The Bold Soul™

It's times like this I wish we had a car

So around 9:45 this morning, I posted a Tweet about how I was really hoping we'd find out soon if we are getting this apartment, because we would need to buy a couple of big-ticket items to make the space work for us (slightly shorter fridge and a mezzanine-bed are the minimum purchases, although we may need a few other things down the road) and I was hoping to take advantage of the big January sales.

Well, for once, the Universe heard me loud and clear because less than one hour later, I had a call from the real estate agent saying that WE GOT THE APARTMENT! This is such good news on a number of levels, the #1 being able to get the Little Guy started in a really good middle school next fall (one that is in the same building as a really good high school, same lycée his three older siblings attended). Except for not having a true second bedroom (hence the mezzanine bed), this apartment pretty much checks all the boxes, although it is technically in the upper 9th arrondissement instead of the 18th/Montmartre (Georges has lived in the 18th for going on 30 years). But it's a great area, a 5-10 minute walk to Montmartre and with even better amenities than we have now, and all at a very reasonable monthly rent. And I'm SO ready to give up these hills and staircases, which are killing my knees and back.

All in all, well worth giving up our incredible views. We won't have any views in the new place. You can't always have everything.

This isn't our forever apartment, but it will take us through the next two to three years until the boy is older and will need more privacy. In the meantime, I'm working hard to sell my book and start writing others, and hopefully by the time we're ready to make that next move, we'll also be ready for our dream apartment.

So I'm already starting to think about packing, which means we have to go and get the flat cartons out of our storage unit so we can make boxes and fill them. Again. And this is why I wish I had a car, just for things like this. We have a couple hundred flat boxes over there, and trying to take them home a few at a time via the bus is not practical. So we'll probably end up renting a large car with fold-down rear seat or a small van. And then renting another one around the time we actually move, to put all the things in storage the professional movers won't be able to take to our new place, which is smaller than where we are now.

Maybe we'll have to try the city's new Autolib service, although those cars look pretty small and I'm not sure how many boxes they could hold (flat or filled!)

Bolognaise, baguette and brownies

After four years seems I think I am really being appreciated by my step-kids for my COOKING skills.

(That "THUD" you just heard was my mother falling over in shock.)

The Olders (I really need to come up with a new code name for them, since they're both over 20, and saying "teens" and "kids" doesn't really fit any more) were just here for a late lunch, and I made a spaghetti bolognaise with a giant salad with little tomatoes, chopped mozzarella and a balsamic vinaigrette. I had picked up a baguette on my way home from the post office earlier, and then I also realized I had enough eggs to make brownies (thank you, Betty Crocker).

Now, Georges ALWAYS appreciates whatever I make, and in general my step-kids have usually been quick to tell me that something I've made tastes good, so it's not like I've been living with four years of complaints. But I am not the world's most imaginative cook, and frankly I'm rather limited to a few things I know are (a) easy and (b) I know I can do well. In fact, between the two of us, Georges is usually the much better and more creative chef. I just ordered a Crock Pot this week so I can start coming up with something new, but it hasn't arrived yet so I had no choice but to fall back on my bolognaise.

Well, I don't know what was so different today, but for some reason they were just extra enthusiastic about the lunch I served. Everything smelled so good! Everything tasted so great! Big smiles on all the faces! I might say it's because they're college students (La Fille also brought a friend home for the weekend) and like all students, their cooking habits and food choices are probably boring, inexpensive and a bit lax. So maybe it was just having a really good home-cooked meal that made them extra happy.

I don't care WHY they loved it. I don't really want to question it. It was just nice to feel the love. And for my COOKING, of all things.

A typical one-sided conversation

A typical start to a morning in our house:

"Good morning, time to get up honey. I put your clothes on the bed. Start to wake up, get dressed, and come to the kitchen."

Grunt.

5 minutes later: "OK, you really have to get up now. Your clothes are right there. Get up and get dressed please."

Moan.

5 minutes later: "Hey! What are you still doing under the covers! You have to get up and get dressed now or you'll be late! Hurry up and come to the table."

[muffled by blankets] "D'accord."

5 minutes later, his father goes and gets him and walks (or carries) him to the table, sometimes fully dressed, sometimes still in his pajamas.

"Do you want a hot chocolate?"

"Mm."

"OK it's coming. Drink your juice. Start eating."

Every 2 minutes for the next 20 minutes, one parent or the other says:

"EAT!" (He is not a big breakfast person, this kid. But he's too skinny so we have to nag him anyway. And if he's not too sleepy to eat.)

Then: "OK you're fimished. Brush your teeth and comb your hair."

Then, assuming he's not already dressed: "Go get your clothes and get dressed. We leave in 7 minutes."

"Yeah, yeah." (or French equivalent)

2 minutes later: "Are you dressed? You're not dressed! Stop playing and get dressed, hurry up!"

"Yeah, yeah." (tone of voice implying he is clearly not going to hurry no matter what we say)

2 minutes later, with urgency: "You'd better be dressed! We're leaving in 3 minutes." (If it's his father talking, the voice finally gets louder and angrier. The man is patient but he's not a saint.)

"Get your shoes on."

"Uh-huh."

"Get your coat on."

"Uh-huh."

"Do you have your backpack?"

