I rolled out of bed at 7am like normal, pulled on my gauchos and went to make the morning porridge (on the stove of course, microwaves being explicitly shunned from the household). I look, up and there's Michelle in her night gown. My heart sinks, I know what's coming next. "Benji's sick. He woke up at 6am saying he hurt all over. I gave him some medicine and a few minutes later he was fine. But you know, something's going around so he should stay home from school." Oh sweet self-justification.
A few minutes later, Benji appears in the kitchen, and happily and matter-of-factly explains he's not going to school. Gets dressed, eats, then goes upstairs to get his slippers. I hear some pounding, and Benji telling Michelle, "Mummy watch how good I can skip!" More pounding, then seconds later Toby wakes up, realizes Benji isn't going to school, and immediately starts up with intense histrionics. This all continues for a good 15 minutes, then once Toby is calmed down, Benji starts up again because he doesn't want to play his violin. Then like clockwork, Toby is screaming again because Marc wanted him out of the room while they were practicing. Meanwhile I am in the middle of this temper-tantrum tornado, trying to hold back my own tears from being so overwhelmed by all the chaos, and being so disappointed/pissed off that I have to cancel my plans for the day (hiking with another au pair friend then meeting with a random guy she met to practice french), and work 7 hours without pay.
My own waterworks finally kicked in while I was writing an email to my mom. Thinking back to when I was in elementary school, I don't remember EVER getting to stay home for 10 minutes of a transient stomachache. My own mom was pretty hard to convince that you were sick, the criteria mainly being throwing up, high fever or some kind of rash. I hated that she was so tough, but tangible evidence was her baseline criteria. Of course this caused lots of morning debate in deciding you were going to stay home, and on some occasions saw the arsenal of my acting skills deployed in full force. But still, I liked school, and don't think I missed for than 3 or 4 days a year.
That's why this new environment is so challenging to me, because my own upbringing was based on a "least restrictive environment" philosphy I was allowed to do things (ie-not wear a hat outside for fear of sun cancer, stay up late with my parents, and look after my self from a pretty young age) that I can't see my charges doing until they've moved out for college. My own upbringing was extremely laissez-faire, while my new environment is meticulous, calculated and protective, and I have a hard time understanding and believing in it.
And for the icing on the cake.....Benji asked when we could watch T.V. ("because mummy said so," in extemely whiny tone). I said we are going to wait until Toby gets home, and he stated, "well, I get to choose because I am sick." I told him that "No, we are all going to decide together on what to watch. And now you are going to write your numbers 1-20."
No sooner had I closed my mouth from this last sentence, he had already begun clenching his stomach and squealing, "Oww owww the tummy ache is coming, back, I need to go lie down on the canapé (couch)."
6 years old and mastered the art of playing hooky. Touché, kid, that must be some kind of record.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
Faire la fête
I'm wondering who thought, "hey let's drink pure alcohol then spit it at fire?"
Les filles au pairs!Sing this blog entry to the tune of Tom Petty's "American Girl." I'll start you off:
"Oh yeah, alright,
Take it easy baby
Make it last all night (make it last all night)
She was
An American girl."
This song perfectly fits the tone of my weekend, the mini-trip to la fête des vendanges, a festival to celebrate the harvest of wine-making grapes. Upbeat, fast-paced, hopeful, and more than a little naive. It also helps that a pretty amazing wine-infused rendition was performed in our hostel, singing impromptu karaoke along with the portable ipod speakers on the bed.
The trip started in grand fashion, complete with dramatic sprinting entrance to the "voie"(platform) right as the train pulled up. After the hour ride to Neûchatel, we arrived at la gare and realized how crazy the festival actually way. Screaming, drunken teenagers surrounded us on all sides, and it was only 9:30! Of course we had to find our hostel first, which turned out to be no easy task. The trainstation was on top of a steep hill, and upon first descent I was kicking myself for deciding on my adorable, hot-pink wheely suitcase. Cobble stone, steep hills, and throngs of intoxcated youth...yeah, backpack would have been the smart decision. Finally arriving (or shall I say dragged by my out of control, rolling valise) at the main street, we realize we have no clue where to go. Armed with only the hostel address, we ask one man, who in turn asks an older couple, who proceed to telephone the hostel, and walk us there through the crazy masses of people! I was in complete shock by such an amazing random act of kindness, that I barely even noticed that I was whacking people with my suitcase every 2 seconds as I attempted to navigate la foule (crowd) and the cobblestone. Speaking French all the way (yay!), we finally arrived at our destination and bid au revoir to these nice people, complete with the Swiss "three point bise" (kiss on the cheek 3 times).
We arrived at the hostel to find our funkily decorated attic room missing beds-- we were to sleep on matresses on the floor, 2 inches apart from each other, with a mere curtain to separate them! To our (shock, intrigue, I'm still not sure what is was) we found 7 Caribbean-French guys and 1 girl also in the room, some sitting at a table drinking/smoking, some sleeping in their curtained pseud0-rooms. After I got over my intial, horrified thought ("oh my god what if these guys sleep naked, and toss and turn in their sleep") we chatted with them in french, and found out they were a DJ/dance group from Martinique, here especially for the Fête! We drank Martiniquais rum and red bull, and were taught the Martinique way to say "cheers" (San-TAY-o, the french way with a different accent). I also smoked some MJ with them, I figure when French-Caribbean musicians offer, you must accept.
