Life in France continues for the forsaken Au Pair, though I wish I could get it over with already.
The hot weather has added to my grievances, given that air conditioning is somewhat of a luxury around here. It’s either that, or people like being uncomfortable warm and moist during the daylight hours.
Yesterday, Geraldine kindly set an agenda for a completely empty day. We headed off to Quick (a fast food place like McDonalds) for lunch. I really enjoy taking the kids there, a cause du the “gi-normous,” as Buddy the Elf might put it, play center. After playing for 2 hours, We headed off to Val D’Europe, another “gi-normous” play center, but of a different kind.
We passed my favorite play dates, which I loving call H&M, United Colors of Benneton, and Zara, and descended to Sea Life, a medium sized aquarium park underneath the mall. We saw numerous fishes, stingrays, and more. I sympathized with the sharks; with the kids running like maniacs and screaming at the top of their lungs, I could easier have bitten off an appendage or two.
Today, when she entered the house after work, Geraldine stormed in and began immediately yelling at her children for chipping the door. She screamed, threatened, and demanded to know who was at fault. When she finally left the room, only after taking away a day at the garderie, and threatening to break one of Arthur's toys so he could see how it felt, the kids began to talk calmly. They knew who had done it, but none had said a word to protect the other. ‘How sad that your own children have already secretly banded against you,’ my imaginary self wrote in an imaginary letter dropped discretely on the imaginary Geraldines’ door step in the cover of darkness. You can never be too careful.
On another note, I would like to play a little game. What is the first word that comes to mind when I say the word PRUNE? Stick that work to the side, and tell the first word that comes to mind when I say BEET.
If you said OLD PEOPLE and YUCK, then you win. What is the prize? Knowing that there is much more to these two things that you thought! I tried prunes for the first time today, as Geraldine had purchased a huge tub of the plum-like fruit. Delicious! I have no idea why I thought only old people ate prunes. Beets are great too! Strange looking, but who can hate a deep pink veggie with a sugary taste? If anything, my stay here has shattered my prejudice against many a thing of sustenance.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
The Mad Scientist and the Case of the Butt-Pills
One thing that is very different here in France is the medicine. In the US, we have lots of pills; The majority of all medicine is in pill or syrup form. This is very convenient and easy to use, from my perspective.
A couple days ago, Arthur began to complain of a sore throat. He called his mom, and laid out the medicine she instructed him to take. There was a syrup, a spray, and a large, white pill in plastic packaging. To me, this seemed a little overboard. The kid just has a sore throat, one that mysteriously appears when his brother or sister says they don’t feel will. I would have told him to drink some warm milk, and checked back later. But 3 different medicines?
Whatever, I thought. It’s not my decision. She can pump him with whichever meds she chooses. Following orders, I measured the correct dose of the syrup, and helped him squirt and ample amount of the spray (issued from a rather awkward- looking bottle), and then he pulled down his pants and held up the pill.
Completely caught off guard, I began to laugh. Q’est-ce que c’est ca? I asked the semi-nude toddler. The smile was wiped off my face when he asked me to stick it up his butt.
Turning to Philippine with an incredulous look on my face, I asked her about this. She responded matter-of-factly that there were lots of butt pills, for lack of the medical term, and her mom uses them frequently on the children.
Thoroughly grossed out, I refused to stick it up yonder when the 5-year old bent over in front of my face. Antoine courageously took up the job. If Arthur was seriously ill with a bad flu, or had some chronic illness, then, yes, I would step up to the plate. But there was no way that I was putting my hand up there for a measly sore throat that had already been treated with a likely very effective syrup and a spray. Seriously.
After that entertaining episode, things returned to violent, screaming normal. To retain some amount of sanity, I turned on the T.V., and like the calm after a great storm, silence descended onto the house. With about an hour and a half of free time before the parents got home, I decided to put a certain theory to test.
When Geraldine gets home everyday, she always complains about how dirty things are, how things are improperly arranged, or that the kids didn’t clean something. This criticism comes despite how hard I try to keep up with the kids, both in cleaning and preventing them from killing each other. Having only received the very rare thank you, I decided to see what would happen it I upped the ante, so to speak.
Using the ‘everyday clean’ kitchen (response: criticism) as my control, I formed the basis for my experiment. I hypothesized that if an ‘everyday clean’ kitchen attracted criticism, then an ‘immaculate’ one should cancel the negativity, perhaps crossing absolute zero and generating some positive feed back. With a hypothesis and two long month’s worth of background research, I set out to find answers.
My materials used were few: the french equivelent of Windex, 409, paper towels, and a sponge. I also used my digital running watch to record time.
My procedure was simple: dirt-demolition. I commenced at 17:55:43. I cleaned the floors. I put all the little things the parents left out away; I cleaned their dishes from the night before. I cleaned all the shoes. I ran and unloaded the dishwasher. I arranged the silver wear and the fruit. I took out the trash and recycle-ables. I scrubbed the sink and the stovetops. I washed the windows. I cooked dinner for the kids and then I washed all those pots as well. It was the kitchen of Mr. Clean himself. When the time came, I was ready for the most essential part of the trial.
19:30:08 Right on schedule, the subject arrived home.
19:31:01 Subject entered the house. The kids were seated at spotless table, eating their meal, while I attentively monitored her every facial movement and vocal emission.
19:31: 35 Subject saw the arranged shoes, toys, and fruit as well as the ‘immaculate’ kitchen with alert, sweeping, slightly squinted eyes. Subject tossed her briefcase on the kitchen chair with a half smile to me and the children and a formal bon soir. She then proceeded to the computer and began searching Internet.
19:33:17 I noted no movement or vocal activity from subject. She was completely absorbed in emails and stocks.
19:45:56 Children had finished dinner. Subject withdrew from computer activity to question Antoine about the tutoring today. I was dismissed nonchalantly from the room.
Conclusion: I found this to be a very interesting outcome. It seems that I received an absolute zero, but if you count the general half smile directed at me and 3 children, I would say that the reaction crossed, however slightly, into positive territory. If I also factor in the amusement generated and secretive smirk residing my face, then I would say that I came away with a little something more. After all, it is quite fun to perform secret experiments on people. Especially when they react exactly as predicted.
A couple days ago, Arthur began to complain of a sore throat. He called his mom, and laid out the medicine she instructed him to take. There was a syrup, a spray, and a large, white pill in plastic packaging. To me, this seemed a little overboard. The kid just has a sore throat, one that mysteriously appears when his brother or sister says they don’t feel will. I would have told him to drink some warm milk, and checked back later. But 3 different medicines?
Whatever, I thought. It’s not my decision. She can pump him with whichever meds she chooses. Following orders, I measured the correct dose of the syrup, and helped him squirt and ample amount of the spray (issued from a rather awkward- looking bottle), and then he pulled down his pants and held up the pill.
Completely caught off guard, I began to laugh. Q’est-ce que c’est ca? I asked the semi-nude toddler. The smile was wiped off my face when he asked me to stick it up his butt.
Turning to Philippine with an incredulous look on my face, I asked her about this. She responded matter-of-factly that there were lots of butt pills, for lack of the medical term, and her mom uses them frequently on the children.
Thoroughly grossed out, I refused to stick it up yonder when the 5-year old bent over in front of my face. Antoine courageously took up the job. If Arthur was seriously ill with a bad flu, or had some chronic illness, then, yes, I would step up to the plate. But there was no way that I was putting my hand up there for a measly sore throat that had already been treated with a likely very effective syrup and a spray. Seriously.
