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.
No comments:
Post a Comment