Going out that night was fun, yet really overwhelming. The streets were wall to wall people (especially drunken teenagers, there were SO many of those), with different music playing everytime you turned a new street corner. Scents of every kind of ethnic food imaginable waft through the air, while confetti was thrown at you nearly every 5 seconds (one of the trademarks of this festival). It was a completely engrossing, multi-sensory experience. We drank some wine (I had found 20 francs on the ground so of course I bought), and soaked in the sights, sounds, and smells until 3am.
Saturday was for sleeping in, exploring the the street vendors, and eating sinfully delicious food. I had an amazing Gauffre, a sweet waffle with nutella and incredibly thick Chantilly (whipped cream). We all went out bought groceries, and had an amazing dinner of bread, cheese, pasta with leeks and zuchinni, and of course, wine :o) We ate, drank, and were merry in the hostel, then took our party to the streets. We maneuvered throngs of people, danced when there was a good beat, and did our own renditions of a number of long forgotten yet loved songs. I found kindred spirits in these girls who also loved musicals, and we all broke out in unison with "Any Dream Will Do," from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat. I was flooded with wonderful memories of when I was 9, and got to miss school to go with my mom's class to see the play. I had memorized the entire CD then, yet hadn't listened to the songs in over 10 years. But apparently the lyrics were tucked away in the recesses of my memory, and I belted it out right there on the dock of the lake with the best of em'. It's funny how you can forget of things you once loved, and rediscover them with nearly the same intensity a full decade later....
The rest of the night included drunken bumper cars, more dancing, and of course finishing off our leftovers once we were back at the hostel. Sunday was uneventful, except for the amazing chocolate eclair and cappuccino I had for breakfast before heaving back to Geneva.
As a matter of fact, since it was also Toby's 4th birthday sunday, I had dessert for breakfast lunch and dinner that day. A fitting sweet ending, to the extremely rich main course of the weekend.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Bull in a china shop
What is it about Europe that causes me to be incredibly awkward at nearly all times of the day and night? Everyday, I go about my business making des bêtises (blunders) like it's my (2nd) job. First off, there's the damn electricity. I have a hairdryerwith the European pins, yet if I ever nudge it on past low power, POOF there goes a fuse. Result: scraggly, frizzy, semi-dry hair that never looks stylish and has cowlicks galore. I've worked painstakingly hard over the past year and a half to recreate the beautiful, long, "made from spun gold" (as my grandma used to say) hair that was mine before it was sheared by a scissor-happy stylist. But I'm finding that long hair and Europe are not a match made in heaven I haven't made up my mind, but when it gets colder I may be opting for a shorter, sleeker, hopefully chic-er Euro do'. I love my long hair, but I won't love icicles hanging from my scalp in the winter.
And then there are the language barriers. I have studied French for 8 years, and would consider myself more or less a fluent speaker. But in certain situations, there's no difference between me and someone who can barely squeak out "BONE-jerrr". Take today for example. I went to the train stationto buy my 150 franc card that will give me half off on all train travel in Switzerland. Standing in the ridiculously long line (another perk of Europe: incredibly slooooooow service in every sector imaginable) I tried to think how I could say "half off" in French. I went to the guichet and started with the obligatoire bonjour. I proceeded with, "Je voudrais acheter une carte demi gratuite (literally: a card to make half free)." A valiant first attempt, which I thought might be the money shot, but no such luck. Only blank stares from the fonctionnaire (who are infamous for being cranky and sullen) and the automatic lighting of my " I'M A FOREIGNER" neon sign. It took a good 2 minutes before together we negotiated the correct semantic path: une abonnement de tarif réduit (a subscription of reduced tarif?!?!?). Yeah, no. I like my literal American translation much better, thank you. I hand over my 150 chf, and go to tear the receipt, which is facing towards me, only to have it rip jaggedly down the middle. The fonctionnaire glares and says, "Madame, il faut attendre et je vous donne le ticket (Madam, it is necessary to wait and I will give you the ticket)." Oy. Feel face flush red, dying to get out of there (and since when am I now referred to as Madam over Mademoiselle?!? Ahh I'm old!) At last it's Merci, au revoir, and I have finally conquered la gare. I remember a chapter on train staions in high school french, but no lessons were given on how to deal with le snobisme ultime of the begrudging workers. I must write the textbook company and let them know how useful it would be to include this information.
Furthermore, spatially I feel out of sorts. In the kitchen, on the tram, on the street, I am constantly tripping and or bumping into things. The abundance of cobblestone, quaint and picturesque as it may be, does no favors to the hopelessly clumsy like me. It also doesn't help that over here I am essentially considered plus size. I'm not fat, but I definitely have plusieurs kilos to lose. Attempting to navigate the impossibly narrow spaces over here often leaves me feeling like une grande vache in comparison to the majority of skinny european women.
I'm being hard on myself, I know I am. It's only been a month, it takes 5 months before you feel like you fit in, blah, blah, blah. This is the advice that everyone who has lived abroad for an extended period has given me. But day to day living, the routine that's mundane yet extrememly difficult really wears on me- I've certainly had major waterworks at least once a week, usually for no specific reason. At this point, I have to remind myself what makes me happy- talking or emailing friends and family, reading, running, writing this blog, getting to know more about te new friends I've made. Reminding myself no matter how much I idyllize everything that is going on back home, the walks, the trips to Costco, Ricks, football games, all the things I'm missing....that I probly wouldn't be much happier doing those things without the transatlantic frame of reference to make them seem so appealing.
Right now, I just need to keep going. Keep living. Keep experiencing. And I know everything will fall into place.