After that entertaining episode, things returned to violent, screaming normal. To retain some amount of sanity, I turned on the T.V., and like the calm after a great storm, silence descended onto the house. With about an hour and a half of free time before the parents got home, I decided to put a certain theory to test.
When Geraldine gets home everyday, she always complains about how dirty things are, how things are improperly arranged, or that the kids didn’t clean something. This criticism comes despite how hard I try to keep up with the kids, both in cleaning and preventing them from killing each other. Having only received the very rare thank you, I decided to see what would happen it I upped the ante, so to speak.
Using the ‘everyday clean’ kitchen (response: criticism) as my control, I formed the basis for my experiment. I hypothesized that if an ‘everyday clean’ kitchen attracted criticism, then an ‘immaculate’ one should cancel the negativity, perhaps crossing absolute zero and generating some positive feed back. With a hypothesis and two long month’s worth of background research, I set out to find answers.
My materials used were few: the french equivelent of Windex, 409, paper towels, and a sponge. I also used my digital running watch to record time.
My procedure was simple: dirt-demolition. I commenced at 17:55:43. I cleaned the floors. I put all the little things the parents left out away; I cleaned their dishes from the night before. I cleaned all the shoes. I ran and unloaded the dishwasher. I arranged the silver wear and the fruit. I took out the trash and recycle-ables. I scrubbed the sink and the stovetops. I washed the windows. I cooked dinner for the kids and then I washed all those pots as well. It was the kitchen of Mr. Clean himself. When the time came, I was ready for the most essential part of the trial.
19:30:08 Right on schedule, the subject arrived home.
19:31:01 Subject entered the house. The kids were seated at spotless table, eating their meal, while I attentively monitored her every facial movement and vocal emission.
19:31: 35 Subject saw the arranged shoes, toys, and fruit as well as the ‘immaculate’ kitchen with alert, sweeping, slightly squinted eyes. Subject tossed her briefcase on the kitchen chair with a half smile to me and the children and a formal bon soir. She then proceeded to the computer and began searching Internet.
19:33:17 I noted no movement or vocal activity from subject. She was completely absorbed in emails and stocks.
19:45:56 Children had finished dinner. Subject withdrew from computer activity to question Antoine about the tutoring today. I was dismissed nonchalantly from the room.
Conclusion: I found this to be a very interesting outcome. It seems that I received an absolute zero, but if you count the general half smile directed at me and 3 children, I would say that the reaction crossed, however slightly, into positive territory. If I also factor in the amusement generated and secretive smirk residing my face, then I would say that I came away with a little something more. After all, it is quite fun to perform secret experiments on people. Especially when they react exactly as predicted.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Jackpot and Rock Bottom
Today the kids had a field trip of sorts with their day care. They went to another parc d’attracion nearby. This means two things to a jeunne fille au pair. One, you have the whole day off; Two, it is guaranteed that the kids will be too exhausted to do anything when they get home. In conclusion, today I hit the jackpot.
I dropped them off at 8am, and then headed out for a nice, long run. It was the perfect cool, breezy, fresh morning, that serene point of the day where there are no rushing cars and no pedestrians. I simply adore my morning run. As I put my iPod on shuffle, an old N’Sync track (The Game Is Over, from Celebrity, for any of you boy band lovers out there) came pumping through the headphones, and I ran. And ran. And ran.
After I returned to the real world, I had my morning coffee. As the caffeine made its way into my brain, I made a To-Do list which consisted of a vast plentitude of errands, useful chores, and diversions I was determined to finish today. In all honesty, it would take someone a week to do all the things on that list, but, by golly, I was going to do it all in less than two hours! That’s how it is after my morning coffee. The caffeine rush gives me that ‘I can conquer the WORLD!’ kind of feeling. However, after finishing a few tasks, I fell down from Cloud Nine, back to a gloomy-type house somewhere eat of Paris. I resigned my world conquests to pursue more reasonable endeavors: watching “The Patriot” and “Prison Break” on my computer. There was a long nap somewhere in there. As for the list, I’m not too worried; there’ll be another one tomorrow.
One thing I have found to be very difficult in the business of Au Pairing is the lack of recognition, especially in this family. Yesterday, the kids were absolutely awful. My thesaurus tells me that dreadful, appalling, terrible, horrifying, and bad also suffice, and I most certainly agree. They were so ghastly (another alternative that fits nicely) to the point that I had tears swell up in my mascara-lined eyelashes.
After battling with both the children and my sinking emotional state, restraining children from punching, threatening, and putting each other in chokeholds (not an exaggeration, I’m afraid), I managed to ranger the mess they had made (an hour of vigorous cleaning), shower Arthur and Philippine, set the table, and cook dinner before the mom got home. As I heaved a sigh of relief at the sound of the opening door, she stormed in, complaining about how dirty it was, how the cereal was improperly arranged, and how I needed to clean up after the kids. It took all the strength I had left to stare her in the face, mouth silent and still, tear ducts plugged tight with my super-absorbent American dignity, and to slowly nod.
Because the parents spend practically no time with their kids, they have no idea how bad they are. And because they’ve always had servants, they can’t understand why one can’t do the work of 2 or 3. Although, at times, they are good company, interested and eager to talk and joke with me, the rest of the time I am a worker: a worker on retainer, living in their house, eating their food, and sleeping in their bed. They virtually own me. Though I love France, this au pair situation is defiantly not one for me.
I dropped them off at 8am, and then headed out for a nice, long run. It was the perfect cool, breezy, fresh morning, that serene point of the day where there are no rushing cars and no pedestrians. I simply adore my morning run. As I put my iPod on shuffle, an old N’Sync track (The Game Is Over, from Celebrity, for any of you boy band lovers out there) came pumping through the headphones, and I ran. And ran. And ran.
After I returned to the real world, I had my morning coffee. As the caffeine made its way into my brain, I made a To-Do list which consisted of a vast plentitude of errands, useful chores, and diversions I was determined to finish today. In all honesty, it would take someone a week to do all the things on that list, but, by golly, I was going to do it all in less than two hours! That’s how it is after my morning coffee. The caffeine rush gives me that ‘I can conquer the WORLD!’ kind of feeling. However, after finishing a few tasks, I fell down from Cloud Nine, back to a gloomy-type house somewhere eat of Paris. I resigned my world conquests to pursue more reasonable endeavors: watching “The Patriot” and “Prison Break” on my computer. There was a long nap somewhere in there. As for the list, I’m not too worried; there’ll be another one tomorrow.
One thing I have found to be very difficult in the business of Au Pairing is the lack of recognition, especially in this family. Yesterday, the kids were absolutely awful. My thesaurus tells me that dreadful, appalling, terrible, horrifying, and bad also suffice, and I most certainly agree. They were so ghastly (another alternative that fits nicely) to the point that I had tears swell up in my mascara-lined eyelashes.
After battling with both the children and my sinking emotional state, restraining children from punching, threatening, and putting each other in chokeholds (not an exaggeration, I’m afraid), I managed to ranger the mess they had made (an hour of vigorous cleaning), shower Arthur and Philippine, set the table, and cook dinner before the mom got home. As I heaved a sigh of relief at the sound of the opening door, she stormed in, complaining about how dirty it was, how the cereal was improperly arranged, and how I needed to clean up after the kids. It took all the strength I had left to stare her in the face, mouth silent and still, tear ducts plugged tight with my super-absorbent American dignity, and to slowly nod.
