Pompidou - 1, Families - 0

Yikes, I don't have a post to speak of for November and only one for October!? Embarrassing. I guess my hopes of being published will be dashed if I don't keep up with this thing. At the end of the day though, when I have time to blog, my mental capacity is just about shot. When I go have the en vie to recount my day, all I can usually muster is a phone call or e-mail to a friend or family member. So where to catch you up? Well, in October we had the French Toussaint holiday. Basically, holidays in France are holidays for everyone BUT au pairs. This means the children are home from school for a week and a half with no other activities to speak of. Ex-haus-ting. Though now that I'm writing this in December, it feels like ages ago. So one of the more pronounced happenings over the holiday came on an innocent Saturday filled with culture and a family trip to Paris.

On the first Saturday of the holiday, Bertrand asked me if I wanted to go to Le Centre Pompidou with him and the kids. If you're not familiar with this museum, it's the mecca of modern art. I've always been a bit baffled by modern art, because some of it I'm pretty sure I could have done myself. So off we go Bertrand, The Boss, The Tornado and The Mouth. However, on our way to the museum, we have to drive around the dreaded Arc de Triomphe round-a-bout. I closed my eyes and said a prayer. I was trying to remember the little angel that all my Catholic friends have clipped on their sun visors, maybe the saint of driving or safe travel? No go on that one. So I figured God was listening and gave him a little buzz. Once Bertrand safely navigated us through the 48 lands of traffic, squeezed into a 8 meter radius, I could breathe easy again. I am pretty sure Bertrand could see my panic stricken face and got a good laugh. So we arrive at the museum, everyone accounted for and ready to see this nouveau art. It felt like the episode of Sex and the City where Carrie meets Aleksandr Petrovsky (aka Mikhail Baryshnikov, my all time favorite SATC male) . Charlotte convinces Carrie to come to a new "live art" exhibit where this completely disheveled looking female is sitting on this installation and refuses to eat or speak for the duration of the exhibition. Carrie looks at the sterile while room, with a ladder and ledge for her to sit on. Charlotte ponders the meaning of this "art" and Carrie looks at it in sheer confusion and annoyance. Let's just say on this trip to the museum, I was Carrie. I looked suspiciously at the disco ball spinning on a stick and the stacks of chairs with papier mache zombie looking drones sitting on them, wondering what any of it was. Then there were the light installations that blinked on and off, mounted sporadically on a wall...pure genius, right?!

As time wore on, I was wondering when these little kids would crack. How long can a 7, 5 and 1 year old last in museum that is probably of no interest to them. Well, The Mouth Migrated to Bertrand's shoulders, signaling The Tornado to go in for the kill and plop down in the stroller I was pushing and The Boss walked along side. After the Soulages exhibit, which I rather enjoyed (Google his artwork, it's beautiful) because it is accessible modern art, we made our way down to the weird floor. After walking in room after room, we finally go into this room where there are all sorts of tribal looking masks on poles. Then, to our right is an abstract sculpture, then behind us is the most unexpected of unexpected. There should have been a small sign on the outside of the entrance, no children allowed. To our back and the last thing we see in the room, is a huge projection, scanning the entire wall and it is of (drum roll please...) a woman's crotch hula hooping. It's just art right?! Well when you're with three kids and you employer/landlord/35 year old male...IT'S NOT ART, it's a naked crotch hula hooping!! It took me a second to process it and I see The Boss' eyes widen and jaw drop. The Tornado lets out an "Ahhhh..." almost sounding terrified and Bertrand shoots eye daggers my way saying, "Let's get out of here." At the last second my eyes wandered away from this giant sized naked torso and crotch swaying left and right, keeping the hula hoop aloft and I realize there are people just camped out watching this ridiculous "art". I'm pretty sure Paris Hilton did something like this and it wasn't considered art. Also, I was the hula hooping champion of PE in 3rd grade, you can certainly have clothes on and still hula hoop very well.

We bolt out of the room and Ines can't stop laughing, then I literally can't stop laughing, because I was just thinking of ways to relay it on this blog to really capture the moment. Of course, it took me a month and a half later to write the blog, but now you know. So word to the wise parents, don't take your children to see the modern art...or at least stay away from the Feminism exhibit. Victory for Georges Pompidou, crushing defeat for Kat, et. al.

