I hate this time of year. Winter has been dragging on for what seems like months (it started early this year, too). It's gray and rainy and has been for weeks. I vaguely remember what sunshine is like. The children have been sick non-stop since December. The days are still short (although getting longer, thankfully) and it's usually too cold or too wet to play outside.
On top of all that, it's winter break here. So Geo is home from school and ready for some fun. Unfortunately, it's been harder than I thought it would be to find fun activities that are a)indoors, b)easy-ish to get to, c)affordable. Plus many of his friends are out of town. To be frank, last week sucked. I'm hoping this coming week we'll have a higher success rate, but C will be out of town (waaaaaay on the other side of the world, to boot). I think we'll be eating Picard off of paper plates and just simplify as much as possible. I'm praying Mazen doesn't get any sicker than he is now-- a cold I can handle alone, but an ear infection and bronchiolitis would be tough to manage solo.
These are minor issues. But add to the seasonal draggishness I'm feeling right now and I just feel.... overwhelmed. Like everything requires too much effort to bother. (I know! I know! Not good. But I swear, once the sun comes out again, I will be fine.)
So I'll be gritting my teeth and powering through this coming week.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
On giving advice people don't want to hear...
I'm on a bit of a posting roll these days. It's good to be back!
So I got contacted through my Anglophone parent's network yesterday by an American woman who is married to a French man. They've been living in France for a couple of years and she has recently finished a high-level degree and is having a hard time finding work. She told me she's depressed; she hates it here and wants to go back to the US. The problem is that before she and her husband were here, they were already in the US, where he spent ten months searching for a job before giving up and finding work in France within two weeks.
She wanted my advice about what to do. She wanted to hear about our experience going back to the US.
It was hard to know what to tell her. I said that when we made the decision to come back to France, after a year in the US, I was sad. But I had also lived in France for eight years and knew what to expect. And that when we came I decided I was sick of waiting for my life to begin; I was going to put down roots, plan for the future and stop the "wait and see" game. I would buy a nice couch. I would plan which schools my kids would go to. And I told her that not only am I now happy, I'm also prepared for the idea that we could pick up and move again in the future.
I don't think it's what she wanted to hear. She wants to go back to where she comes from. She says people don't smile enough in France. Their jokes, when her husband's friends come over for dinner, that they try to make to her in English, aren't the least bit funny (I'm thinking the problem may be the friends, or the language barrier!). She told me there was *one* place in the United States she wanted to live. Man, talk about shooting yourself in the foot. If you are trying to get a bi-cultural family moved to a new spot where both people can find jobs, it helps to be a little flexible on location. I told her that, too.
In the end, I don't think our conversation helped her much. I invited her over for coffee-- maybe feeling less lonely would help her-- but it sounded to me like she was depressed and the only solution she could see was moving. That's a recipe for making a really bad decision. I feel that I pushed us to go to the US because I was in a bad place and it took a toll on both of us.
I guess what I've realized is that happiness is only *partly* about where you are. Sure, there are exceptions to this. Being the only gay person in a small Southern town would suck; being the only minority could make life impossible, but barring those two scenarios, a lot of happiness is choosing to find it, choosing to embrace it.
I hope she and her husband work it out. One question I didn't ask her, but should have, was, what if he still can't find a job? Would she come back to France again? Get divorced? There are huge stresses related to international moves-- financial, personal-- and I think it's important to ask yourself really tough questions. We made it through the experience but it was one of the hardest things we've ever done. We're older, wiser, and ultimately better off for having done it. But I would never do it again.
So I got contacted through my Anglophone parent's network yesterday by an American woman who is married to a French man. They've been living in France for a couple of years and she has recently finished a high-level degree and is having a hard time finding work. She told me she's depressed; she hates it here and wants to go back to the US. The problem is that before she and her husband were here, they were already in the US, where he spent ten months searching for a job before giving up and finding work in France within two weeks.
She wanted my advice about what to do. She wanted to hear about our experience going back to the US.
It was hard to know what to tell her. I said that when we made the decision to come back to France, after a year in the US, I was sad. But I had also lived in France for eight years and knew what to expect. And that when we came I decided I was sick of waiting for my life to begin; I was going to put down roots, plan for the future and stop the "wait and see" game. I would buy a nice couch. I would plan which schools my kids would go to. And I told her that not only am I now happy, I'm also prepared for the idea that we could pick up and move again in the future.
