Let’s 'idiom-ize' here and cut to the chase; lay the cards out on the table; get to the point; make no bones about it; call a spade a spade; get down to brass tacks, and not beat around the bush:
It ain’t getting any better here. Please excuse my French but, Mon boulot me faisait chier
[1] (See footnote)
Here’s the thing: I’m used to doing a good job. I’m used to people recognizing that I do a good job. I was that kid in elementary school that rarely ever had to change their behavior card from green to a yellow warning. Likewise, I’m also a good Au Pair; I know that, but something isn’t working. I’ve never met kids like this before (correction: A kid—I only have problems with one of the two). A kid whose whining would make you jealous of the hearing impaired, whose demeanor beckons for a beating, and who talks to me the way the 16 year-olds on MTV talk to their parents when they don't get a BMW for their Sweet 16. Then again, I’ve never met French children before so perhaps, therein lies my explanation.
If this was my first time working with kids, I would wonder,
Maybe it’s me? But I’m no newbie; I know for sure,
It’s definitely me. I go out of my way with them; I try to make them like me, but in a culture that is content on consistently being discontent, it's a no-win situation. You may get more bees with honey, but if they’re French bees, they're still going to sting you. I continuously go out of my way, to the point of making Ms. Poppins appear apathetic. Some mornings, I’ll get up early to make them French Toast ; they don’t want it, they want regular toast. An hour later, they want the French Toast. I offer to butter their bread and Nutella their toast; they don’t want it… That is, until their mom enters, to which of course, they conveniently change their mind. “Lauren, why didn’t you do this for them?”
uhhhh really?!? No, but seriously, really?!
Games, puzzles, toys; you name it, I’ve tried it. I offer up ideas of things to do that a “normal” kid would happily agree to: “Want to go play outside?” No. “Want to go jump on the trampoline?” No. “Want to go to the Zoo?" No. “Want to make a fort? Make cookies? Make me a drink, then?” No. No. No. But wait, here’s the kicker: “Want to go get ice cream cones at McDonalds and play in their 3-story play-thingy?” uhh… wait for it….. No.
So you just want to sit here and continue to be miserable? How very French of you.
And that’s just the kid(s). With home life, I don't want to be difficult, because well, I like to please. I buy my own food because I know that I eat more plants than animals, and I don’t want to hold them back on their quotidian ham consumption. Some nights, I’ll make my own dinner, but it feels awkward being the outcast. Other nights, I’ll try to “take part in their culture/family” and cross my fingers that it isn’t going to be their infamous Pasta Surprise (surprise being that it’s the same ham and crème-fraiche sauce as last night). Pocket-size Kleenex: check!
But like I sid, my job is making me shit. Figuratively, my job is crap. I'm not sure if this is going to work.
Gratitude:
- The weather reached, wait for it... 60 degrees. In-cred-ible. The little boy and I had races outside: Scooter vs. Foot.
- I bought the "Lonely Planet's Guide to Europe." I was sold on their books when I read one in Corsica and it read, "Don't waste your time with City X because it's actually quite ugly." Thank you, Lonely Planet, for being honest!
- Babysitting this weekend for kids that aren't mine!
- A clean room.
- Some exciting plans in the works.
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.
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.
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