The Blog About Nothing

I'm back again apologizing for the lack of blogging. When this occurs, it's safe to assume that either nothing is blog worthy or something catastrophic has happened, let's just always hope for the first option. I really do not have any chaotic incidents to report on as of late. However, the irony in the previous statement could be because I'm becoming accustomed to childish antics including dingleberries and disgruntled children. I am too young for that level of comfort with youngsters, so the kids must be learning to respect their elder au pair, right?! I really am searching through the mental rolodex of incidents trying to think of SOMETHING or ANYTHING to write about. I guess I'll just fill you in on life outside the house and social interaction with other au pairs. About two weekends ago, I had dinner with a friend form Lafayette who was in Paris for a few days. This was my first social foray,with someone older than 6, since I left Louisiana and couldn't have come at a better time. I had dinner with Sarah and one of her Parisian friends in the 15th and really enjoyed having conversation (in English) about what was going on in Lafayette, future travels, and analyzing living in Europe. Sarah is studying in Spain so hopefully a trip to Madrid is on the horizon for a quick visit.

Let's now dive into an analyzation of Parisian food on an au pair budget. I, like many other Travel Channel viewers, have a distorted reality of what it it like to eat in foreign countries - many thanks to Anthony Bourdain and Samantha Brown for the jaded concept of cuisine. While Boudain dines on foie gras and Brown on caviar, I am constantly searching for something, nay ANYTHING, without ham, eggs or bread. Not possible! Any menu on my measly budget includes nothing but crepes, galettes, croques (Madame and Monsieur, occaisionally Provencal), quiche and pizza. What's so wrong with all these options you ask? Well, each is made ONLY with some combination of ham, eggs and cheese. You could order pizza, too and you'll get eggs and ham on it. I'll probably never touch a piece of ham when I return to the states - eggs, which I normally love, might become a thing of the past. Man cannot survive on ham, eggs and cheese alone - where are my lamb shanks and pate, Bourdain and Brown!? Still hoping to pitch my new series to the Travel Channel, sort of like a Samantha Brown for backpackers. The show would consist of travelling on a student budget, where to stay, how to stay in hostels without getting robbed, where to eat, metro and transport deals. You're probably thinking it sounds like a good idea and why don't I send my idea to the Travel Channel. Rest assured, I've looked into it and you can't just send them ideas or they'll steal them and you get no royalties or credit. After looking at the Web site, that's the fine print says in so many words. I'd gladly let them take the idea, pay me for it and then I'll cash in on the royalties and eat my lamb or duck.

Enough about food, a typical tanget for anyone in my family, onto French classes. The irony in the French classes situation is that I was so ready to be done with school last May, I couldn't even fathom stepping foot into another classroom. To quote the ever intuitive Michael Scott of NBC's The Office, "Oh, how the turn tables..." - obviously this is the wrong saying, but you get the idea - I could NOT wait to start classes. After one full month of being socially inept, I began to wonder if I could hold a conversation with others outside of this village and with people my age. What do people my age like to do? How do I connect with someone over the age of 6? Then regressing to middle school years, will they even want to be my friend? So onto, the first day of school, I put on my best smocked dress reading "Kathleen" across the chest with little flowers stitched on, placed a HUGE matching bow in my hair and wondered if bringing a lunch was what the cool kids did...oh, the horror of the first day. I must admit that my first thought, thanks to four years of classes at LSU was, "Do I really have to go to school today? I can probably get away with skipping on the first day." Don't worry Dad, I went to class, but I was an hour late because I was waiting in the queue to pay for classes and didn't hear my name called to go upstairs to the classrooms. Poor Little Kat was picked last for the kickball team. I really was apathetic, this wasn't LSU, so if I was an hour late I probably missed the horrid, "Je m'appelle Kathleen. Je suis Americaine..." Once, I settled the score with the receptionist who handles the class payments, she rushed me up to the 3rd floor where I walked in to the classroom and explained why I was late. I then had to do the introduction anyway and was quickly paired up for a conversational exercise with an Asain woman named Sun. Dommage, this Sun was not the same Sun as on ABC's LOST. I was so ready to ask her what the hell was going on on that island and if she thought Jin was dead or alive and then reveal that, "No, Sun. Jin is alive, he was floating in the ocean, but they've found them. You don't have to kill anyone, now!" Then there would be a glorious celebration in the classroom full of pastries, celebrating Jin defying the odds of a boat blowing up. (If you do not watch LOST you will not understand the last 4 sentences. This was for you Dad, Andrew, Will and Matt).

Other than my delusions of figuring out the mysteries of LOST, it was a pretty standard first day in the class room. The next day there was a breakfast for all of the students and the au pairs went crazy getting telephone numbers and e-mails, in an attempt to form alliances for social interaction. The conversations started to freak me out when you get asked 10 or more times, "How old are YOUR kids? Where do you live? Are YOUR kids girls or boys?" HOLD UP, first of all, they are not MY kids, don't get too ahead of yourself. It's almost as if we've been sucked up into au pair world and far removed from American pop culture - so now we talk about "our" kids, instead of Lindsay Lohan's latest antics or the previous Thursday at Bogie's. I've made some friends and we've been able to do a few things on the weekends, which is a much welcomed change. Even the family is happy for me that I have social things to do, I think they were starting to feel bad for my Friday nights of 9:30 bed times. After all, sometimes I feel like I am 22 going on 37.