I don't think it's what she wanted to hear. She wants to go back to where she comes from. She says people don't smile enough in France. Their jokes, when her husband's friends come over for dinner, that they try to make to her in English, aren't the least bit funny (I'm thinking the problem may be the friends, or the language barrier!). She told me there was *one* place in the United States she wanted to live. Man, talk about shooting yourself in the foot. If you are trying to get a bi-cultural family moved to a new spot where both people can find jobs, it helps to be a little flexible on location. I told her that, too.
In the end, I don't think our conversation helped her much. I invited her over for coffee-- maybe feeling less lonely would help her-- but it sounded to me like she was depressed and the only solution she could see was moving. That's a recipe for making a really bad decision. I feel that I pushed us to go to the US because I was in a bad place and it took a toll on both of us.
I guess what I've realized is that happiness is only *partly* about where you are. Sure, there are exceptions to this. Being the only gay person in a small Southern town would suck; being the only minority could make life impossible, but barring those two scenarios, a lot of happiness is choosing to find it, choosing to embrace it.
I hope she and her husband work it out. One question I didn't ask her, but should have, was, what if he still can't find a job? Would she come back to France again? Get divorced? There are huge stresses related to international moves-- financial, personal-- and I think it's important to ask yourself really tough questions. We made it through the experience but it was one of the hardest things we've ever done. We're older, wiser, and ultimately better off for having done it. But I would never do it again.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
On safari...
Ok. This is going to be a little bit of a rant. Bear with me. Please keep in mind that 1) I adore my children, 2) I usually manage to keep things in perspective and am extremely good at counting my blessings/looking at the bright side/making lemonade from lemons, etc etc etc. Oh, and big fat number 3: if you do things differently than I do, know that I really do not care how you live your life, I am not sitting in judgment on anyone, I am trying to figure stuff out for myself and my life.
Ahem. Disclaimer over.
Today, as always, I opened my Facebook account to see what was happening in the lives of my friends and family. And one of my friends, a woman who I have had little real contact with in the last, oh, five or six years posted a status update. Some background: she has three young children (all under five, including a young baby) and she has a great job. Anyway. Her status said, "Leaving the kids with hubby and grandparents to go on a ten-day photo safari in Tanzania!!".
And I thought, as I got up from the computer to unload and reload the dishwasher, to fill and empty and refill the washing machine, to start cooking the beans for our burritos and making the tortillas for dinner, all on a gray, dull day in February, as a sick, whiny baby clung to my leg and shrieked each time I moved, I thought: "Tanzania sounds really good right now."
And a blinding realization hit me. I, too, could go to Tanzania. I could! I could quit breastfeeding, find a job, enroll the baby in daycare, have Geo stay before and after school in care and I COULD GO TO TANZANIA. Why should I be chained to the stove, sink, kitchen every bloody day? What's the frigging point? I'm starting to feel like I've been sold a bill of goods. I was told that breastfeeding and cosleeping would mean happy, healthy kids. Kids less likely to get sick (insert hysterical laughter here). What if all this AP parenting is just bullshit? What if it *is* retro, anti-feminist crap to keep us quiet and busy knitting our own underwear while tending our balcony Victory gardens and canning our own food? What if, at age 45, when my kids are teens and hate being around me I'm STILL stuck at home, making healthy meals, doing the goddamn neverending laundry? I so don't want that for myself. I want Tanzania.
So why can't I do it? I look at my littlest son, who is sick, again, for the ten katrillionth time this winter, and my heart hurts. Having a life for myself would mean even when he feels crappy he'd be in daycare. I look at Geo. No calm, fun afternoons playing at the sandbox, he'd be in after-school care. No relaxed Wednesdays, in his pyjamas until noon. There would be few home-cooked meals, weekends would be a whirl of errands that I currently spread out over the week. I'm sure I'd be a more stressed out and therefore less pleasant person for my kids to be around. I think in the long run, my kids would be fine. They would grow up more or less happy and healthy and we'd have a good relationship. And I could go to Tanzania. There are days like today when that doesn't sound so bad to me.