Because the parents spend practically no time with their kids, they have no idea how bad they are. And because they’ve always had servants, they can’t understand why one can’t do the work of 2 or 3. Although, at times, they are good company, interested and eager to talk and joke with me, the rest of the time I am a worker: a worker on retainer, living in their house, eating their food, and sleeping in their bed. They virtually own me. Though I love France, this au pair situation is defiantly not one for me.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Vacation Debrief
I’m finally back at the house after a 2 week vacation! After dreading this exended 24/7-work period, the house I had once felt trapped in seemed like a safe haven, where I had no troubles nor cares in the world. However, there were some parts of the past 2 weeks that were really quite lovely.
We left early Thursday morning, we headed to Rouen (a very old city in Normandy, northern France). I knew we were going to some sort of boat festival, but I didn’t grasp the full concept until I got there. Armed against the pouring rain with fancy, jet-black umbrellas, we joined the throng of people walking beside the city's river.
The boardwalk was lined with tents displaying a myriad of goods for sale. The river was crowded as far as the eye could see with boats: huge, ancient sailing ships from around the world. The Armada Festival happens every 5 years, drawing 15 million visitors over its 10 day duration. I can see why! We boarded one boat, which was beautiful. We then took a boat tour of the boats (only slightly ironic), which told us the size, names, and country of all the boats present. One boat, the Grand Turk, was actually featured in the Pirates of the Carribbean movies. Remember the boat that the British said was the fastest boat of all, causing a guard to remark in a spooky voice, “I’ve heard of one that’s faster… the Black Pearl.” Well, that boat, the british one, was there.
For lunch, I ordered a salad with something beef (my French is still not perfect). It came with some spread that looked like cheese, so I ate it over some bread. As I begin to smother another piece of bread with the creamy, sweet, cheese like substance, I asked Geraldine what it was. I spit out the rather large bite I had taken when she calmly replied that it was animal fat. After a good laugh, I jokingly held up a juicy round piece of meat that had once covered my salad, and joking asked if it was something to be worried about, like eyes. She laughed and said no, not eyes. Just the balls. BALLS.
I didn’t eat anything else the rest of the day.
For dinner, we joined a an Uncle who lives in Rouen. Jean Claude and his wife are very aimable, and are the people that I feel closest to in the family. They have twin 16 year old girls, and a vacation house in Palm Beach, Florida. Jean Claude is a golf fanatic, with a putting green in the front yard, as well as holes all over his office floor.
There were 3 men there who I did not know. They were friendly, and offered conversation bordering on shameless flirting. After eating barely anything all day, I was offered a glass of champagne. I obliged, loving champagne as I do, and in no time realized that this was a BAD idea. With an empty stomach, and a basically non-existant tolerance level, I found myself very tipsy in a matter of minutes. Playing French billiards with Antione (3 balls, no pockets) I suppressed the urge to giggle at everything that happened, concentrating will all my remaining attention on hitting the ball, which I missed several times. The men seemed to appear out of no where, continuing to smile and compliment me. When we sat down to eat, I grabbed a chuck of break and passed on the wine. There is no way I can babysit these kids under the influence. Crisis averted. The men turned out to be professional, trophy winning golfers. I got on their good side, so, bonus points.
The following morning, sporting a slight head ache, I headed south toward Angers with the family to visit Arnaud’s relatives. Upon arriving at the small, modestly furnished town house, I was shocked at how different the atmosphere was. His mom was very kind and gracious to me. His grandfather and grandmother were very talkative and curious about who I was. The showed me pictures of a relative who lives in Cuzco, and refused to allow me to clean up after meals. As the kids played outside in the small, fenced in yard, I felt happy. We drank wine before dinner (seulement je goûte… after the previous night I wasn’t taking any chances), and I savored the different wines of the region, all of which were really good. The specialty of this region was a vin sucre, or a sweet white wine. It was delicious.
The next day, we drove to downtown Angers. What a charming city! I actually prefer it to sprawling, touristy Paris. It was once a grand fort back in the times of civil war in France. It looked glorious bordering the Loire River. Now, the fort remains a museum, but the tiny boutiques and picturesque cobblestone streets attract a lot more visitors. If you are ever in France, you can’t miss this spot!
After 2 wonderful days in Angers, we headed to Yvoy-le-Marron, to the grandparents' weekend, hunting lodge-mansion resort. I was not looking forward to going back. For a few days, I watched kids non-stop, treasuring the moments of fun while playing football on the large grassy plain before the mansion, or when they watched T.V. and I read the only English book in the house, Harry Potter 7. For Bastille Day, we had a family bbq of lobster and some Moroccan couscous. It was pleasant. And Harry conquered Voldemort once again.
Tuesday and Wednesday we headed off to Futuroscope, a Parc D’attraction close to Yvoy-le-Marron. How fun! Though consisting of mainly video attractions, some with 3D glasses and others with moving seats, it was quite a nice place. The kids had a blast, playing on the outdoor climbing wall and playing on the playgrounds as well. I felt truly a part of the family. I had bonded well with Geraldine and Arnaud, and the kids were kind and respectful of me. We laughed together, and made some wonderful memories.
After returning to Yvoy-le-Marron late Wednesday night, we hit the road again Thursday to see nearby Orleans. Another charming town! The cathedral was magnificent, standing at the end of a huge road. This was one of the 3 cathedrals in France that the kings were ordained at after the passing of the previous king. We saw a glamorous wedding party outside the church while searching endlessly for a parking spot. After viewing the boutiques and quaint streets, we ate lunch at a restaurant in the Place de Jeanne D’Arc, facing an ornate carousel and fountain in the sun drenched square.
Friday afternoon, an uncle of Geraldine was getting married. It was to be a small affair, as this was the second marriage for the two. Again, we headed first to the civil ceremony, and then to the church. To my delight, I spotted a very good-looking Frenchman, about my age. Between drooling stare-spells, I chased the ever energetic Arthur up and down the side walk, attempting to look sexy and trés suave while doing so (though to what extent I succeeded I am not sure). We all entered in the church, and Garçon (as I had thusly named him in my fantasy, in English: boy) sat a few rows up, perfectly obstructing my view of the altar. I sighed and wiped the drool from my glossy lips.
There was no priest at the ceremony, as the previous marriages had not been annulled. A few readings were read, and hymns sung by a fabulous opera-esque vocalist. Then, Garçon stands up and walks to the altar. He slips a guitar on, to my surprise, and dedicates a song to the newly weds. Delicately singing “Alleluia,” by Jeff Buckley (many many know it from the first Shrek film, me among them), while strumming on the guitar, he stole every heart in the room. Hold up, I told myself. What’s the catch? There's no such thing as a single, hot, French musician in a Catholic church.
My intuition was correct when I sat next to his young, pregnant wife at the reception. He thanked me graciously for complimenting his performance. Feeling a bit embarrassed, I was sent home after appetizers, in the good grace of Lady Luck, to couche les enfants. I’ll just have to keep looking for Prince Charming.
Sunday, we headed home. It felt so good to be coming back. The kids have been going to the garderie everyday, so I have sometime to myself to relax. The family and I have been getting along much, much better since the talk. Though Gerladine still orders me around and snips at me for little things, like the way bowls are arranged, she is very cordial other times. I find the house pleasant, and no longer wallow in my lonliness and exclusion here.
That doesn’t change the fact that I’m counting down the days until I leave, though. In case you were wondering, it’s 29.
We left early Thursday morning, we headed to Rouen (a very old city in Normandy, northern France). I knew we were going to some sort of boat festival, but I didn’t grasp the full concept until I got there. Armed against the pouring rain with fancy, jet-black umbrellas, we joined the throng of people walking beside the city's river.