Sidenote: Fun weekend! One day of beautiful weather, one crappy. Took a really nice boat ride on Lake Geneva Saturday, stopped in the gorgeous town of Nyon to get ice cream, and returned to Geneva. At night we went to Ubu Roi, which makes fabulously strong shakers, from which you take shots out of disposable little plastic cups. We met random military guys and I spoke quite a bit of French, which is now my new goal everytime I go out. After Ubu we stumbled (but ONLY because of the cobblestone streets, I swear ;o) to Springbrothers, had some bières and talked to more Swiss guys. They ended up driving us home, but it was OK becaue they actually had a D.D. I don't think I've mentioned this before but the Swiss don't really give a rat's ass about driving drunk, they do it ALL the time. Sunday was for being hungover ( I didn't drink all that much but had wine with dinner, vodka from my friend's stowaway waterbottle, then beer. 'Nuf said.) and for going to random places and friends' houses all over Geneva. Next week is my trip to Neuchatel, for the grap harvest (read: wine) festival. Stay tuned.....
Weekend Pics
Friday, September 15, 2006
Child's play
When do you stop being a child? In developmental psych 250, Shelley Schreier taught us that the new school of thought says childhood isn't really over until the 21st birthday (a terrifying concept for me, being that I had my 22nd birthday in june...according to that definition I am indisputably, undeniably, officially an ADULT. God that is TERRIFYING. ) But after spending the last month and a half with school age children about 90% of my time, I've become incredibly curious, nostalgic, and a bit melancholic about the notion of childhood- especially since mine is technically over.
Toby, my 4 yr. old, will sit on the floor for hours with his knees bent and bottom in between, with the kind of little-kid flexibility that can never again be attained, no matter how much yoga one undertakes. He'll sit and sing, and move a truck, or a lego boat (like right now) around and around contentedly for hours. Benji (6) loves games, and can play creations of his own such as "monster micheal" (really just hide and seek, but the counter has a white dishrag over his eyes, hence the "monster'' part) for hours on end, squealing with joy every time someone is found. Taking the kids to school, we arrive at 8:15 am. I have been up since 7, and am trudging along the sidewalk like a zombie with a gun to her head. But on the "kermesse" (green astroturf) there are 10 or so little boys engrossed in a very active game of football. I used to run early in the morning, but I never popped out of my bed excitedly and enthusiastically, as I imagine these young boys would anticipating a morning game of football with their friends. It was more of a duty to be fulfilled, desperately wanting to slam off the alarm and hide under the covers, but knowing that your body mind and spirit would be better off afterwards for going.
The question I've been pondering lately is, when exactly, do we lose this childlike ability to play pretend, to be naturally in constant motion, and to be joyfully and excitedly partaking in all of the "mundane" details in life? When does natural, free movement cease, to be replaced by the planned and forcibly executed excercise? Responsibility is one of the essences of adulthood, ie- forcing yourself out of bed to run when you don't want to- but when and why did adulthood become a struggle? Where along the line do we lose our natural tendency towards happiness, for the ensuing struggle everafter rediscover it?
I've heard a lot about Maslow from psychology courses (and my mom), whose philosophy had an ultimate goal of "sel-actualization," or reaching your highest potential. According to him, a self-actualized person lived in the moment, in a permament, happy, childlike state. I must wonder though, how many people can live in the moment if not all, at least most of the time. For me, it's difficult. If I'm playing blocks with Benji and Toby, I can't help but thinking of all the things I'd rather be doing (writing emails, reading the Fountainhead). And yet at these moments, I also feel longing jealousy at the simplicity of childhood: being content and happy playing blocks. I also have feelings of fear and guilt, wondering if all "play" with my future children will be a necessary semi-burden, something to get through before moving onto the next task on my "to-do" list.
Everything about my life right now is new and difficult for me, as this is the first time in my life I've ever taken on a real "adult role." Even at university, I knew that if I needed my mom or dad (sick, hurt, sad, etc) they would be on their way in no time. I felt that constant warmth of the security blanket that was (are) my parents. I had a soft place to fall, even if it was a rather long way (Ann Arbor to Rochester- approx. 90 miles). But now, in Geneva, I am the adult, I am the warmth and security, responsible for two precious little lives.
When Michelle comes home from work and Benji and Toby run to her open arms to be hugged and kissed and called "my lovely ones," my heart aches for not only for the tangible aspect of my parents' unconditional love, but also for a time long past where I knew that they were there to take care of me. Relying completely on myself for my needs, my happiness, my life for the first time is terrifying. There is a hole in my heart for the days when "responsibility" was remembering to make my bed, brush my hair, or do my spelling homework. Days when I too could play hide and seek and soccer with my cousins for hours on end, never once thinking that what we were doing would be considered "exercise."
I stil feel unsettled after writing this post. I thought it would help sort out my feelings or draw some sort of conclusion, but now I just feel more confused than ever. I know some of my family reads this blog, so if anyone out there has any comments or insights, I'd love to hear them.
To hoping I'll someday play hide and seek and legos with the best of them.....
Toby, my 4 yr. old, will sit on the floor for hours with his knees bent and bottom in between, with the kind of little-kid flexibility that can never again be attained, no matter how much yoga one undertakes. He'll sit and sing, and move a truck, or a lego boat (like right now) around and around contentedly for hours. Benji (6) loves games, and can play creations of his own such as "monster micheal" (really just hide and seek, but the counter has a white dishrag over his eyes, hence the "monster'' part) for hours on end, squealing with joy every time someone is found. Taking the kids to school, we arrive at 8:15 am. I have been up since 7, and am trudging along the sidewalk like a zombie with a gun to her head. But on the "kermesse" (green astroturf) there are 10 or so little boys engrossed in a very active game of football. I used to run early in the morning, but I never popped out of my bed excitedly and enthusiastically, as I imagine these young boys would anticipating a morning game of football with their friends. It was more of a duty to be fulfilled, desperately wanting to slam off the alarm and hide under the covers, but knowing that your body mind and spirit would be better off afterwards for going.