Last weekend was the Courir Pour La Curie, which is like Relay for Life in Lafayette. It is a race to combat pediatric cancer. Bertrand's mother, who reminds me so much of my grandmother Kay Kay (it's her French twin, I am convinced), came in and we had a great morning. I ended up running/walking a 10k for Team America. That's right, even in a French village there is still a super competitive Team America. Some of the expats in the area decided that they were going to try and beat the French scoundrels at their own game and run until we were all collapsing and heaving to get that plastic trophy. I went to go sign up as a part of my family's team, but was quickly rushed/pushed to the American table, where I was told to run my heart out. After I ran the 10k, Bertrand told me that, "that is so American, all of you running 4-6 times around to try and win." We all got a good laugh about that and I told him I completely forgot my American flag to tie around my neck and let it wave behind me as I ran, but not to worry, I'd remember next time. I also kept wanting to shout a few lines from Team America: World Police, but that would have been inappropriate.

All-in-all, so far, so good. It's been about a month and a half, but I'm still hanging in there and adapting to French life. I have a lot of pictures to put up, but currently Blogger isn't letting me post them. I'll try later, as I am quite tired from periodic wake-ups last night to check the LSU v. Florida score, via Twitter. Sounded terrible and stressed me out 5,000 miles away. I slept until about 11 today after multiple wake-ups and calls to BR via Skype at about 5am my time. I just had to know what what going on and the prognosis on the game. When I emerged into the kitchen, in my zombie-like state, I tried to explain this Saturday night phenomenon to Michele and Bertrand, they probably think I am crazy. However, my goal is to translate "Hey Fightin' Tigers" into French and make the kids sing it! I'll keep you posted on that endeavor. I'll be posting again soon. Sorry for the delay. Bisous.

L'Amour d'enfants

Finally, I am back in touch with the world and connected to all of you, once more. It feels great to be able to contact people again and catch you up on what's been going on in France. Besides the usual antics of kids and carpool, I have become the interim Karima. On Mondays and Fridays, I have assumed the position of "nurse" for Marine, in that, I take care of her all day, do the laundry and iron all of the clothes. Have I mentioned that there is no dryer here, so all the clothes air dry outside, so EVERYTHING down to underwear gets ironed. Bertrand also washes his dress shirts, so I am now somewhat of a one hour martinzing (though it takes me about 2 hours to do his 4 shirts). My dad no longer takes his dress shirts to the cleaners so every night in our household there is a battle between man and ironing board, I now know that pain. Delicately I try to keep the shirt crisp and clean, but as soon as I make a move to iron out the sleeve leave it tumbles to the floor in a wrinkled mess. Father, please send me a step-by-step "Ironing work shirts for dummies" guide, as you now have it down to a science. I never thought I would be ironing t-shirts, which defeats the entire purpose of cette article of clothing, but what can I do. I actually don't mind the ironing (don't get any ideas, Mom) because it gives me something to do and I get paid 50 Euros for a days work. Not too shabby and with just Marine there, I get it done fairly quickly.

I'd say the latest in child care is The Tornado's lack of bladder assertion. In the past few weeks, we've had a few accidents after school, where making it to the bathroom is not a top priority when nature calls. Right after the maid came the other week, The Tornado just couldn't quite get his shoes off in time (a ritual upon entering la maison) and tried to make it to the bathroom, but failed. I was unaware as I was tending to the other two and hear sobs from, of course, my toilet. I opened the door and in a puddle of rather curious smelling water in the corner, was the culprit. I got out the mop, threw the clothes in the washing machine and attempted to remedy the situation. Then later there was an incident with "Number Two" - let's just say that will most likely be the defining moment of my life as an au pair and shall be coined "Dingleberry-gate". If your curiosity gets the best of you, you may e-mail me your request for the story and I will oblige, but out of respect for both parties involved (myself and Eliott) I will not publish.

