light at the end of this tunnel, and a wise woman mentioned to me, "this Au Pair job may have been my ticket here, but it doesn’t have to be my destination." I’m ready to set out for the destination.

Gratitude:

• My family (and friends) have the uncanny ability to make me feel better.
• It's been a really great weekend: Last night was girls night, tonight is dinner out in Lyon, and tomorrow is Easter brunch 
• Next week is my last week with this host-family.
• It was just my Aunt's birthday: HAPPY BIRTHDAY AUNT SUSAN!!!