The question I've been pondering lately is, when exactly, do we lose this childlike ability to play pretend, to be naturally in constant motion, and to be joyfully and excitedly partaking in all of the "mundane" details in life? When does natural, free movement cease, to be replaced by the planned and forcibly executed excercise? Responsibility is one of the essences of adulthood, ie- forcing yourself out of bed to run when you don't want to- but when and why did adulthood become a struggle? Where along the line do we lose our natural tendency towards happiness, for the ensuing struggle everafter rediscover it?
I've heard a lot about Maslow from psychology courses (and my mom), whose philosophy had an ultimate goal of "sel-actualization," or reaching your highest potential. According to him, a self-actualized person lived in the moment, in a permament, happy, childlike state. I must wonder though, how many people can live in the moment if not all, at least most of the time. For me, it's difficult. If I'm playing blocks with Benji and Toby, I can't help but thinking of all the things I'd rather be doing (writing emails, reading the Fountainhead). And yet at these moments, I also feel longing jealousy at the simplicity of childhood: being content and happy playing blocks. I also have feelings of fear and guilt, wondering if all "play" with my future children will be a necessary semi-burden, something to get through before moving onto the next task on my "to-do" list.
Everything about my life right now is new and difficult for me, as this is the first time in my life I've ever taken on a real "adult role." Even at university, I knew that if I needed my mom or dad (sick, hurt, sad, etc) they would be on their way in no time. I felt that constant warmth of the security blanket that was (are) my parents. I had a soft place to fall, even if it was a rather long way (Ann Arbor to Rochester- approx. 90 miles). But now, in Geneva, I am the adult, I am the warmth and security, responsible for two precious little lives.
When Michelle comes home from work and Benji and Toby run to her open arms to be hugged and kissed and called "my lovely ones," my heart aches for not only for the tangible aspect of my parents' unconditional love, but also for a time long past where I knew that they were there to take care of me. Relying completely on myself for my needs, my happiness, my life for the first time is terrifying. There is a hole in my heart for the days when "responsibility" was remembering to make my bed, brush my hair, or do my spelling homework. Days when I too could play hide and seek and soccer with my cousins for hours on end, never once thinking that what we were doing would be considered "exercise."
I stil feel unsettled after writing this post. I thought it would help sort out my feelings or draw some sort of conclusion, but now I just feel more confused than ever. I know some of my family reads this blog, so if anyone out there has any comments or insights, I'd love to hear them.
To hoping I'll someday play hide and seek and legos with the best of them.....
Monday, September 11, 2006
Je me souviens (I remember)
I remember being 17 years old, sitting in 4th hour child development class with Mrs. Long. I remember having Erickson's stages of child development drilled into my head for the umpteenth time in 2 weeks. I remember being bored, and eating a Nature Valley granola bar not because I was hungry, but to pass the time. I remember someone barging into our classroom, instructing Mrs. Long to "turn on the T.V. now," then briskly turning and walking out the door. I remember the shock, pain and confusion of watching the plane(s) slam into the World Trade Center, not knowing if it was an accident, a horrible mistake or everyone's worst fear, a heinous act of terrorism. I was in a fog for the rest of the day, and don't remember anything else I did, but I do remember being sick to my stomach at night; laying in bed, sobbing for such a cruel crime and injustice against humanity. Sobbing for the children who lost their mothers and fathers, unable to help imagining my self in their positions at that very moment.
My parents' generations remember the death of JFK. My mom always tells me she was at the airport, with Sheila or Kit, when they announced on the PA that the president had been shot. Whether you admit it or not, such a profound event changes you, and at the very least is a good reference point in life for later reflection, because the memories of the time remain so vivid.
I remember being an awkward 17 year old, not comfortable with herself and still desperately trying to fit into a "high school clique," which I had been unable to do for the previous 3 years of schooling. I remember wanting to desperately to be "cool," to feel "normal," and to "fit-in" by drinking and partying and making out with boys, as was my perception of the teenage experience thanks to movies like American Pie and 10 Things I Hate About You. I remember having nothing to do on the weekends if Caroline wasn't around, and was ecstatic when later that year I fell into the International School crowd, made some friends and finally started going to parties and getting drunk. I remember being so unsure of myself and so craving the approval of my peers, that I would blush from chest to face nearly every time I talked to someone that wasn't in my small, close circle of friends. I remember the agony of waiting on my U of M application, and the disappointment I felt that at Soccer senior night, I wasn't being announced as "Meggie Smith, attending the University of Michigan," because then I would have felt like people really respected, admired or at least recognized that I had achieved something over the past four years. I remember flying home from visiting my brother in Arizona, my eyes so swollen from crying I couldn't even open them, after my mom had called with the news of my rejection letter.
Fast forward to today, September 11, 2006. If you had asked me then where I would be in 5 years, there is no chance in hell I would say, "Geneva, Switzerland, in a house from the 17oo's being an Au pair and writing a blog while waiting to pick the kids up from school." Today is a great day for reflection, to feel sad at what we lost, to remember who you were and to realize how far you've come.
Many people ask, "where were you today, 5 years ago?" I think we should also ask, "who was I today, 5 years ago?"
Friday, September 08, 2006
Hop Suisse (clap clap clap)
Les filles!
Swiss boys!