While The Mouth, The Boss and I have appetites like horses, The Tornado has not been hungry as of late. After church with the family on Sunday (I previously posted a picture of the 18th century church) we all headed back to the house for lunch. Michele cooked some steak something or other, which was great because (after a diet of literally assorted ways of preparing ham and eggs) my iron count was dangerously low. While most of use at and drank our way into comas, The Tornado was just not hungry. "Why are you not hungry [Tornado]," I asked. "Becas I yam een love...," insert an exasperated sigh only a French 4 year old could muster and just imagine the scene. Come to find out he is in love with his friend we carpool with, we'll call her The Flower, because she is just adorable. "I juice-t lahve [The Flower] and I vant to go play wi-is 'er right-a-now." It was too funny, so today I brought both of The Flower and The Tornado to school and chaperoned while they laughed and played in the backseat. The Tornado was also dressed very dapper today, I might add. We went for the collared shirt and pullover sweater look, which should tell The Flower, "I'm casual, yet refined." After all, four-year-old kids MUST think on this level, right?

Lately, I have befriended many mothers in the village and seem to be the go-to for all things English. Michele divulged to me this morning that she's received three calls from mothers wondering if I can help their children with English. "I sink (think) sey (they) not-ice yew and know you arrre verrry niy-ce," said Michele, which is a great compliment to receive and I am honored to be the village tutor (or dunce, we'll see). I'll be able to use Eliott's books from English school as a bit of a lesson plan, but I think with a lot of these kids I will be starting from scratch. However, this also means I'll be making a bit more money, so bring it on. Either Thursday or Friday I have to go to La Clef to take my French test, as my classes start at the beginning of October. The test should be laughable, as my grammar in French has always been subpar. Those classes will hopefully be only two days-a-week inSGeL. Despite the internet problems and bit of bathroom humor, it's been pretty low key and nice around here, so I'll be posting more later to catch everyone up. Bisous.

Internet Fail

My sincerest apologies dear readers:
Currently I am a victim of the failure of French technology as the internet at the house does not work. The internet is hooked up to the house phone, which are now obsolete as well, but no one seems to be worried though both have been out for the last THREE DAYS. No one in America would stand for this injustice and I am going insane. Life without internet is inhumane. For the last three days I have walked 20 minutes to the McDonald's in SGeL to use the free wi-fi. Though, once back up and running, I'll be posting new stories for this melodramatic satire, better known as my life in France. However, I just picked up "A Year in the Merde" as suggested by my Aunt Mary, so I'll have that to compensate for a lack of The Drudge Report and Style.com...

Until I'm back in the good graces of the French internet. Au Revior for now.

Words Can't Explain

I must apologize for the delay in the posting of the next installment, as you will understand more once you read. I left you off last weekend, where I went to SGeL on Saturday (a week from yesterday) to have a celebratory gameday glass of wine, lunch and caught up on a bit of reading in an obscure cafe I stumbled on. Saturday was certainly hard because I was hoping to catch some of the game online, but LSU, who has sucked enough out of myself and my parents monetarily, is charging $8.99 for a months subscription to watch via computer. I also heard that the pregame show on Eagle was 7 hours long, I know Jim Hawthorne is long-winded, but can anyone handle listening to that for hours upon hours? Sunday, while most were sleeping I made two trips to Paris to fix a computer problem, that of course, ended up fixing itself, still causing mass anxiety on my part and two calls to dad, one at 6a.m. and the other at 8a.m. - after a late game against Washington, I proceeded to still wake them up on the second call. About 99 Euros and a trip back to my house from the Champs-Elysee, later I was grateful to find I could return the stupid piece of equipment I bought, because, no, I did not blow the fuse on my computers A/C Adapter.



So after that, Monday was pretty calm but Tuesday and Wednesday are where it gets a bit hairy. On Tuesday, The Boss goes to French school, while The Tornado goes to English school, Michele, who was off of work would bring Ines in the morning, giving me a little time off and then I'd get The Tornado dressed for his class at 9a.m. Little did I know, that bringing The Tornado to school would entail DRIVING Bertrand, Michele, Eliott and Marine! I was in the driver's seat of their car with the entire family, sans Ines - what a liability for a naive 22 year old from Louisiana. I had to do it and prayed that poor Ines would still have a family when she got home from French school. So what if I am driving at 90 km/h with an entire family, when we are already 5 minutes behind schedule, I can handle it, right?! I also had the task of mastering the European round-a-bout, thing Homer Simpson driving in Paris around l'Arc de Triomphe. Well, I made it and we got The Tornado to class with only moments to spare. As we walked into English school, I was overcome by the British and American accents and actually being able to comprehend what was being said, quite a nice feeling. The teachers were very nice and I'll be talking with them a lot over the next year about how to work on English with the kids at home.