The boardwalk was lined with tents displaying a myriad of goods for sale. The river was crowded as far as the eye could see with boats: huge, ancient sailing ships from around the world. The Armada Festival happens every 5 years, drawing 15 million visitors over its 10 day duration. I can see why! We boarded one boat, which was beautiful. We then took a boat tour of the boats (only slightly ironic), which told us the size, names, and country of all the boats present. One boat, the Grand Turk, was actually featured in the Pirates of the Carribbean movies. Remember the boat that the British said was the fastest boat of all, causing a guard to remark in a spooky voice, “I’ve heard of one that’s faster… the Black Pearl.” Well, that boat, the british one, was there.
For lunch, I ordered a salad with something beef (my French is still not perfect). It came with some spread that looked like cheese, so I ate it over some bread. As I begin to smother another piece of bread with the creamy, sweet, cheese like substance, I asked Geraldine what it was. I spit out the rather large bite I had taken when she calmly replied that it was animal fat. After a good laugh, I jokingly held up a juicy round piece of meat that had once covered my salad, and joking asked if it was something to be worried about, like eyes. She laughed and said no, not eyes. Just the balls. BALLS.
I didn’t eat anything else the rest of the day.
For dinner, we joined a an Uncle who lives in Rouen. Jean Claude and his wife are very aimable, and are the people that I feel closest to in the family. They have twin 16 year old girls, and a vacation house in Palm Beach, Florida. Jean Claude is a golf fanatic, with a putting green in the front yard, as well as holes all over his office floor.
There were 3 men there who I did not know. They were friendly, and offered conversation bordering on shameless flirting. After eating barely anything all day, I was offered a glass of champagne. I obliged, loving champagne as I do, and in no time realized that this was a BAD idea. With an empty stomach, and a basically non-existant tolerance level, I found myself very tipsy in a matter of minutes. Playing French billiards with Antione (3 balls, no pockets) I suppressed the urge to giggle at everything that happened, concentrating will all my remaining attention on hitting the ball, which I missed several times. The men seemed to appear out of no where, continuing to smile and compliment me. When we sat down to eat, I grabbed a chuck of break and passed on the wine. There is no way I can babysit these kids under the influence. Crisis averted. The men turned out to be professional, trophy winning golfers. I got on their good side, so, bonus points.
The following morning, sporting a slight head ache, I headed south toward Angers with the family to visit Arnaud’s relatives. Upon arriving at the small, modestly furnished town house, I was shocked at how different the atmosphere was. His mom was very kind and gracious to me. His grandfather and grandmother were very talkative and curious about who I was. The showed me pictures of a relative who lives in Cuzco, and refused to allow me to clean up after meals. As the kids played outside in the small, fenced in yard, I felt happy. We drank wine before dinner (seulement je goûte… after the previous night I wasn’t taking any chances), and I savored the different wines of the region, all of which were really good. The specialty of this region was a vin sucre, or a sweet white wine. It was delicious.
The next day, we drove to downtown Angers. What a charming city! I actually prefer it to sprawling, touristy Paris. It was once a grand fort back in the times of civil war in France. It looked glorious bordering the Loire River. Now, the fort remains a museum, but the tiny boutiques and picturesque cobblestone streets attract a lot more visitors. If you are ever in France, you can’t miss this spot!
After 2 wonderful days in Angers, we headed to Yvoy-le-Marron, to the grandparents' weekend, hunting lodge-mansion resort. I was not looking forward to going back. For a few days, I watched kids non-stop, treasuring the moments of fun while playing football on the large grassy plain before the mansion, or when they watched T.V. and I read the only English book in the house, Harry Potter 7. For Bastille Day, we had a family bbq of lobster and some Moroccan couscous. It was pleasant. And Harry conquered Voldemort once again.
Tuesday and Wednesday we headed off to Futuroscope, a Parc D’attraction close to Yvoy-le-Marron. How fun! Though consisting of mainly video attractions, some with 3D glasses and others with moving seats, it was quite a nice place. The kids had a blast, playing on the outdoor climbing wall and playing on the playgrounds as well. I felt truly a part of the family. I had bonded well with Geraldine and Arnaud, and the kids were kind and respectful of me. We laughed together, and made some wonderful memories.
After returning to Yvoy-le-Marron late Wednesday night, we hit the road again Thursday to see nearby Orleans. Another charming town! The cathedral was magnificent, standing at the end of a huge road. This was one of the 3 cathedrals in France that the kings were ordained at after the passing of the previous king. We saw a glamorous wedding party outside the church while searching endlessly for a parking spot. After viewing the boutiques and quaint streets, we ate lunch at a restaurant in the Place de Jeanne D’Arc, facing an ornate carousel and fountain in the sun drenched square.
Friday afternoon, an uncle of Geraldine was getting married. It was to be a small affair, as this was the second marriage for the two. Again, we headed first to the civil ceremony, and then to the church. To my delight, I spotted a very good-looking Frenchman, about my age. Between drooling stare-spells, I chased the ever energetic Arthur up and down the side walk, attempting to look sexy and trés suave while doing so (though to what extent I succeeded I am not sure). We all entered in the church, and Garçon (as I had thusly named him in my fantasy, in English: boy) sat a few rows up, perfectly obstructing my view of the altar. I sighed and wiped the drool from my glossy lips.
There was no priest at the ceremony, as the previous marriages had not been annulled. A few readings were read, and hymns sung by a fabulous opera-esque vocalist. Then, Garçon stands up and walks to the altar. He slips a guitar on, to my surprise, and dedicates a song to the newly weds. Delicately singing “Alleluia,” by Jeff Buckley (many many know it from the first Shrek film, me among them), while strumming on the guitar, he stole every heart in the room. Hold up, I told myself. What’s the catch? There's no such thing as a single, hot, French musician in a Catholic church.
My intuition was correct when I sat next to his young, pregnant wife at the reception. He thanked me graciously for complimenting his performance. Feeling a bit embarrassed, I was sent home after appetizers, in the good grace of Lady Luck, to couche les enfants. I’ll just have to keep looking for Prince Charming.
Sunday, we headed home. It felt so good to be coming back. The kids have been going to the garderie everyday, so I have sometime to myself to relax. The family and I have been getting along much, much better since the talk. Though Gerladine still orders me around and snips at me for little things, like the way bowls are arranged, she is very cordial other times. I find the house pleasant, and no longer wallow in my lonliness and exclusion here.
That doesn’t change the fact that I’m counting down the days until I leave, though. In case you were wondering, it’s 29.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
It is now time in my story for the twist of the plot, the part where emotions fly, an internal battle erupts, and the direction of the protagonist’s destiny is forever drastically altered because of some intense, appalling event.
In reality, it was not that exciting.
Au Pair Agency A (USA) forwarded my letter of resignation, detailing all of the problems I had, to Agency B (France), who then forwarded the email to Geraldine, mom. Geraldine then discussed it with Agency B, and Agency B sent me a letter saying to talk it over. They said she sounded very generous on the phone.
Of course, I was ticked. I was planning to talk to her on my own terms tonight about what I was feeling and why I was leaving, I could not prepare for a defense in just an hour (I got the email at 6 and she gets home around 7) of what was seemingly an attempt to trash her reputation and bolt.
However, a yelling, furious woman did come home. Geraldine was kind, and wished me happy birthday. Then, she sent the kids out of the kitchen, and told me that she sensed I was not well, and asked me why.
Now, I knew that she that she knew about the email that I sent. But, judging from her disguise of the conversation, she didn’t know that I knew that she knew. So I had the upper had. Voila.