"Hop" is my current favorite French word. Really, it's not even a word, but a common and versatile sound with multiple meanings. It's not HOP as we say it , but pronounced "Uuph," with a French accent bien sûr. Wednesday night saw me to my first Switzerland soccer/football game vs. Costa Rica, in a really nice stadium to seat probly around 5,000. I was meeting Cassie and Ashley at the game, and then going out, so lets just say my pink sparkly top made me feel a tad out of place amongst the sea of red and white (I feel incapable of doing anything here without my (in)visible "I'M AMERICAN" neon sign). The match was great, (Suisse 2 Costa Rica 0), but my favorite part was their cheers. The favorite seemed to be "Hop Suisse (clap clap clap)," with arms jetting in front out to form what looked like a double hail Hitler "Zeik Heil." 'Twas hilarious. It was disappointing to find upon arriving that they stopped selling alcoholic beer at the stadium (why people drink non-alcoholic beer is beyond me. yugh!). But after seeing how crazy all the soccer hooligans were anyways, I understand the cessation.
After the game my two au pair friends (my "au peers," if you will) and I went out a bar then a boite de nuit (night club) with some Swiss guys from their towns. The drinks weren't quite so expensive at this bar (13 chf for red bull and vodka), and they do something that I hope american bars will adopt bientôt (soon): YOU get to tell the bartender when to stop pouring the liquor! It was amazing. So naturally my drink was heavy on the vodka, lite on the red bull (hey I've got to economize!). I got to speak French quite a bit, and got lots of compliments saying "tu parles très bien le français," which is always a much welcomed ego boost. '
The guys were cute, but they are SO different here. If you didn't know better, you'd think they were gay. They hug, kiss on the cheeks and sometimes lips, and grab each others' butts to say hello, and often dance with each other! That is definitely going to take some getting used to (and is very interesting from an anthropological perspective). We all downed some red bull and vodka's at the club, and danced until 5am (2am is for sissies). Cassie and Ashely both were with guys, so I got to be the awkward 5th wheel. So far, Switzerland has retained the "Sister Mary Margaret" in me. We finally got to Ashley's apartment (she has a separate au pair studio), and I crashed on the hardwood floor in her closet, not wanting to intrude on any shenanigans that may have been happening outside.
2 hours of horrible sleep later, I got up (the others didn't sleep, wink wink) and we decided to take a random trip to France, since Freddie (from London) had the car for the day. We went to Annecy, which is known as the "Venice of France." It is all gorgeous medieval buildigs built around canals and cobblestone streets, with a huge lake surrounded by the French alps. We had hungover pizza, shopped for awhile, had amazing ice cream (I got noisette,ont> I crave nuts when I'm out since Benji is allergic and can't have them in the house) then drove back to Geneva and bummed around all day. It was great to just be able to get up and go (to France!), without having to worry about kids or public transportation.
It was a holiday on thursday (Jeune Genevois, some old protestant thing), so of course we had to go out and celebrate. Springbrothers is an English speaking bar that does a "quiz night'' every thursday. We went and had some wine to warm up for the quiz, and I tried to sweet talk the bartenders into showing Michigan football games (rather unsuccesfully). The quiz was cool- I randomly got a question about the band ''The Monkees'' right. I had to leave at halftime, but our team (named ''Meggy Jo''....everyone got a kick outof my middle name for some reason) was in the lead when I took off (woot woot go au pairs).
Didn't get home until 2, and of course up at 7. To a hugely unpleasant surprise. Toby was apparently sick Thursday night, and wouldn't be going to school today(he looked fine to me and was all smiles coming down the stairs to proudly inform me of this). But things got tricky. Fridays I am supposed to drop the kids off and be free from 8:30 to 12. We never discussed what happens when they have to stay home. After 7 hours of sleep in 2 days, I was in desperate need of sleep, and seriously pissed off at the thought of having Toby all day. I broached the subject with Michelle, asking if she perhaps could let me know a little bit ahead of time if she thinks one of the kids wouldnt be going to school, so I wouldnt make plans'(or stay out late drinking). She looked hugely surprised and upset with me, saying "well it's your job to look after the children, and you should be getting enough sleep so you can be alert with them, and blah blah on and on"
But, um NO, actually it's NOT my job to watch them during the days friday, and I WAS planning on getting some sleep-- when he was AT SCHOOL. Things were really tense the rest of the morning, but I finally emailed her to try and clear the air. I was really upset, especially because I hate conflict in general, but it's infinitely worse when you've got your boss/friend/and pseudo-family all combined in one. She finally called me and said she "just realized 5 minutes ago" that the mornings were to be my time off. Not exactly in apology or even thank you, but at least an acknowledgement that is was MY time, and a concession that she shouldn't have acted so perturbed that I was ever so slightly (read: HUGELY) annoyed at having to work an extra 7 hours, UNPAID.
So not the greatest start to my almost-weekend. However I just got a package from home that I know includes several celebrity gossip magzines. So things are looking up :o)
Swiss boys!
"Hop" is my current favorite French word. Really, it's not even a word, but a common and versatile sound with multiple meanings. It's not HOP as we say it , but pronounced "Uuph," with a French accent bien sûr. Wednesday night saw me to my first Switzerland soccer/football game vs. Costa Rica, in a really nice stadium to seat probly around 5,000. I was meeting Cassie and Ashley at the game, and then going out, so lets just say my pink sparkly top made me feel a tad out of place amongst the sea of red and white (I feel incapable of doing anything here without my (in)visible "I'M AMERICAN" neon sign). The match was great, (Suisse 2 Costa Rica 0), but my favorite part was their cheers. The favorite seemed to be "Hop Suisse (clap clap clap)," with arms jetting in front out to form what looked like a double hail Hitler "Zeik Heil." 'Twas hilarious. It was disappointing to find upon arriving that they stopped selling alcoholic beer at the stadium (why people drink non-alcoholic beer is beyond me. yugh!). But after seeing how crazy all the soccer hooligans were anyways, I understand the cessation.