Tuesday ended well and I spent the rest of the day gearing up for Wednesday, which is a crazy schedule. Here's my day as graciously planned by Michele:
7h45 - Get just The Boss dressed and up for breakfast
8h - Karima arrives to take care of The Mouth and sleeping Tornado
8h45 - Drive The Boss to English school for class at 9h and return to house
9h30 - Prepare The Tornado for English school
11h - Drive to English school for class at 11h15 (stay near school)
12h - Get The Boss from school and return to house, make lunch
13h15 - Pick up The Tornado at English school
13h30 - Fix lunch for The Tornado - play in rooms
17h - Work with each kid on English for 30 minutes
18h - Bath time and begin preparing dinner
17h30 - Michele returns

...Not too bad, right?! WRONG! Poor Karmina, who is pregnant went to the hospital Tuesday night and didn't make it to work Wednesday morning, so Bertrand and I were waiting on her, when 8:45 passed and we immediately had to load all the kids in the car to bring The Boss. So, I dressed The Tornado and Mouth, jumped into the driver's seat (again) with the whole family, this time I had to make it for Michele's sake and get everyone there safely. Since it was the first day for The Boss, we had to go in the class and listen to a brief orientation with the entire crew in tow. After orientation, I had to bring Bertrand to the RER so he could get to work at this time it was about 9:45. After successfully navigating my way to the RER in SGeL (which is about 20 minutes away from English school), I had to figure out the city center and it's one way streets to get back to the house and get The Tornado ready. By this time, The Mouth was comatose in her car seat from all the back and forth of the morning. Okay...so the car has navigation, easy, I'll just put in the address and follow the directions to the house. I choose my destination and follow orders from the French GPS, when suddenly I miss a turn to get to Mareil-Marly and end up on the FRENCH INTERSTATE...sheer panic. I have two kids in the backseat and am trying to turn around, I am on the interstate and finally after reaching 110km/h find a way to turn back the other way. However, turning around means pulling into some obscure drive way with a huge sign saying 'No Entrance'. In an act of defiance and desperation, I pull the vehicle in and The Tornado starts asking questions about what the heck I am doing and if I know where I am going - not now kid, please. I end up BACKING OUT onto the interstate on ramp from the driveway, my life flashing before my eyes. A few quick maneuvers later, I am back on the interstate heading the right way (I think) and changing over 4 lanes of traffic to get off on the right exit. However,questioning from The Tornado subsides and I make it after the GPS redirects itself and I am finally home - I missed one more turn along the way, but compared to my last mistake, that was and easy error to correct.

As we pull in, The Mouth starts screaming. Go figure, she is hungry. So by this time and because of my driving blunders it is about 10:30. I now have 30 minutes to get Eliott ready, Marine fed and collect my thoughts and ready myself. All things are a go until I go to put Marine back in her carseat and I can't get it to buckle. The minutes are ticking by and Michele showed me how to do it, it is much more complicated than any other car seat I have ever seen and I am just freaking out regardless. After about 5 minutes of wasted effort, I switch to her other carseat in the house and tell The Tornado to get his bookbag. I replace the carseat and yell at Eliott to come downstairs. It is now 11:00, when I am supposed to be leaving and the book bag is nowhere to be found. Frantically, searching and pleading in French and English I try to jog The Tornado's memory on the bags whereabouts, another wasted effort. Finally, I see the bag on the homework table, where it should have been in the first place. I throw all of his stuff in the bag and depart (again) for the school. We arrive right when class starts at 11h15 and I drop him off, huffing and puffing away from running with the 11 month old in my arms to the classroom. One of the mothers looked at me and said "Oh my gosh, you have all of the kids today? You must be running around like crazy." Thanks, lady.

So Marine and I wait around the village of St. Nom-la-Breche for The Boss to get out of class at 12:00. I parked near a bakery, fought with the collapsed stroller for about 7 minutes and we were finally off. I picked up a baguette and decompressed for a bit outside of The Boss's building, which is right down the street from Eliott's. Michele gave me money to buy myself and The Boss something to eat in the town, so we didn't have to go back to the house and turn around again, but The Boss wasn't having that and we went home. I warmed up some of the quiche from the day before, fed The Mouth again and loaded them BOTH back up into the car to pick up The Tornado. The car, is a Toyota Corolla, European style, in that it has a lot of room in the back, similar to a hatch-back. Thank goodness it is automatic, but still drives and changes gears like a standard. Bertrand also told me you have to use the parking break every time you park and put it in neutral. I made a mental note to do both. As we approach the school, we are a bit early, because I read my schedule wrong. We have about 15 minutes to kill, but I park and get out of the car to unload the troops. Next thing I know, the car is ROLLING FORWARD with BOTH kids inside. "Expletive! The parking break." Ines is freaking out while Marine just yells. After about lurching a foot forward, the Corolla knocks the wooden gate barrier and comes to a rolling stop. No damage done, but I can't believe that just happened and played it off like it was no big deal - the car wouldn't have made it far. Ines was shaken up on the play, but recovered when I told her she could go play on the playground until it was time to get Eliott. All I could think was my life was mirroring a National Lampoon's movie...am I Chevy Chase, it sure seems like it.