Ahem. Disclaimer over.
Today, as always, I opened my Facebook account to see what was happening in the lives of my friends and family. And one of my friends, a woman who I have had little real contact with in the last, oh, five or six years posted a status update. Some background: she has three young children (all under five, including a young baby) and she has a great job. Anyway. Her status said, "Leaving the kids with hubby and grandparents to go on a ten-day photo safari in Tanzania!!".
And I thought, as I got up from the computer to unload and reload the dishwasher, to fill and empty and refill the washing machine, to start cooking the beans for our burritos and making the tortillas for dinner, all on a gray, dull day in February, as a sick, whiny baby clung to my leg and shrieked each time I moved, I thought: "Tanzania sounds really good right now."
And a blinding realization hit me. I, too, could go to Tanzania. I could! I could quit breastfeeding, find a job, enroll the baby in daycare, have Geo stay before and after school in care and I COULD GO TO TANZANIA. Why should I be chained to the stove, sink, kitchen every bloody day? What's the frigging point? I'm starting to feel like I've been sold a bill of goods. I was told that breastfeeding and cosleeping would mean happy, healthy kids. Kids less likely to get sick (insert hysterical laughter here). What if all this AP parenting is just bullshit? What if it *is* retro, anti-feminist crap to keep us quiet and busy knitting our own underwear while tending our balcony Victory gardens and canning our own food? What if, at age 45, when my kids are teens and hate being around me I'm STILL stuck at home, making healthy meals, doing the goddamn neverending laundry? I so don't want that for myself. I want Tanzania.
So why can't I do it? I look at my littlest son, who is sick, again, for the ten katrillionth time this winter, and my heart hurts. Having a life for myself would mean even when he feels crappy he'd be in daycare. I look at Geo. No calm, fun afternoons playing at the sandbox, he'd be in after-school care. No relaxed Wednesdays, in his pyjamas until noon. There would be few home-cooked meals, weekends would be a whirl of errands that I currently spread out over the week. I'm sure I'd be a more stressed out and therefore less pleasant person for my kids to be around. I think in the long run, my kids would be fine. They would grow up more or less happy and healthy and we'd have a good relationship. And I could go to Tanzania. There are days like today when that doesn't sound so bad to me.
Friday, February 4, 2011
After a five-month hiatus....
I'm back.
It's February. We made it through the first semester of school, through the typical fall stuff (catching every bug that went through Geo's class and which he was kind enough to bring home with him)-- and through some new stuff. I started giving English lessons to kids on Wednesday and to two adults, plus continued editing the magazine and even took on the role of VP Publishing in the Anglophone Parenting association I belong to. I also started blogging for a multicultural parenting website. Oh, and we traveled at Thanksgiving to Germany, which was great.
Then came Christmas with all its craziness (cooking, gifts, cleaning, decorating, etc)-- we had a visitor, my dad, who came for about two weeks. Then P & C came a couple of days after Christmas. Then it was New Year's, then back to school-- then came the Great Sickness. Two weeks of a very sick baby then a very sick big boy. We got past that and it was time to prepare for Mazen's birthday (!!!). My little baby (ok, my not-little-at-all baby) is ONE.
Now it's February. And I'm back. I've missed this blog.
It's February. We made it through the first semester of school, through the typical fall stuff (catching every bug that went through Geo's class and which he was kind enough to bring home with him)-- and through some new stuff. I started giving English lessons to kids on Wednesday and to two adults, plus continued editing the magazine and even took on the role of VP Publishing in the Anglophone Parenting association I belong to. I also started blogging for a multicultural parenting website. Oh, and we traveled at Thanksgiving to Germany, which was great.
Then came Christmas with all its craziness (cooking, gifts, cleaning, decorating, etc)-- we had a visitor, my dad, who came for about two weeks. Then P & C came a couple of days after Christmas. Then it was New Year's, then back to school-- then came the Great Sickness. Two weeks of a very sick baby then a very sick big boy. We got past that and it was time to prepare for Mazen's birthday (!!!). My little baby (ok, my not-little-at-all baby) is ONE.
Now it's February. And I'm back. I've missed this blog.
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