After the game my two au pair friends (my "au peers," if you will) and I went out a bar then a boite de nuit (night club) with some Swiss guys from their towns. The drinks weren't quite so expensive at this bar (13 chf for red bull and vodka), and they do something that I hope american bars will adopt bientôt (soon): YOU get to tell the bartender when to stop pouring the liquor! It was amazing. So naturally my drink was heavy on the vodka, lite on the red bull (hey I've got to economize!). I got to speak French quite a bit, and got lots of compliments saying "tu parles très bien le français," which is always a much welcomed ego boost. '
The guys were cute, but they are SO different here. If you didn't know better, you'd think they were gay. They hug, kiss on the cheeks and sometimes lips, and grab each others' butts to say hello, and often dance with each other! That is definitely going to take some getting used to (and is very interesting from an anthropological perspective). We all downed some red bull and vodka's at the club, and danced until 5am (2am is for sissies). Cassie and Ashely both were with guys, so I got to be the awkward 5th wheel. So far, Switzerland has retained the "Sister Mary Margaret" in me. We finally got to Ashley's apartment (she has a separate au pair studio), and I crashed on the hardwood floor in her closet, not wanting to intrude on any shenanigans that may have been happening outside.
2 hours of horrible sleep later, I got up (the others didn't sleep, wink wink) and we decided to take a random trip to France, since Freddie (from London) had the car for the day. We went to Annecy, which is known as the "Venice of France." It is all gorgeous medieval buildigs built around canals and cobblestone streets, with a huge lake surrounded by the French alps. We had hungover pizza, shopped for awhile, had amazing ice cream (I got noisette,ont> I crave nuts when I'm out since Benji is allergic and can't have them in the house) then drove back to Geneva and bummed around all day. It was great to just be able to get up and go (to France!), without having to worry about kids or public transportation.
It was a holiday on thursday (Jeune Genevois, some old protestant thing), so of course we had to go out and celebrate. Springbrothers is an English speaking bar that does a "quiz night'' every thursday. We went and had some wine to warm up for the quiz, and I tried to sweet talk the bartenders into showing Michigan football games (rather unsuccesfully). The quiz was cool- I randomly got a question about the band ''The Monkees'' right. I had to leave at halftime, but our team (named ''Meggy Jo''....everyone got a kick outof my middle name for some reason) was in the lead when I took off (woot woot go au pairs).
Didn't get home until 2, and of course up at 7. To a hugely unpleasant surprise. Toby was apparently sick Thursday night, and wouldn't be going to school today(he looked fine to me and was all smiles coming down the stairs to proudly inform me of this). But things got tricky. Fridays I am supposed to drop the kids off and be free from 8:30 to 12. We never discussed what happens when they have to stay home. After 7 hours of sleep in 2 days, I was in desperate need of sleep, and seriously pissed off at the thought of having Toby all day. I broached the subject with Michelle, asking if she perhaps could let me know a little bit ahead of time if she thinks one of the kids wouldnt be going to school, so I wouldnt make plans'(or stay out late drinking). She looked hugely surprised and upset with me, saying "well it's your job to look after the children, and you should be getting enough sleep so you can be alert with them, and blah blah on and on"
But, um NO, actually it's NOT my job to watch them during the days friday, and I WAS planning on getting some sleep-- when he was AT SCHOOL. Things were really tense the rest of the morning, but I finally emailed her to try and clear the air. I was really upset, especially because I hate conflict in general, but it's infinitely worse when you've got your boss/friend/and pseudo-family all combined in one. She finally called me and said she "just realized 5 minutes ago" that the mornings were to be my time off. Not exactly in apology or even thank you, but at least an acknowledgement that is was MY time, and a concession that she shouldn't have acted so perturbed that I was ever so slightly (read: HUGELY) annoyed at having to work an extra 7 hours, UNPAID.
So not the greatest start to my almost-weekend. However I just got a package from home that I know includes several celebrity gossip magzines. So things are looking up :o)
Monday, September 04, 2006
Invasion of the BIO-snatchers
One huge sigh of relief. Today marks the beginning of the end of 12 hr consecutive days with the children. My time with the kids will no doubt be hectic and crazy, but at least it will be shorter amounts of time filled with more to do, and hooray for that.
I dropped Benji off at his school today with Michelle and Marc, and met his teacher Joy. She was tall, blond, leggy, and gorgeous....Michelle said she's the reason while I'll see far more fathers dropping their children off than in any other class (I'll keep you posted on waht I observe). Benji's school is amazing, it's L'école internationale de Genève, and most all the kids' parents (read: fathers) are diplomats or CEO's who've relocated to Geneva. This made for an acoustic adventure down the hall to his class, where I heard at least 6 different languages (French dominated, with english, italian, german, dutch, and chinese/japonese/korean.....can't tell the difference and it was probably all of them anyways).
The mothers are another story. Most Swiss and French, all impeccably dressed in pleated skirts, lacoste polos, kitten heels, with chic hair and perfect skin. Their children are veritable mini-me's, with the same blasé air about them. At last I understood why Michelle said that going to parents night always gives her minor anxiety attacks. It's really just like high school with the "popular" girls in their little cliques.... though for Michelle I can't understand why she feels that way, given her professional success, stylish if dated clothes, and amazing body after 2 kids. Needless to say I felt quite sloppy in my Girls on the Run t-shirt and target capris, but really who can be bothered to get dressed up at 7am, when your job is to make porridge (read: oatmeal) for children?
