Bisous d'anniversaire (Birthday Kisses)

The alarm sounded and I woke up to a quieter than normal morning, no stomping feet or little voices yelling in French upstairs. My au pair instincts immediately made me wonder if everything was OK, and fear the all too likely stuck-in-the-house-all-day-with-a-sick-kid sentence. Which of course, on my birthday, would much more painful than usual.

Up, dressed, normal morning routine. Dishes unloaded, bowls set out, cornflakes poured and milk readied for the boys’ voracious morning appetites. My fear had thankfully dissipated when Toby streaked downstairs, half-naked, to grab his clothes, flashing me a big grin and a mischievous “HEHE” before flying back upstairs to get dressed. One healthy child going to school down, one to go.

I poured myself some muesli and cut up a banana (my current favorite breakfast), and even found some strawberries in le frigo for an extra delicious birthday treat. The boys came down, strategically dressed in their Michigan football and Michigan soccer t-shirts, and started blabbering about nothing in particular, totally forgetting about my special day. Because part of me is still 6 years old, and I don’t think I’ll ever tire of my own birthdays, I said, “So my mummy sent me 3 birthday cards on the computer this morning,” just to have someone to talk to and share my excitement with.
“AHHH,” Benji exclaimed, “And did she send you presents through the computer, too?”

“No sweetie, you can’t really do that” I replied, secretly wishing you could, and that I was now in possession of a massive stack of colorfully wrapped and bowed packages.

Toby looked over at me, gave me a goofy, head-tilted grin, and told me, “happy birthday les nanas” (les nanas is colloquial French for “the girls,” and was the only form of address used by Toby, Benji and Marc to Julie and me while she was still living with us.)

Seeming as though my birthday excitement with the kids had lived it’s rapidly combustible life span of 4 minutes, I went back to enjoying my muesli, losing myself in thoughts about the nice day ahead; baking a cake, reading in the park while the boys went to judo, and later attending the au pair meeting, where they would be talking about preparing to re-enter your home country….even just talking about it makes it seem closer! Deeply and pensively staring into my cereal bowl, I didn’t even hear Marc come down and give a sleepy, half-hearted “Bonjour.” I looked up as the kids immediately barraged their papa with questions and requests. As Marc went to pour himself some cornflakes, he looked over at me and questioned, “Aujourd’hui c’est to anniversaire, toi ?(Today’s your birthday, right?”).

“Oui,” I replied, half shocked he had remembered, despite the fact the kids had been talking about his birthday (June 13, the day before mine) and mine for the past 2 weeks.

He walked towards the fridge, going to get what I had presumed to be the milk, but then swooped in for the trois bisous (three kisses) that are apparently customary to give on someone’s birthday. The first time I gave bisous to Marc I was jet-lagged, semi-drugged, and in shock about my new life with the family, that I’d been living for all of an hour and a half. I happily report that this time was (marginally) better. While I still had muesli in my mouth, I was successfully able to negotiate my cheeks and his without A) accidentally kissing him on the lips or B) inadvertently spitting muesli in his face.

After this fait was accompli, I watched Toby pull over his Papa and beckon him to bend down, so he could whisper something in his ear. Marc reached in the chair and scooped Toby up, his strong arms flying him through the air until he was face to face with me. Toby smiled, then moved in, giving me three big, wet, adorable little-kid kisses on the cheek before finally hugging me and whispering in my ear, “happy birthday Meggie.”

I was grinning like a fool. This is a child who shows minimal, if any, affection for me, and whose daily emotional response towards me is indifference. Benji saw what his brother was doing and, the little crowd pleaser that he is, requested for his Papa to do the same thing. Boy number 2 flew through the air, landing on my lap and giving me my bisous, a bear hug, and nestling his head into my neck and purring like a kitten (Benji’s trademark, he’s obsessed with kittens and puppies right now).

The morning carried on as normal. I cleared the dishes, stood vigilant in the bathroom making sure both boys actually brushed their teeth, not just eating the toothpaste and wriggling the brush around in their mouths, then took them to school. Walking back, I thought about birthdays past. Being 19, and having my cousin Kalli pile as many of my friends as possible into his Blazer, buy us a fifth of (in retrospect) nasty orange Smirnoff, and drive us to Canada, where we proceeded to get drunk off of sickly sweet Long-Island iced teas and dance the night away like fools, getting our first glimpse of the bar culture we would frequent over the many years to come (thanks again Kal, love you!). My 21st, where I met all my friends at the Ann Arbor underage institution Scorekeepers, and drank my night away feeling like a celebrity, while someone kept a tally of my drinks in black marker on my arm. I remember how much fun it was until I couldn’t remember anything, then feeling so grateful to my mom and dad when they were understanding about me spending the next 24 hours on the couch, and not wanting to go out to our favorite fancy restaurant the next night.

My birthday en Suisse will be ordinary. I’ll work, do dishes, do laundry, and probably go to bed at a decent hour. I will however have my favorite dinner (9 jewel spicy vegetable curry), a *hopefully* delicious cake that two of my good friends are coming over to bake shortly, and most importantly the love and affection of two amazing little boys, and the respect and kindness of their father, a man whom I wholeheartedly respect.

And of course, my 9 cherished Bisous d'anniversaire, birthday kisses that I will never forget.