I started with saying that they were very generous, but I was lonely. It is very hard in a place that you can’t get up and run in the morning, even when you are technically “off-duty”. There is always that grey line between work and relaxation, and it is very difficult to find one’s place. I then talked about the fact that I miss my family, and the fact that I don’t like when we go places because I’m all alone. No one talks to me, and I have absolutely no freedom.
She was so supportive. She said that I needed to join her an Arnaud when they come home from work, and on the weekends I need to come do things with the family. She said she wants to make this a home for me. She told me that she had read my letter (I acted surprised, a performance worthy of recognition) and she brought up certain things like the kids.
She did not use the month of June as leverage, as I expected. Instead of saying that she paid me 500 euros to do pretty much nothing, she commented on how hard that must have been. I told her it was probably one of the hardest things in my life. I think I’m still recovering.
Honestly, I was shocked. And then she brought up Margaret. Apparently, the family has had around 10 au pairs, and only after Margaret has there been problems. With her gifts and support, she also engrained this negative image in my head of the family I’m staying with. My mom provided another example of this in her life. She didn’t intentionally do this, but the riff between the two parties is so strong that one subconsciously chooses sides with the kind, old woman who brings you the low fat yogurt you like.
I realized how much her negativity had influenced me. Geraldine was not a witch. She is kind and thoughtful. Yes, she still has her ideals and upper class mentality, but she cares, and she wants me to stay.
So, the protagonist’s destiny is drastically altered in the face of revelation, or whatever. I decided to stay.
After that, the family took me out to a restaurant for dinner. It was a cute Japanese sushi place, with moving belts in the center carrying food for the taking. We snatched different kinds of sushi, salad, and vapor cooked foods from the belt. Then, we got ice cream, and the mom gave me a body mist and lotion that was rose scented (yum!) and from somewhere expensive. I felt awful that they were showing me so much kindness even though we had this conversation. It was really, really, nice.
Even though they might not be perfect, I think that I can spend 7 more weeks here. I do like France, and the money is not bad. Plus, on our vacation, I’ll get to see Rouen again, and Orleans. I will have to be careful not to catch back the misery Margaret unintentionally bestows, and I will have to find ways to make myself happier. My mom sent me come cross stitching projects and a book by one of my favorite authors (Sohia Kinsella), so I have some things to do. All in all, it was a good birthday.
In reality, it was not that exciting.
Au Pair Agency A (USA) forwarded my letter of resignation, detailing all of the problems I had, to Agency B (France), who then forwarded the email to Geraldine, mom. Geraldine then discussed it with Agency B, and Agency B sent me a letter saying to talk it over. They said she sounded very generous on the phone.
Of course, I was ticked. I was planning to talk to her on my own terms tonight about what I was feeling and why I was leaving, I could not prepare for a defense in just an hour (I got the email at 6 and she gets home around 7) of what was seemingly an attempt to trash her reputation and bolt.
However, a yelling, furious woman did come home. Geraldine was kind, and wished me happy birthday. Then, she sent the kids out of the kitchen, and told me that she sensed I was not well, and asked me why.
Now, I knew that she that she knew about the email that I sent. But, judging from her disguise of the conversation, she didn’t know that I knew that she knew. So I had the upper had. Voila.
I started with saying that they were very generous, but I was lonely. It is very hard in a place that you can’t get up and run in the morning, even when you are technically “off-duty”. There is always that grey line between work and relaxation, and it is very difficult to find one’s place. I then talked about the fact that I miss my family, and the fact that I don’t like when we go places because I’m all alone. No one talks to me, and I have absolutely no freedom.
She was so supportive. She said that I needed to join her an Arnaud when they come home from work, and on the weekends I need to come do things with the family. She said she wants to make this a home for me. She told me that she had read my letter (I acted surprised, a performance worthy of recognition) and she brought up certain things like the kids.
She did not use the month of June as leverage, as I expected. Instead of saying that she paid me 500 euros to do pretty much nothing, she commented on how hard that must have been. I told her it was probably one of the hardest things in my life. I think I’m still recovering.
Honestly, I was shocked. And then she brought up Margaret. Apparently, the family has had around 10 au pairs, and only after Margaret has there been problems. With her gifts and support, she also engrained this negative image in my head of the family I’m staying with. My mom provided another example of this in her life. She didn’t intentionally do this, but the riff between the two parties is so strong that one subconsciously chooses sides with the kind, old woman who brings you the low fat yogurt you like.
I realized how much her negativity had influenced me. Geraldine was not a witch. She is kind and thoughtful. Yes, she still has her ideals and upper class mentality, but she cares, and she wants me to stay.
So, the protagonist’s destiny is drastically altered in the face of revelation, or whatever. I decided to stay.
After that, the family took me out to a restaurant for dinner. It was a cute Japanese sushi place, with moving belts in the center carrying food for the taking. We snatched different kinds of sushi, salad, and vapor cooked foods from the belt. Then, we got ice cream, and the mom gave me a body mist and lotion that was rose scented (yum!) and from somewhere expensive. I felt awful that they were showing me so much kindness even though we had this conversation. It was really, really, nice.
Even though they might not be perfect, I think that I can spend 7 more weeks here. I do like France, and the money is not bad. Plus, on our vacation, I’ll get to see Rouen again, and Orleans. I will have to be careful not to catch back the misery Margaret unintentionally bestows, and I will have to find ways to make myself happier. My mom sent me come cross stitching projects and a book by one of my favorite authors (Sohia Kinsella), so I have some things to do. All in all, it was a good birthday.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Well, today’s my birthday. This weekend, I did a little celebrating.
Not that I can do much, knowing so few people here. Saturday, after the feeling of misery reduced me to tears for almost the whole day, I took to writing to understand why I was so miserable.
My unhappiness has nothing to do with France or being in another culture. I love when I am with Margaret or Marie Lucie, conversing while eating a huge variety of cheeses with whatever wine they have opened for the day. I love the area where I live, and I think Paris is a wonderful city. However, whenever I return to the house after these treasured activites, the cloud descends.
Not only is Geraldine, the mom, very condescending, but she is hyper-focused on the little mistakes that I make (which most would not even classify as mistakes). Not once has she thanked me for my extensive work. She considers me to be far beneath her. She leaves her messes from the weekend, expecting me to clean up after her. She never asks me how I’m doing after a long day. She is cold,
Living in a place where you are not recognized or loved is a very difficult thing. I’ve done it once before, and it made me very fragile. I also am a very hard worker, who tries her best in everything, and to be scrutinized of one little thing I did wrong over the extra work I did diminishes my spirit immensely.
Although I have grown attached to the kids, their behavior is still stunning sometimes. They punch and beat each other, curse frequently, and scream and fake-punch furiously at me if I don’t allow them something. They don’t listen to a single instruction, they throw food, and expect me to clean everything. During the sweet moments when they laugh, play, and so clearly demonstrate their need for love an approval in their lives (they don’t get any from parents, except for good grades) I feel a sadness for them. These kids are so vibrant. It makes me sad to see them deteriorating like this.
On Saturday, I felt trapped in my room. The parents were in the house, and would be scrutinizing my moves if I left. I was not really welcome in this place. After breaking down into tears yet again, I realized that it was time to leave. If they are making this experience so horrible for me, there is nothing holding me back from leaving. Yes, financially it will be tight, but emotionally I can’t take it any more.
I discussed this with my parents, and we booked a flight for Thursday to go home.
I feel like a quitter, and believe me, that’s a bad feeling. I am not a person who quits something. I am strong and I push through challenges. But how can I challenge the aura of a house? How can I challenge the ideas and mind frame of a woman who clearly has not gotten the picture when the other 3 au pairs have resigned? It is time to be selfish and honor my self-dignity and my right to happiness.