Benji's friend Evie came over yesterday, and listening to her mother (who is a project manager for Ralph Lauren.... note to self, MUST befriend her) and Michelle speak was quite a surreal experience. The subject of choice was how food causes cancer. Michelle already has me buying everything from meat (understandable), to juice (a waste of money), to dried fruit (just insane!), BIO, for 2 to 4 times the normal price, which is already VERY expensive in Geneva. Marie-Claire (the other mother) then proceeded to tell Michelle about a woman who has done LOTS of research on how (apparently?) deadly food can be. Michelle counters with, "oh, but we buy bio everything."
But oh no, this doesn't put Marie-Claire at rest. "But you see, with bio, there are no pesticides. So the germs from the migrant workers who don't wash their hands are faaaaar (british accent emphasized) more abundant. So and so (overly obsessive mother who researches everything) says you must wash all bio fruit and vegetables thoroughly with soap, then spray with grapeseed oil. She RARELY eats fish, because of the high levels of metal toxins. Of course she doesn't touch chicken what with avian flu and all, and of course no red meat."
I listen to this exchange with amusement, wondering how anyone could be so incredibly anal retentive about what she eatss (what, exactly, does she eat I wonder?), and feel very sorry for her children. Also a bit horrified as it will most likely be me who does the washing of the fruit and spraying of the grapeseed oil. All the while, Michelle's eyes are bulging in terror. "I must meet this woman. What's her name? Do you think she would do a lunch date?!?!"
Oh sweet jesus. What the hell am I going to feed the children now? It's one thing to be knowledgable, which Michelle definitely is. But digging this far into the literatury genre of "what's going to kill me and my kids today," is just too much! If you heeded every warning, and thought of everything that could possibly do you harm, you would never get out of bed or leave the house.
Since moving to Genevea (over a month ago, thank you!) I've gotten much more comfortable speaking my mind, and not feeling like I need to apologize or mince my words. If she asks my opinion on the matter, I plan on telling her, in so many words, that I find it rather ridiculous to be that concerned over every morsel you put into your mouth. Probly won't help at all, but at least she'll get perspective from someone other than yuppy-tight mothers.
But I still have the feeling that you're reading the blog of a girl who will soon be drinking BIO water.
I dropped Benji off at his school today with Michelle and Marc, and met his teacher Joy. She was tall, blond, leggy, and gorgeous....Michelle said she's the reason while I'll see far more fathers dropping their children off than in any other class (I'll keep you posted on waht I observe). Benji's school is amazing, it's L'école internationale de Genève, and most all the kids' parents (read: fathers) are diplomats or CEO's who've relocated to Geneva. This made for an acoustic adventure down the hall to his class, where I heard at least 6 different languages (French dominated, with english, italian, german, dutch, and chinese/japonese/korean.....can't tell the difference and it was probably all of them anyways).
The mothers are another story. Most Swiss and French, all impeccably dressed in pleated skirts, lacoste polos, kitten heels, with chic hair and perfect skin. Their children are veritable mini-me's, with the same blasé air about them. At last I understood why Michelle said that going to parents night always gives her minor anxiety attacks. It's really just like high school with the "popular" girls in their little cliques.... though for Michelle I can't understand why she feels that way, given her professional success, stylish if dated clothes, and amazing body after 2 kids. Needless to say I felt quite sloppy in my Girls on the Run t-shirt and target capris, but really who can be bothered to get dressed up at 7am, when your job is to make porridge (read: oatmeal) for children?
Benji's friend Evie came over yesterday, and listening to her mother (who is a project manager for Ralph Lauren.... note to self, MUST befriend her) and Michelle speak was quite a surreal experience. The subject of choice was how food causes cancer. Michelle already has me buying everything from meat (understandable), to juice (a waste of money), to dried fruit (just insane!), BIO, for 2 to 4 times the normal price, which is already VERY expensive in Geneva. Marie-Claire (the other mother) then proceeded to tell Michelle about a woman who has done LOTS of research on how (apparently?) deadly food can be. Michelle counters with, "oh, but we buy bio everything."
But oh no, this doesn't put Marie-Claire at rest. "But you see, with bio, there are no pesticides. So the germs from the migrant workers who don't wash their hands are faaaaar (british accent emphasized) more abundant. So and so (overly obsessive mother who researches everything) says you must wash all bio fruit and vegetables thoroughly with soap, then spray with grapeseed oil. She RARELY eats fish, because of the high levels of metal toxins. Of course she doesn't touch chicken what with avian flu and all, and of course no red meat."
I listen to this exchange with amusement, wondering how anyone could be so incredibly anal retentive about what she eatss (what, exactly, does she eat I wonder?), and feel very sorry for her children. Also a bit horrified as it will most likely be me who does the washing of the fruit and spraying of the grapeseed oil. All the while, Michelle's eyes are bulging in terror. "I must meet this woman. What's her name? Do you think she would do a lunch date?!?!"
Oh sweet jesus. What the hell am I going to feed the children now? It's one thing to be knowledgable, which Michelle definitely is. But digging this far into the literatury genre of "what's going to kill me and my kids today," is just too much! If you heeded every warning, and thought of everything that could possibly do you harm, you would never get out of bed or leave the house.
Since moving to Genevea (over a month ago, thank you!) I've gotten much more comfortable speaking my mind, and not feeling like I need to apologize or mince my words. If she asks my opinion on the matter, I plan on telling her, in so many words, that I find it rather ridiculous to be that concerned over every morsel you put into your mouth. Probly won't help at all, but at least she'll get perspective from someone other than yuppy-tight mothers.