We finally pick Eliott up and make it home, where he eats raspberries for lunch - easy. We then have the rest of the afternoon, where I put The Mouth down for a nap and make the kids play in their room (which WAS part of the schedule). I decided to sit in my room and reflect on the day, avoiding writing this blog post, because it was just too much to relive so soon. It's taken me a few days to recoop after Wednesday, but I was quite proud of myself, because somehow I managed to get everyone everywhere ontime, no injuries (save The Boss' traumatic experience with the parking break) and fed. I had "mastered" driving on the French interstate and even had dinner on the table that night...what a day. Don't worry plenty has happened to report on since Wednesday, but again, it's just a little too fresh to rehash right now. All-in-all, I think I called my mom Wednesday afternoon apologizing for ever being a pain or complaining about the minor details as a child...toting kids around, now that's just hard work. However, I couldn't ask for a better family and kids to work for, because they are very patient with me and all of my blunders and broken French. The kids are great and I'll be sure to include pictures of them soon. The other night would have been the perfect opportunity, as The Tornado was dressed as Tigger and The Boss, a fairy, so we'll have to do that again and I'll snap a few photos of these demi-celebrities.

Mere pour la jour

As many of you are coming out of your college football comas, I finished up a new entry. As there is no proper football here, I will have plenty of time to write on Saturdays as I constantly check LSUsports.net for updates on the game. Yesterday was excruciating as every status on Facebook was a constant reminder that I will not be a part of college football this fall, ZUT ALORS!

Well, I made it, four Croque Monsiuers, one cucumber salade, two baguettes and lots of sauteed potatoes later. Friday was the first day I was in charge of the kids before and after school, until Michele got home at 7:30 and I am pretty sure my head was going to implode. I forget how noisy kids are, not that I would expect anything different, it's just usually the American way to turn on the television and expect a simmering of activity. Alas, there is no television to distract the children and they continue to torment the furniture and each other with every passing minute.

I set my alarm Thursday night for 6:45, as I was instructed to get the kids up for 7:15, breakfast by 7:30 and then out the door by 8:15. However, early in the morning, I shot out of bed because I heard noises downstairs (everyone else sleeps upstairs) freaking out because I was late for my first official day of duty. Tangent Alert: It's also impossible to tell what time in the morning it is because all the natural light runs into my room through a glass door and at night on the outside of all the windows downstairs a metal "shield" comes down that I am sure not even the smallest ray of light can pass through. It's my mom's worst nightmare incarnate, me with blackout curtains times a million. Trust me, it can be noon outside, but if I lower the "sheild" I can't see my hand infront of my face. Back to the orginial story, so I jump out of bed, throw acceptable clothing on, just so I don't look like a total slob and grab my French cell phone to see how late I am...RATS! it's only 5 a.m. The noise I heard was Betrand leaving to catch his flight to Germany for work. Crisis averterd, but I felt so terrible I could not fall asleep, but found a few people on Gmail Chat (which I have taken up permanent residence on) to talk to before I went to sleep.

By the time the kids got up, it was 7:00 and because they woke up so early, Michele already had them dressed, I fixed them breakfast and they were able to play for a little while. At 8:15 with both The Boss and The Tornado ready to go, we marched up the hill to the school where I relinquished them into the hands of the teachers. After that I had the day off and immediately returned to my room/temporary cave, closed the "sheild" and it was night time again. I am sure my mom is just in disbelief that I FINALLY have some sort of blackout curtain in my own room. For those of you who have been to slumber parties at my (old) house, it was such a pain because the only thing blocking me from the morning sun, in my east facing room, was a barely there roman shade. Strategically, I am sure my mom made those custom curtain stationary so as to avoid having a zombie for a daughter, as I have been known to sleep anywhere at anytime. You name it I've probably fallen sleep there, the Chicago El-Train, Broadway musicals and a few of those American History classes junior year (consequently I received a comment on my report card, "Student sleeps in class" - mom was none too pleased).

The rest of the day was uneventful, as I just picked up a few of the things I needed in the city center and headed back to the house to get ready for the pick-up from school at 4:30. It takes about 7 minutes to walk up to the school and felt compelled to leave at 4:00, making me the first parent in line. I blame this on America, the notion of "park your suburban outside the school thirty minutes early to be first in line" doesn't really apply here. There were a few benches to sit on outside the play ground and some of the older kids were playing four square - I being the only "adult" waiting, while reading a book on the bench, felt like a creep. I could only endure about 5 minutes of creepiness and decided to walk around the town a bit, then return. Once the bell rang, I picked up Eliott, who reminded me that I forgot his snack that he usually eats while walking home...I'll NEVER forget that again.