Apparently, after the other 3 expressed desire to leave, she kicked them out immediately. The Chinese Anne was thrown out on the road at 9pm at night. No cell phone, no bus route, no assistance. Since the family leaves Wednesday night, I have decided to tell her Tuesday and leave Tuesday night. I will offer to stay and work Wednesday. However, then the kids would see me go, and she hates when they cry for a low class servant. The others were kicked out at night, while the kids were asleep.
Sunday, I took my last trip to Paris. I saw the remaining wonders I needed to see: Versailles, the Louvre, and Notre Dame. Unfortunately, my camera ran out of battery at the Louvre. I have no pictures to remember the stunning Notre Dame… unless you count the millions of pictures that surface in a simple google image search.
It was absolutely gorgeous weather, sunny with a little chill. Versailles was enormous, and beautifully impressive. I learned about the porcelain specialty of Sevres (nearby town), the three Louis that lived in the castle, the treaty with Austria that brought Marie Antoinette into our history, her little play village, the majestic gardens, and so much more. I didn’t have time to enter the Louvre, but I did see the enormous pyramids in front. Notre Dame was amazing, but much different than expected. I shopped for souvenirs for an hour, walking away with only two things. I refuse to invest in Eiffel tower gold plated key chains, plastic thimbles depicting bread and a smiling French woman, or condoms stamped “I Love Paris.”
All the other stores were closed on Sunday, a real pity for the vendors. I was planning of spending some cash at Mango, my favorite store!
I got back to the station around 6. While merging onto highways and navigating home, I realized how comfortable I am here. I really do like France. However, I can’t stay a minute longer. It is truly a pity that I was paired with this family. These moments of contentment and happiness always disappear within 24 hours, and always occur when I am out of the house. They are not enough to over shadow the bad moments. I think that it could have been a fantastic experience, rather than a bad one.
So, today’s my birthday. My mom sent me a package: one of the best birthday gifts I’ve ever gotten. Spandex (I LOVE ‘em for running!), cross stick projects (fun time consuming project!), Vogue (which I read while wearing spandex), a book by one of my favorite authors, minty lip gloss, and more. I cried when I opened the card to find old pictures of our family. I had such a great childhood, and owe my parents a lot! 22 years later, and they're still there for me as much as before.
The kids ran into the room today, singing happy birthday and giving me birthday kisses. I almost cried because I felt bad for thier situation. Again, I'm very fragile (normally I don't cry very often!) The mom assigned me ironing, but did scribble “Joyeux Anniversaire" in the list. And for myself? I’m going to start packing, take pictures of the kids and the house, iron and clean, and know that this is a learning experience: one that will be over in a few days.
Your Daily Dose of Cultural Enhancement:
Souvenir: the French verb meaning “to remember”
Café: every afternoon, they have an espresso with little sugar, and every night as well. They like the natural taste of coffee.
Bisous: even people they just met get kisses on the cheek.
Hot Dog: If you buy one of these in Paris, be prepared to eat a footlong wrapped competely in bread.
Not that I can do much, knowing so few people here. Saturday, after the feeling of misery reduced me to tears for almost the whole day, I took to writing to understand why I was so miserable.
My unhappiness has nothing to do with France or being in another culture. I love when I am with Margaret or Marie Lucie, conversing while eating a huge variety of cheeses with whatever wine they have opened for the day. I love the area where I live, and I think Paris is a wonderful city. However, whenever I return to the house after these treasured activites, the cloud descends.
Not only is Geraldine, the mom, very condescending, but she is hyper-focused on the little mistakes that I make (which most would not even classify as mistakes). Not once has she thanked me for my extensive work. She considers me to be far beneath her. She leaves her messes from the weekend, expecting me to clean up after her. She never asks me how I’m doing after a long day. She is cold,
Living in a place where you are not recognized or loved is a very difficult thing. I’ve done it once before, and it made me very fragile. I also am a very hard worker, who tries her best in everything, and to be scrutinized of one little thing I did wrong over the extra work I did diminishes my spirit immensely.
Although I have grown attached to the kids, their behavior is still stunning sometimes. They punch and beat each other, curse frequently, and scream and fake-punch furiously at me if I don’t allow them something. They don’t listen to a single instruction, they throw food, and expect me to clean everything. During the sweet moments when they laugh, play, and so clearly demonstrate their need for love an approval in their lives (they don’t get any from parents, except for good grades) I feel a sadness for them. These kids are so vibrant. It makes me sad to see them deteriorating like this.
On Saturday, I felt trapped in my room. The parents were in the house, and would be scrutinizing my moves if I left. I was not really welcome in this place. After breaking down into tears yet again, I realized that it was time to leave. If they are making this experience so horrible for me, there is nothing holding me back from leaving. Yes, financially it will be tight, but emotionally I can’t take it any more.
I discussed this with my parents, and we booked a flight for Thursday to go home.
I feel like a quitter, and believe me, that’s a bad feeling. I am not a person who quits something. I am strong and I push through challenges. But how can I challenge the aura of a house? How can I challenge the ideas and mind frame of a woman who clearly has not gotten the picture when the other 3 au pairs have resigned? It is time to be selfish and honor my self-dignity and my right to happiness.
Apparently, after the other 3 expressed desire to leave, she kicked them out immediately. The Chinese Anne was thrown out on the road at 9pm at night. No cell phone, no bus route, no assistance. Since the family leaves Wednesday night, I have decided to tell her Tuesday and leave Tuesday night. I will offer to stay and work Wednesday. However, then the kids would see me go, and she hates when they cry for a low class servant. The others were kicked out at night, while the kids were asleep.
Sunday, I took my last trip to Paris. I saw the remaining wonders I needed to see: Versailles, the Louvre, and Notre Dame. Unfortunately, my camera ran out of battery at the Louvre. I have no pictures to remember the stunning Notre Dame… unless you count the millions of pictures that surface in a simple google image search.
It was absolutely gorgeous weather, sunny with a little chill. Versailles was enormous, and beautifully impressive. I learned about the porcelain specialty of Sevres (nearby town), the three Louis that lived in the castle, the treaty with Austria that brought Marie Antoinette into our history, her little play village, the majestic gardens, and so much more. I didn’t have time to enter the Louvre, but I did see the enormous pyramids in front. Notre Dame was amazing, but much different than expected. I shopped for souvenirs for an hour, walking away with only two things. I refuse to invest in Eiffel tower gold plated key chains, plastic thimbles depicting bread and a smiling French woman, or condoms stamped “I Love Paris.”
All the other stores were closed on Sunday, a real pity for the vendors. I was planning of spending some cash at Mango, my favorite store!
I got back to the station around 6. While merging onto highways and navigating home, I realized how comfortable I am here. I really do like France. However, I can’t stay a minute longer. It is truly a pity that I was paired with this family. These moments of contentment and happiness always disappear within 24 hours, and always occur when I am out of the house. They are not enough to over shadow the bad moments. I think that it could have been a fantastic experience, rather than a bad one.
So, today’s my birthday. My mom sent me a package: one of the best birthday gifts I’ve ever gotten. Spandex (I LOVE ‘em for running!), cross stick projects (fun time consuming project!), Vogue (which I read while wearing spandex), a book by one of my favorite authors, minty lip gloss, and more. I cried when I opened the card to find old pictures of our family. I had such a great childhood, and owe my parents a lot! 22 years later, and they're still there for me as much as before.