But I still have the feeling that you're reading the blog of a girl who will soon be drinking BIO water.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Emotional abuse on my (one month) anniversary
............by a four year old. Actually, he isn't even 4 yet. But Toby is a genius at making me feel like I want to cry, and that I am not wanted here. I know, he's 4. It's a developmental stage. I asked m mom, horrified, it I was like that sure I would never be capable of being so horrible to people I love. She said that whenever my Grandma would come over I would run away and clutch onto her leg. And furthermore, that, "And yes...you....and probably every 4 year old does WHATEVER they can do to get non-stop-full-time ATTENTION!!! If I was on the phone...you would immediately start tugging & talking & doing whatever you could to get me away from a phone conversation ("Mommy..Mommy...Mommy would be non-stop until I got off the phone or stopped talking to Sheila or whoever...It's a 4 year old thing!) & back to giving you attention."
But Toby, he can be really horrible. If I ask him what he did at school, he'll say, "I DON'T want to tell you." Or if Michelle (mom) suggests we do something, he'll retort, '' Only if Meggie doesn't go." Or if he's feeling especially méchant (mean) he'll just outright tell me "I don't like you, you're not my friend, I am going to cut off all your hair and put you in the sea." I have to keep a straight face and try not to laugh at these last two...but when he just point blank recoils from me, and just screams in my face "I want Flora" (their housekeeper), I just feel defeated. Benji is much nicer to me, but he's very cool-headed, and not very affectionate. Toby can be a "cuddly koala bear" (he looks like one too), or a volatile little monster. I just hope that it doesn't take 8 months for the kids to really warm up to me, when it'll be nearly time for me to leave.
Last night (friday sept. 1) was the circus. What a different experience viewing a circus not only as an adult, but in a different cultural context. The "MC's" were two ridiculous men dressed up as police for the zone douane, or the border patrol. Their main schtick was to make fun of anyone/anything who was not Swiss and it had some seriously racist over tones-- you would NEVER see something like this in the States; I would be surprised if it weren't illegal.
And then there were the animals. Incredibly beautiful horses, llamas, and elephants were paraded around the ring. Since we were only 3 rows back, you could see every detail of their inane performance. I particularly despised the llamas, there they made the brown ones kneel (looked unnatural and painful), and the white ones jump over. They had the horses do this stupid act where they would stop their galloping around the circle, dim the lights and music and have them lay down. They then put pillows under their heads like they were going to "fais dodo" (go to sleep). Awww, how cute. Yeah, no. It was sickening. The horse trainer was the worst. Big fat, sweaty man who looked luck a stuffed sausage in his gaudy, purple suit. I was secretly rooting for the horses to break formation and maul him. It didn't happen last night, but I've still got my fingers crossed.
The human part was pretty cool. They had some great acrobats, which is what really made the show for me. Except for the 10 yr old girl, who was the "centerpiece" of all these acts, twisting and contorting her body in ways that I didn't know were possible, and which certainly not be good for a little girls developing body. I had to wonder, how much choice did/does she have in wanting to devote her young years to possibly injuring herself in a small potatoes, tacky Swiss circus company?
So new view on circuses: they are a fun spectacle for kids to watch...but I never want to see one again unless it involves no animals, and only humans over the age of 18.
But Toby, he can be really horrible. If I ask him what he did at school, he'll say, "I DON'T want to tell you." Or if Michelle (mom) suggests we do something, he'll retort, '' Only if Meggie doesn't go." Or if he's feeling especially méchant (mean) he'll just outright tell me "I don't like you, you're not my friend, I am going to cut off all your hair and put you in the sea." I have to keep a straight face and try not to laugh at these last two...but when he just point blank recoils from me, and just screams in my face "I want Flora" (their housekeeper), I just feel defeated. Benji is much nicer to me, but he's very cool-headed, and not very affectionate. Toby can be a "cuddly koala bear" (he looks like one too), or a volatile little monster. I just hope that it doesn't take 8 months for the kids to really warm up to me, when it'll be nearly time for me to leave.
Last night (friday sept. 1) was the circus. What a different experience viewing a circus not only as an adult, but in a different cultural context. The "MC's" were two ridiculous men dressed up as police for the zone douane, or the border patrol. Their main schtick was to make fun of anyone/anything who was not Swiss and it had some seriously racist over tones-- you would NEVER see something like this in the States; I would be surprised if it weren't illegal.
And then there were the animals. Incredibly beautiful horses, llamas, and elephants were paraded around the ring. Since we were only 3 rows back, you could see every detail of their inane performance. I particularly despised the llamas, there they made the brown ones kneel (looked unnatural and painful), and the white ones jump over. They had the horses do this stupid act where they would stop their galloping around the circle, dim the lights and music and have them lay down. They then put pillows under their heads like they were going to "fais dodo" (go to sleep). Awww, how cute. Yeah, no. It was sickening. The horse trainer was the worst. Big fat, sweaty man who looked luck a stuffed sausage in his gaudy, purple suit. I was secretly rooting for the horses to break formation and maul him. It didn't happen last night, but I've still got my fingers crossed.
The human part was pretty cool. They had some great acrobats, which is what really made the show for me. Except for the 10 yr old girl, who was the "centerpiece" of all these acts, twisting and contorting her body in ways that I didn't know were possible, and which certainly not be good for a little girls developing body. I had to wonder, how much choice did/does she have in wanting to devote her young years to possibly injuring herself in a small potatoes, tacky Swiss circus company?
So new view on circuses: they are a fun spectacle for kids to watch...but I never want to see one again unless it involves no animals, and only humans over the age of 18.
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