Roller Coaster Week

Buckle up for a long, bumpy ride; this past week has been quite an eventful and emotional one, to say the least!

The weekend before last, which happened to be my last free weekend, Margaret once again took me under her wing and made sure I had some memories of France that didn’t bring a sick feeling to the pit of my stomach.

Saturday morning, Mom, in her never ending attempts to put me in my place, slept in as I got up early to take Philippine to tutoring. I dropped her off, and went for a run, accidentally discovering a shortcut to the gym via a road I have always seen and wondered, flabbergasted, where the heck it came from and how the heck I could take it. Returning to the car and taking my newfound way, I worked out at the gym, and then headed to the mall; the rest of my allowance was burning a hole in my pocket. Desperately uninspired, I failed to spend a remaining 80 euros, which will now go toward Chinese visa purchases. So, not a total waste of a day.

I then headed to Margaret’s house. I met one of her daughters, an extremely friendly Parisian. She was about 30, and had a great sense of humor. I realized halfway through a long conversation that I had reached that point in my French: fluency. I understood everything she said (very rapidly spoken) and responded back with a good vocabulary, accent, and grammar. I couldn’t believe it! I speak French! Et Voila!

After an easy croc monsieur meal, we piled into the car and drove to downtown Paris. We saw the city at night, which was more romantic, beautiful, and crowded that I ever imagined. The Tour Eiffel is stunning with its lightshow, the Place de San Michael glorious with its enormous fountain illuminating the grand statue of the Saint. The Champs Elysees is alive and crawling with visitors, all of the stores staying open until midnight. Unfortunately, circling the Place des Etoiles (the huge traffic circle wrapping the Arc de Triomphe) the car began to smoke. We pulled over to the side and exited.

Now, Margaret always drives. Her husband, Pierre is a little quirky, likes to drink, and has bad vision (but neglects to wear glasses). He seemed completely clueless on what to do as Margaret began to telephone the insurance. I noted that we should probably open the hood. He shook his head in disagreement. A friendly motorist advised from his car that we should probably open the hood, and Pierre vigorously agreed. He approached the car, and began to promptly yank on the opposite side of the hood, the side bordering the windshield. Completely bewildered, I informed him that, in fact, the hood opens from this direction. After fumbling for a few seconds with the front grill, I took matters into my own hands and opened the hood. He watched, amazed, as I propped it open; I watched, amazed, as a 60-something man examined a car engine, and the black oil marks on his hand, for what seemed to be the first time.

Monday, Antoine informed me that I would be going to the campagne (the grandparents’ mansion in Sologne) with the kids that week. We parted Tuesday morning when a chauffuer appeared at the front door. We spent the next few days playing and eating well and in good company. It was quite enjoyable, though exhausting. Thursday night, the parents arrived, and that’s when everything changed.

Now, this is my theory as to why the Mom has completely abandoned all civilities with me. When I wrote my letter of resignation to the American au pair agency, I outlined all of the things that were wrong with my situation and the family. I noted that the parents did not treat me like an equal, but left their breakfast dished and pots and pans from the night before for me to clean. I described how Mom never said thank you, but found something to criticize no matter how hard I worked. I detailed how the parents spend less than an hour with their kids every day, normally yelling at them for talking or not wearing slippers. I explained how the kids battled incessantly, hitting each other, swearing, and disregarding my every word. I called the situation “dysfunctional,” and said that I was incredibly unhappy. Not a single lie in the letter, nor a single exaggeration. In fact, I thought it was very filtered, saying only what was necessary to justify my cause.

Now, my relationship with the kids has improved immensely; we are very attached. They regard me very highly now and listen to what I say, telling me how much they love me frequently throughout the day. I truly enjoy playing and laughing with them. I almost started crying today knowing I was leaving them with these parents, who don’t want to play with them, spend time with them, or really know them at all. It is such a sad childhood for these three truly special children.

Anyway, the American agency sent the letter to the French agency, who, in an act that completely disregarded all rules of confidentiality and proper conflict resolution, forwarded the letter straight to Mom. We ended up resolving everything, but I thought throughout the vacation that it had been to easy; the letter had stated some very strong things about the family.

Returning from the vacation, I believe that she had the letter translated. It was then that she began to hate me for saying those things. Although not 100% certain, I strongly believe this is the cause of the dissipation of our relations and the beginning of the Age of Mind Games and Full-Throttle Bitch Mode.

Back to the weekend, everything was wonderful before the parents arrived. Friday, after returning from a long morning of playing with the kids, everyone (the grandparents, aunts, and uncles) stopped talking as I entered the room. Seeing Mom in the center, I knew what had happened. She had told them about the letter, twisting their vision of me in her favor. The cold stares I received were a just indication of what the weekend would bring.

No one talked to me for the next few days. I received cold looks, critiques on the work I had done (improperly wiped the table, for example, when I really had no obligation at all to clean up after the parents anyway), and tons of extra work from Mom. I had a stomach virus for 2 days, which did not allow me to eat anything, but I was not relieved of any duties, offered any medicine, nor condolences. Upon departure Sunday morning, everyone fawned over the kids beside and behind me. They reached over me through the window, telling the kids how much they would be missed, while glaring at, or ignoring all together, the au pair, parting permanently in a week. When we finally left, I sucked in the tears pooling in my eyelashes in with all of my strength. Although I find humor in many situations, and am able to combat most everything the Mom bring on, it doesn’t change the fact that this has been the most mentally taxing experience of my life.

Arriving home on Sunday, I thought that I might get the day off, as I had not had one off since last Sunday, However, since I was technically not working a full week this week (I leave on Saturday!!!!!), Mom decided to put me to work. After complaining about how dirty the kitchen was as though it were my fault (despite the fact that I hadn’t been there for 5 days, it was I who had cooked meals and not washed the pots, nor loaded the dishwasher, nor taken out the garbage, nor cleaned up my breakfast dishes, which, by the way, were still on the table, stinking of rotting milk, when we arrived), she set me to work. While she and Dad sat around, I was forced to clean (with the kids… but honestly, do kids clean?) their rooms, which looked as if they had been recently struck by a tornado. I organized the library, which had apparently fallen victim as well to said storm, and was forced to vacuum all the floors with the vacuum that doesn’t work. I was then yelled at for a white dot on the floor, which I wasn’t sure was mine… and she had the nerve to shake her finger and tell me to clean up after myself!

I finally got the chance to sit around 9 pm. Oh la la.

Today, I made sure everything was perfect when she arrived. She came in, and her kids surprised her in costume (we had just finished playing). Not listening to their stories of the day, but yelling for them to calm down instead, she examined the kitchen. I watched eagerly to discover what I could have done wrong. Countertops spotless. Cupboards arranged. Sink and dishwasher empty. The kids and I sat down to eat… and then it happened.

She stormed up the steps and demanded to know why I had not turned on the alarm between 5:20 and 5:40 when I went to pick up the kids. I tried to hide a smirk, for she had printed out the hours that the alarm had been set today, in an act of desperation to find something that I didn’t do right. I stated that I thought that leaving the house for 5 minutes made it voluntary (the door is locked, and the property surrounded by a huge wall and gate). She screamed at me in front of her kids about not punching the code. I returned her yells with quiet raised eyebrows and relaxed mouth. I looked at Antoine mid- rant; the incredulous look on his face at his mother’s fanatics had struck a nerve. It took all I had not to laugh at his expression.

And so ends Day 5. You may now un-buckle and descended from the coaster car.