We got back to the house and Carima, The Mouth's full time caretaker, immediately had the kids in the bathtub and scrubbed down, before I could blink. I will be pleading with her not to take maternity leave after October, who needs 5 months off for a newborn when I am sitting here like a lost puppy? It's a tragedy. For dinner I sauteed some potatoes (after googling, "how to sautee") - just because I am the daughter of Erin Meyers, DOES NOT mean I can cook like Erin Meyers - made a salad, cut up some bread amongst other things. As I was cooking, The Mouth was crying, kids were screaming, things were burning and I was attempting to multi-task and make the best of it. After about a few minutes of the screaming, crying and burning, I looked to my left and there it was, a bottle of red wine. I took a deep breath, told the kids to play upstairs, poured a small glass and the night was managable...until the dinner table, that is. The Boss and Tornado were quiety eating and I was cleaning up my own mess on the counter and I hear giggling, which is not uncommon, so it is ignored. Then more giggling, causing me to turn around and when I do The Boss and Tornado have taken off their clothes!!!!!!!!! What in the world is going on? All of a sudden I have a naked mutiny on my hands and I don't want to run after them and catch them because, well, they are naked. To use one of my dad's favorite lines from acclaimed film "Orange County" Jack Black's character offers to, "get naked and start the revolution." Let me tell you something, I have now lived this naked revolution and it ain't so great! After a bit of threatening in English, which doesn't seem to work, I make threats in French, "Vous mettez son vetements! Pas de film ce soir." I've learned that if I threaten taking away the film, I will always win the battle. So, reluctantly (on their part) clothes were put back on, order was restored and I regained control of the troops. After I put on the film, it was time to feed The Mouth.

Once you wave any sort of food in front of The Mouth, she is in a impenetrable trace, that can only be broken when the spoon that feeds her is no longer in her line of vision. So I feed her a delicious array of pureed carrots and other assorted vegetables from a jar and bring her upstairs for bed. However, there is something foul permeating the air and I know I can't smell the Vermillion Rive in France...first, a naked uprising and now a diaper sent from Hades. I gird my loins for my first diaper change with The Mouth and it is far worse than I even imagined. Instantly, my gag reflex sets in and I thought I was going to lose it, she starts to wail. After a quick gasp for fresh air, I go in and try to remedy the situation, which was similar to holding your breath in the Mobile Tunnel, but you start to worry when you see spots. Marine is upset with the amount of time I am taking to do such a seemingly simple task and lets me know by waving her hands in the air. As one of my hands is holding her legs and the other is performing clean-up, somehow her hand comes down with a crash....into the diaper. Once again, gag reflex, but now I have a 10 months old with poop on her hand, at this point I needed another hand. I let go of the wipe to grab the her arm. Suddenly, the door downstairs closes and Michele is home and I have one of her kids with poop on them. I have never worked so fast in my life, and just as she walked up the stairs, the baby was poop-free with the beginnings of a clean diaper. Michele entered the room, smelled/saw the dirty diaper and instantly threw it out the second story window, where it landed with a 'THUD" on the ground below. "Ca c'est mal!" Yes, Michele that was bad, you have no idea!

The Parisian 'Burbs and Social Event of the Season

First of all thanks to everyone who has started to follow this blog! Hopefully, I'll be able to keep up the low brow entertainment level for your pleasure. It's a bit tough being here, in that, all the conversations I have are either in broken French (on my part) or broken English (on their part). So all my thoughts throughout the day are splattered onto this blog, in an attempt to compensate for lack of conversation. I am not complaining, it is what it is and we'll both get better at the speaking the other's language.

Secondly, in response to many requests from friends attempting to capitalize on my humility...NO I WILL NOT TAKE A PICTURE OF MYSELF IN THE ONE PIECE BATHING SUIT. Really?! I let you in on my most humiliating of moments and you are asking me to take it one step further with photographic evidence. Well, I respectfully decline such delusional requests. However, the malliot-de-bain is safely tucked away in my room. I will take it back out when the time is right. That will be the day I leave France for good. I will go down to the city center of SGeL, light the disposable one piece on fire (I am sure it's quite flammable anyway) and belt out a few verses of from Les Miserables "Who Am I?" replacing Jean Valjean with 'Kathleen Meyers'!!! Followed by an encore presentation of Uncle Ted Nugent's 'Stranglehold' where I'll tie a bandana around my head and raise the American flag. Quite unsure where this burst of nationalism came from, but it's quite entertaining to think about.