The kids ran into the room today, singing happy birthday and giving me birthday kisses. I almost cried because I felt bad for thier situation. Again, I'm very fragile (normally I don't cry very often!) The mom assigned me ironing, but did scribble “Joyeux Anniversaire" in the list. And for myself? I’m going to start packing, take pictures of the kids and the house, iron and clean, and know that this is a learning experience: one that will be over in a few days.
Your Daily Dose of Cultural Enhancement:
Souvenir: the French verb meaning “to remember”
Café: every afternoon, they have an espresso with little sugar, and every night as well. They like the natural taste of coffee.
Bisous: even people they just met get kisses on the cheek.
Hot Dog: If you buy one of these in Paris, be prepared to eat a footlong wrapped competely in bread.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Since my last entry, I’ve made a few decisions.
I have decided to take a step back and be the bigger person in this situation. I allow this family’s attitude to get to me. I allow myself to feel trapped and unhappy. Really, with a lot of work and support, I can begin to shut out this feeling. Not that it will be an easy feat, but it can be done. Bien sur, c'est posible.
I am planning to finish out the remaining 7 weeks (well, 7 weeks as of tomorrow at 12pm, but who’s counting?). I was thinking about quitting after July and spending the month living with Margaret, but with 3 weeks in the month of aout and an extra 500 euros in my pocket upon departure, I think I can take it.
The kids, although very badly behaved and completely ignorant of my instructions, are actually very sweet at times. Philippine, la moyenne, and Arthur, le petit, have begun to draw my pictures with saying such as ”Je t’aime de tout mon coeur,” frequently saying they love me, and cuddling with me during movies. The affection makes it seem that I do have some purpose in the job. They make me laugh more often now, and I scrounge what happiness I can from these moments. It’s moments like when they sporadically run and hug me that get me though the day whole.
Last night, I was invited to a BBQ by Gwen, a friend of Margaret. At first there were five of us, staked out in an overgrown garden building a fire and roasting chicken, sausage and kebobs. Ironically, there was no barbeque sauce, just ketchup. The French put ketchup on everything: fries, sandwiches, pasta, you name it.
A few more people showed up later, each exchanging two kisses on the cheek to every other person. There was great conversation cover a wide variety of topics, all of it in French. We talking about politics, music, movies, Ketchup, gas prices, family, likes, dislikes, and a ton of other things. Although by the end of the night (3am) I was utterly exhausted from the language, I felt great. It was a lot of fun hanging out with young, friendly people who were so kind and so inclusive of me. I am truly grateful! I’m sure that I’ll se seeing them again.
At one point, they asked me if I knew any bad words. Working with these children, of course I do. I rattled off a list, amidst much laughter, and then was asked about English bad words. One guy stepped up to the plate and without hesitation, with a thick accent, offered, “Yo mamma is a SLUT!” I just DIED. He had no idea what he said. Hysterical.
This weekend, I’m free! I’m going to do some sightseeing in Paris and possible lunch with another au pair, who knows. Margaret has given me the key to her house so I have an escape when she leaves for 3 weeks on vacation. The kids are at the garderie for 4 hours in the afternoon starting today, so that will be nice. Ahh, freedom.
Speaking of which, Happy Fourth of July. I have never appreciated a holiday with family, close friends, hot dogs, and fireworks as much as I do now. If there's one thing that I learn from my travels, it will be this: that America truely is an awesome place. I could settle no where else.
I have decided to take a step back and be the bigger person in this situation. I allow this family’s attitude to get to me. I allow myself to feel trapped and unhappy. Really, with a lot of work and support, I can begin to shut out this feeling. Not that it will be an easy feat, but it can be done. Bien sur, c'est posible.
I am planning to finish out the remaining 7 weeks (well, 7 weeks as of tomorrow at 12pm, but who’s counting?). I was thinking about quitting after July and spending the month living with Margaret, but with 3 weeks in the month of aout and an extra 500 euros in my pocket upon departure, I think I can take it.
The kids, although very badly behaved and completely ignorant of my instructions, are actually very sweet at times. Philippine, la moyenne, and Arthur, le petit, have begun to draw my pictures with saying such as ”Je t’aime de tout mon coeur,” frequently saying they love me, and cuddling with me during movies. The affection makes it seem that I do have some purpose in the job. They make me laugh more often now, and I scrounge what happiness I can from these moments. It’s moments like when they sporadically run and hug me that get me though the day whole.
Last night, I was invited to a BBQ by Gwen, a friend of Margaret. At first there were five of us, staked out in an overgrown garden building a fire and roasting chicken, sausage and kebobs. Ironically, there was no barbeque sauce, just ketchup. The French put ketchup on everything: fries, sandwiches, pasta, you name it.
A few more people showed up later, each exchanging two kisses on the cheek to every other person. There was great conversation cover a wide variety of topics, all of it in French. We talking about politics, music, movies, Ketchup, gas prices, family, likes, dislikes, and a ton of other things. Although by the end of the night (3am) I was utterly exhausted from the language, I felt great. It was a lot of fun hanging out with young, friendly people who were so kind and so inclusive of me. I am truly grateful! I’m sure that I’ll se seeing them again.
At one point, they asked me if I knew any bad words. Working with these children, of course I do. I rattled off a list, amidst much laughter, and then was asked about English bad words. One guy stepped up to the plate and without hesitation, with a thick accent, offered, “Yo mamma is a SLUT!” I just DIED. He had no idea what he said. Hysterical.
This weekend, I’m free! I’m going to do some sightseeing in Paris and possible lunch with another au pair, who knows. Margaret has given me the key to her house so I have an escape when she leaves for 3 weeks on vacation. The kids are at the garderie for 4 hours in the afternoon starting today, so that will be nice. Ahh, freedom.
Speaking of which, Happy Fourth of July. I have never appreciated a holiday with family, close friends, hot dogs, and fireworks as much as I do now. If there's one thing that I learn from my travels, it will be this: that America truely is an awesome place. I could settle no where else.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Unfortunately, I’ve been in a bad funk lately and haven’t found the energy to write. So, here’s the DL, the quick version, for everything that’s gone on in this past week and a half.
Last Sunday, Margaret invited me over for le dejuner, the big meal at midday. I arrived early as instructed, and we cooked together a spectacular meal. Then, the other invited guests arrived around 2, and I was surprised to discover that she had intentionally invited close friends with young daughters. They were 18 and 19, and very friendly! After a wonderful meal, the Laure and Gwen invited me to go swimming with them. The evening ended in us exchanging phone numbers, promising to hang out again. We were supposed to go bowling this past week, but the parents didn’t return to the house until after 10 each night.
Which leads me to the next topic: how much this job sucks. The parents frequently get home much later than is expected, whilst neglecting to phone. Not only do they leave their cereal bowls on the table every morning (with milk and unfinished cereal), but also their dishes and pots/ utensils from the night before for me to clean. The mother frequently patronizes me, and assigns me tasks well outside of my duties, such as to clean the dishwasher and vacuum the kid’s rooms (which also entails getting everything off of the floor… a monumental undertaking). She makes me sit with the kids as they finish eating, while she types on the computer, 3 feet away, in the same room. It really is getting too much to handle, especially the way that she treats me.
I talked to Margaret this morning, and started crying. I am really unhappy here. I told her that it was so bad that I had even drafted a letter of resignation and looked into how to change my ticket date. However, I am not a quitter. I asked her if I was being blind and insensible about this. She looked surprised, and replied that no, by no means was I out of line. In fact, of the 5 previous au pairs, 3 had quit prematurely, one after just 2 weeks. The two that had stayed had a horrible time, but stuck out their 4-month summer stays. The family changed agencies each time.
