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.
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