Back to reality...yesterday, Sept. 2, was pretty easy. Michele was still off of work and it was the kids last day until school started, so they literally played all day and I was able to catch up on a few things. I went on a jog up to the forest and took pictures around the town, which I have posted (the picture above is of my house, from the street). The village is perfectly quaint, as you can see. Other than that, it was pretty calm, with a minor meltdown by The Mouth later that night. I also had a meltdown yesterday, as the constant frustration of Skype phone calls had me fed up and I shed a few tears. You have to understand, the only escape from the world of four year olds and French, is this computer and its connection to the internet, so when a call was dropped for the 5th time yesterday and I couldn't get a Wi-Fi connection, I pulled a Marine minus a few 1,ooo tears and my wailing was a bit softer.

However, today was the French social event of the season, as kids returned to school in the morning. Parents and kids were everywhere and the village was alive with rolling backpacks (they are a hit here), kids sobbing, parents yelling and, of course, the French bisous. I think the parents were more excited than the kids, as they were all chatting up a storm. This is not your run of the mill Woodvale Elementary drop of, this is a social gathering. Moms here don't have to-go coffee cups and wear their workout outfits and the typical baseball cap, oh no! The moms were all dressed, some in heels and just the nicest outfits they could muster, with a fresh face of make-up. I missed that memo, as I looked like death warmed over, sans make-up, with puffy eyes and frizzy hair. Tangent Alert: For some reason, though there is NO humidity to speak of here, my hair still finds a way to make me look like a disheveled mad scientist. I don't understand how it constantly goes from zero to frizz in a matter of seconds. Atleast the McKay one eyebrow is fixable with a bit of wax, but the Meyers "white man's afro" gene runs rampant in my genetic coding and has become the bane of my existence.

When we got to the school, the kids were all running around and they posted the list of who had what teacher. Boy, were there tears. One girl was not in the same class as her friends and was comforted quietly by some of the other girls, "Domage Celia, ca c'est mauvais pour toi." I was instantly rushed back to Elementary school where the frantic wait for who-had-what-teacher was the cherry on top of the summer. If you were in the wrong class, it was like the apocalypse was nearing. When we got to The Tornado's building, he went peacefully and with little protest. It was as if someone tranquilized him, because he stood still and barely uttered a word - which was impressive considering some of the other kids were sobbing and pleading (or what I assume was pleading) with their parents not to leave.

However, I have always wondered about French women. Are they all skinny? Do they all smoke? Do they all carry quilted Chanel bags? The answer, in Mariel-Marly, is NO! Most of the moms were just your average female, which was quite refreshing. Then SHE walked up and shattered the mold. A mother so fabulous, we will call her "The Unicorn" because there is no way she is real. The Unicorn glides up on her patent crocodile flats as if she were Carla Bruni-Sarkozy arriving at a state dinner. Effortlessly, she surveys the situation while keeping her kids at bay. She is atleast 5'11'' with legs no rounder than my left (non-dominate) wrist, jeans that wouldn't have fit over my right ankle, a gauzy white t-shirt and black leather motorcycle jacket. Her hair was like Carine Roitfeld's, editor of Paris Vogue...with the perfect mix of dishevled perfection every female strives for (I'd like to see her handle the Meyers White Man's Afro for one day, then come talk to me...doubt she could hang.) She did look like the first lady of Paris, only missing Carla's signature Dior Haute-Couture, which suprisingly French people don't wear everyday...domage.

Then, something like nails on a chalkboard reaches my ears, something so familiar, yet foreign at the same time..."MAAAAAAARRRR-CUUUSSSSSSS, COME HEEERE, RIIIIIGHT NOW!" Could it be? Was my mom in France yelling at one of my brothers, do I have a brother named Marcus, I can't remember? There is no way, women in France yell like that, or have the lung capacity to do so...AND IN ENGLISH? Oh yes, there was an American woman dropping off one of her children and then, instantly I was back at Woodvale or L.J. Alleman with flashbacks of my mom contantly shooting eye daggers at us, while we continue to misbehave - but if we were being unruly it was undoubtedly, my brother, Andrew's fault. There are stories from our old neighbors on Greenbriar Road, about the breaking of the sound barrier coming from the Meyers house - involving the four kids screaming and the parents vocally repremanding us - again, safe to say it was ALWAYS the boys fault, pas moi! Hearing that sudden burst of English was quite fun and gave me a good laugh for the day. So I guess, no matter how far you go, there's always a little something to remind me of home - even if it is loud yelling in a school courtyard.