I couldn’t believe it. It is honestly to the point that that I want nothing more than to be home with my family and out of this condescending, horrible environment. I’m going to talk to my mom tomorrow about this. Margaret has offered her house as a safe haven, and also a place to stay until my flight. She says that all of the other au pairs have lived with her at one time or another.
Lastly, we spend this past weekend in the weekend house of the grandparents. The youngest of the three trust-fund sisters (Geraldine, Fanny, and the bride to be, Emelie) was getting married. And WOW, did she get married! After a civil ceremony, a short ceremony in the church, and an appetizer party outside of the church, we finally went back to the house for the reception. There was a grand tent with many tables, looking out over the water. More appetizers were served as the first course of the 6-course meal to follow, and champagne flowed freely. The appetizers were gourmet to the last, made with such ingredients and elegance that I cannot describe. The champagne was the best and certainly most expensive I have every tasted. At around eight, every one of the 200 guests sat for the dinner.
I saved a menu, because there is no way I could remember how many delicious things we ate. It was the fanciest meal I have ever had. White wine accompanied the fish, red wine the spicy potatoes and beef, and champagne the strawberry wedding cake, several tiers high.
Around 12pm, a twenty minute fireworks show, one that would beat out most suburban Fourth of July festivities, commenced. I was in awe.
After that, a DJ provided the dancing. Most found their ways to bed around 4, but I had to put the youngest to bed at 1. Not so bad, as I didn’t know anyone else there. There were a few very sexy French men looking my way, but unfortunately, Geraldine was watching closely.
The next day, everyone was invited back for lunch. It was the most spectacular buffet I have every seen, et la meilleure que j'ai déjà goûte! After that, the dessert buffet was laid while every disobeyed their better judgment and ate themselves silly. Champagne again flowed from bottles like a fountain.
Not that I got to have that much fun. Watching Arthur, the youngest, is as tough a task as it gets. Running in every direction, touching everything and retaining such energy as I have every seen, Arthur thoroughly exhausted me. Geraldine and her mom also approached me every 10 minutes to either 1) make sure I was doing my job (which I was) or 2) give me another job to do, or 3) scrutinize my work. The grandparents treat me the same way. I was horrified to learn that we will go there for 8 days for “les vacances.” I am dreading this stretch long working hours and absolutely absence of any independence in the presence of those who believe I am so definitely beneath them, and not afraid to let me hear it.
Luckily, Geraldine’s sister also has an fille au pair. She is a 19-year-old polish girl. She is very nice! I enjoyed her company, though we had very little time to chat. Hopefully she will be there during “vacation.”
That is pretty much what’s been happening. The kids are out of school, so I have all day with them. Today, Philippine barged into my room at 7am declaring that she was awake and that I was to breakfast with her. From 8 until 2 I worked, unpacking the groceries that Mother had ordered online, and rearranging the fridge because she had overbought, and there was no room for anything. Aside from the 10 million tomatoes, packs of yogurt, and ham, there’s not much else.
I’m exhausted, so I’m going to get some sleep. Who knows what time I’ll be summoned tomorrow.
Last Sunday, Margaret invited me over for le dejuner, the big meal at midday. I arrived early as instructed, and we cooked together a spectacular meal. Then, the other invited guests arrived around 2, and I was surprised to discover that she had intentionally invited close friends with young daughters. They were 18 and 19, and very friendly! After a wonderful meal, the Laure and Gwen invited me to go swimming with them. The evening ended in us exchanging phone numbers, promising to hang out again. We were supposed to go bowling this past week, but the parents didn’t return to the house until after 10 each night.
Which leads me to the next topic: how much this job sucks. The parents frequently get home much later than is expected, whilst neglecting to phone. Not only do they leave their cereal bowls on the table every morning (with milk and unfinished cereal), but also their dishes and pots/ utensils from the night before for me to clean. The mother frequently patronizes me, and assigns me tasks well outside of my duties, such as to clean the dishwasher and vacuum the kid’s rooms (which also entails getting everything off of the floor… a monumental undertaking). She makes me sit with the kids as they finish eating, while she types on the computer, 3 feet away, in the same room. It really is getting too much to handle, especially the way that she treats me.
I talked to Margaret this morning, and started crying. I am really unhappy here. I told her that it was so bad that I had even drafted a letter of resignation and looked into how to change my ticket date. However, I am not a quitter. I asked her if I was being blind and insensible about this. She looked surprised, and replied that no, by no means was I out of line. In fact, of the 5 previous au pairs, 3 had quit prematurely, one after just 2 weeks. The two that had stayed had a horrible time, but stuck out their 4-month summer stays. The family changed agencies each time.
I couldn’t believe it. It is honestly to the point that that I want nothing more than to be home with my family and out of this condescending, horrible environment. I’m going to talk to my mom tomorrow about this. Margaret has offered her house as a safe haven, and also a place to stay until my flight. She says that all of the other au pairs have lived with her at one time or another.
Lastly, we spend this past weekend in the weekend house of the grandparents. The youngest of the three trust-fund sisters (Geraldine, Fanny, and the bride to be, Emelie) was getting married. And WOW, did she get married! After a civil ceremony, a short ceremony in the church, and an appetizer party outside of the church, we finally went back to the house for the reception. There was a grand tent with many tables, looking out over the water. More appetizers were served as the first course of the 6-course meal to follow, and champagne flowed freely. The appetizers were gourmet to the last, made with such ingredients and elegance that I cannot describe. The champagne was the best and certainly most expensive I have every tasted. At around eight, every one of the 200 guests sat for the dinner.
I saved a menu, because there is no way I could remember how many delicious things we ate. It was the fanciest meal I have ever had. White wine accompanied the fish, red wine the spicy potatoes and beef, and champagne the strawberry wedding cake, several tiers high.
Around 12pm, a twenty minute fireworks show, one that would beat out most suburban Fourth of July festivities, commenced. I was in awe.
After that, a DJ provided the dancing. Most found their ways to bed around 4, but I had to put the youngest to bed at 1. Not so bad, as I didn’t know anyone else there. There were a few very sexy French men looking my way, but unfortunately, Geraldine was watching closely.
The next day, everyone was invited back for lunch. It was the most spectacular buffet I have every seen, et la meilleure que j'ai déjà goûte! After that, the dessert buffet was laid while every disobeyed their better judgment and ate themselves silly. Champagne again flowed from bottles like a fountain.
Not that I got to have that much fun. Watching Arthur, the youngest, is as tough a task as it gets. Running in every direction, touching everything and retaining such energy as I have every seen, Arthur thoroughly exhausted me. Geraldine and her mom also approached me every 10 minutes to either 1) make sure I was doing my job (which I was) or 2) give me another job to do, or 3) scrutinize my work. The grandparents treat me the same way. I was horrified to learn that we will go there for 8 days for “les vacances.” I am dreading this stretch long working hours and absolutely absence of any independence in the presence of those who believe I am so definitely beneath them, and not afraid to let me hear it.
Luckily, Geraldine’s sister also has an fille au pair. She is a 19-year-old polish girl. She is very nice! I enjoyed her company, though we had very little time to chat. Hopefully she will be there during “vacation.”
That is pretty much what’s been happening. The kids are out of school, so I have all day with them. Today, Philippine barged into my room at 7am declaring that she was awake and that I was to breakfast with her. From 8 until 2 I worked, unpacking the groceries that Mother had ordered online, and rearranging the fridge because she had overbought, and there was no room for anything. Aside from the 10 million tomatoes, packs of yogurt, and ham, there’s not much else.
I’m exhausted, so I’m going to get some sleep. Who knows what time I’ll be summoned tomorrow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)