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. 

ADHD

Do you ever feel incredibly overwhelmed by the demands of the day?

Wednesdays warrant a Levatol. Ditto Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and most times on the weekends when I’m with the kids (which in short, is whenever I’m in the house), because during these times, I can feel my stress increasing and blood pressure rising. By the end of the week, I’m beat.

Like I previously mentioned, Wednesdays the younger children don’t have school. It’s been deemed “Activities Day.” Yes, activities—plural. And while I don’t want to bore you, Internet, with the lurid details of this day, let me just say that between the hours of 8 am and 5 pm, Kid A, B and/or C have Karate lessons, gymnastics lessons, tennis lessons, piano lessons and cello lessons. It’s magnificent, yes (for them), but in between dropping off, picking up and waiting for Kid A, B, and/or C at each of these fantastical character building, life-flourishing, extracurricular activities, still lies the necessity to make their breakfast, tie their shoes, do their laundry, make their lunch, wipe their face and wipe their….hands (what were you thinking?! Lauren doesn’t do bathroom duties!). I tutor them, read to them, entertain them, discipline them and inhibit the desire to strike them. Somewhere in the mix, I attempt to meet my own needs: shower, pee, and brush my teeth--you know--general hygiene.

Sure, I’ll continue. One day, Kid A goes to this school, Kid B goes to that school and Kid C goes to morning tutoring. The next day, Kid A goes to that school, Kid B goes to this school and Kid C has afternoon tutoring. This day you drop them off at the new school and pick them up at the old school, but the next day, it’s the opposite. Two days, they eat lunch at home. The other two, they eat at school. Thursdays, the neighbor kid comes home for lunch with them. Monday afternoons (you’ll love this one, I promise), Kid A and Kid B go to school together. After one hour, pick up Kid B to take to the Psycho-motrice for a fifty minute session (where he does nothing but color and play Wii) then take Kid B back to school. Pick up Kid A and Kid B for lunch after 30 minutes. Take Kid B back to school but Kid A to a different school in a different town. Apple, there should be an “App” for that.

So here’s my gripe: Why can’t things be simple like they were in the old days? Like the days when the world was flat. When a ball of Silly Putty could pass the time. When you could look up a recipe for oatmeal cookies and not be faced with 2,030,000 Google results (yes, I checked). When you opened up a box outside of your house for all of your mail instead of our now email, voicemail, texts, Facebook, Twiiter, and whatever else I left out. A time so simple that Kid A, Kid B and Kid C were taken to a after-school facility (that starts with a Y and ends with a MCA), where they could do their tennis, their karate, their gymnastics, their piano, their cello, and their whining (snacks included) all in one.

Somewhere in life, the world became full of possibilities and we decided to attempt every possibility at every different location because we want the best. We want to stay in formed. We want to stay connected. We diagnosed ourselves with ADHD.

So as a connoisseur of my own needs and lover of my own life, when Friday evening hit, I un-regretfully said “No” to babysitting, to staying home, to giving up my time in France (somewhere in California, my therapist is proud). I signed out of my email, turned off my lap top and went out with friends. I enjoyed a glass of red as my aperitif, a glass of white with my dinner, and espresso with dessert. We walked along the Rhone River, listened to music, had cocktails aboard a Peniche, and laughed about nonsense. It gave into those brief moments when you’re caught off guard thinking “Wow, this is my life. I’m really lucky.”

It’s all very simple: Summer is approaching, I’m living in Europe and I have some really great friends to pass the days with. It’s time to give up the stress and give into some pleasure. Time to stop and smell the roses, the tulips, and the Nutella crepes. Eat salmon instead of Silmfast; take walks in the parks instead of runs on the treadmill; frequent the monuments, the music festivals and the nearby beaches. Read for pleasure. Walk to explore. Frequent an ice cream or two. Then, when the sun starts to set on Sunday night around 10 pm, come inside, exhale and realize that now, combating the week doesn’t seem so discouraging.

You can have your soapbox back, now.

Gratitude:

• Friday and Saturday warranted a Sunday PJ day
• My dad fixed my broken Ipod over the phone. It's good to have Lady Gaga back in my life.
• Alicia Keys concert on Friday with my Lyon PIC!
• My friends. My family. Their advice.

Happy Birthday Stephanie Cuttler!

The Au Pair Winter Holiday, Week 1

In France, the middle of February is well known. An abundance of roses start to surface in florist shops, carefully crafted chocolate assortments are sold, suddenly you’ll see posters with red hearts and the word “love” plastered everywhere, restaurants in town formulate price-fixed couple’s menus, and the French being known for their amour, well, they leave town. While the French may be serious about being lovers, they are more serious about skiing during their winter holiday; and during the two weeks they have off beginning the same time as lent, skiing is exactly what they do.

There are two types of French people: Ones who take their vacation to the French Alps during the first week of vacation, and ones who take their vacation during the second week. My host-family went first. I decided to go the second week, except not to the mountains. With the fresh snow brought on by the storm before they left, I figured that our neighborhood would suffice as a perfectly adequate bunny-hill, if my desire for skiing suddenly emerged (It didn’t). So, I politely declined their invitation to join them in the Alps, and instead, agreed to watch over the house while trying to appear regretful about missing them, especially Cecile.

When the children are away, the au pair will play (And as I write this from my Corsican apartment, overlooking the Mediterranean in Adjaccio, I‘d say that I did it pretty well). However, the week they were gone, I took advantage of the calm atmosphere without kids or routine and set out to explore Lyon. That same week, my ____(insert definition for someone you’ve been dating for the last nine months but haven’t committed to the proverbial relationship title)___, Trevor arrived in Lyon. The plan was to relax a few days and discover the city’s charm before departing for vacation the second week, to somewhere that involved above-zero-temperatures… And that is exactly what we did.

Being that Lyon is the second largest metropolitan area in France (after Paris, of course), we were expecting a required week to see all of the sights. A good 3 days later, we had conquered the highlights of the city, and even some that weren’t mentioned in guidebooks.

The week that included:

Seeing all of the major sites, from Place de Bellecour, to Notre Dame de Fourviere...


There were date nights in the city that included seeing the new Valentine's Day movie in Voice Original...

And admiring the city's lights...

There was walking... lots and lots of walking...

And climbing up the hill to Fourviere, because the tram wasn't in service and well, what else did we have to do?!

Sneaking into museums... and then sneaking pictures inside of the museums

People watching and culture comparing...

And of course, snow... which actually formed some beautiful backdrops for photos.

There were good times, good laughs, and good company, that were followed by far-from-perfect situations and arguments as pungent as French cheese. But we conquered and by the end of the week, boarded a plane to Corsica (more on that trip, later). Trevor was able to see for himself, the setting of my new life and I was able to see that Lyon is actually, well, somewhat pleasant. It’s a far stretch from Parisian life and definitely not what I expected of a “metropolitan” city, but in respect, it has its ostentatious charm.

Gratitude:

• I'm sitting on an island that overlooks the Mediterranean
• The sun is out
• Everything ran smoothly the week that the host-family was away
• Traveling during the off-season
• My family... I miss them a lot.