"Uh-huh."

"No you don't. *I* have your backpack. Here, put it on. Zip up your coat. OK, let's go."

Parenthood is such a damn glamorous job.

Sanity check

We're having our official Christmas with all THREE of the kids tonight, because the older two will be spending the holiday with their mom this year. Then tomorrow morning, the Little Guy and I are hopping the TGV to Saint Raphael (Georges follows on Wednesday) where we'll spend Christmas and the New Year with Georges' sister. And where I'm hoping it's at least sunny and a few degrees warmer than in Paris.

With all of this going on, suffice to say I'm about run off my feet today.

Gifts all wrapped... CHECK.

Gifts for St. Raph packed in suitcase for Georges to bring on Wednesday... CHECK.

Gifts for tonight under the tree... CHECK.

My suitcase packed... um, well nearly.

Little Guy's suitcase packed... um, almost. His clothes are all laid out, just have to put them in.

Remembering that we want to bring swimsuits to swim in the municipal indoor pool... CHECK (whew, almost forgot).

Unpacking and repacking the big gift suitcase when I realize I forgot to put something in there the first time... CHECK.

Step-daughter off doing food shopping for tonight's dinner... CHECK (she's also doing the cooking, wheeeeee!)

Disaster of a dirty kitchen all cleaned up so step-daughter can cook... uh... nope. Gee, better get on that next.

Train tickets and ID in my purse... CHECK.

Georges' tickets and ID in his suitcase... CHECK.

Letting my sister-in-law know that we're arriving earlier than expected tomorrow because Georges got mixed up and told her the wrong arrival time... CHECK.

Asking myself for the 100th time, "What else am I forgetting?"... CHECK.

Wondering where I left my sanity, and did I accidentally gift-wrap it and stick it under the tree with the kids' stuff... CHECK.

Nothing left but the kelp

Before:

And, after:

Plus, a dozen escargots. And dessert.

Thus, you have a Sunday lunch for two adults and one ravenous 10-year-old who totally eats stuff like oysters and snails, and who demolished a half of that big crab (plus some of mine as well). Take THAT, McDonald's.

Poupées, Lights and Legos

On Friday I had to run to the big Joué Club, a huge toy emporium, because I have now become one of those parents who will go to great lengths to find that special toy her kid really wants. The Little Guy has started making out his Christmas list, but one item was sort of a pre-Christmas request: a Lego Advent Calendar, the Star Wars version. I didn't know that Lego made an Advent Calendar but I thought it was a pretty cool idea. Last Saturday, I took the 85 bus, which is near our place and which conveniently passes right by this store -- a gorgeous collection of small boutiques housed in one of the city's old shopping arcades. It's magical, and if I were a kid I'd totally love it. Among other things, they have one entire room devoted to Legos, and since there isn't an official Lego store in Paris, this is the next best thing.

Of course, when I got there, I was informed that they were out of all the advent calendars (there are two versions, in the Star Wars and City collections) but that they were expecting more in a shipment on Monday, early afternoon. OK, no problem. While on the way home, I swung by another toy store on Boulevard Barbes but as I suspected, they had no Advent Calendars nor even any Harry Potter Legos whatsoever. Pfft! On Monday afternoon, I wasn't feeling all that well, but I went down to the Joué Club again... and found out the shipment did NOT contain the item I wanted, but they thought it might come in on Tuesday. I asked if there was a phone number where I call to inquire before I came down again, and they said yes, it was in the free store catalogue (which I had already picked up on Saturday). And by the way, the sales staff was actually nice and quite friendly, so points for Joué Club Paris!

A little doll house in the doll boutique and lots of pink bling, Joué Club Paris.

Well, Tuesday I was feeling worse. Wednesday, even worse. But by Thursday I figured I had to suck it up and get over to the store. Even after five years in France, I still dread having to talk on the phone, but decided I really ought to call and make sure they'd gotten the shipment in before I dragged my sick ass all the way down there for nothing. And Lo! The Lego Angels smiled upon me, and I got through the phone call with a "Oui, we do have the Star Wars Advent Calendar" and a "see you soon" when I said I was on my way to pick one up. More points for the store staff for good phone service!

I got to the store and decided to check out some of the board games because the Little Guy wants an upgraded Monopoly game, one of the new electronic ones. Naturally -- the ones he wanted weren't in stock and of course they were expecting a shipment in a couple of days, so we'll have to go through this all over again. But when I went to the Lego room, in under 5 minutes a staff member found me what I wanted and it was all paid for. Voila! It only took me three trips to the same store plus the trip to the other store, but we will have a happy kid next week, although of course he has to wait until December 1st to open the box!

After that, I had some energy left and decided to walk the few short blocks to the Grand Magasins, Galeries Lafayette and Printemps. I rarely go to these stores as (1) they are so huge they are overwhelming to me, and (2) they're normally out of my price range. But each year they do special Christmas windows and I also decided to check out some of their special gift boutiques, looking for ideas for some family members back home. I found one kitschy gift item for my niece that I hope she'll like, and got some other ideas as well. Then I decided to wander out in front to see what the windows looked like.

Oddly enough, both stores seemed to be sort of copy-catting each other, with marionettes dancing in the windows. Galerie's Lafayette's store-wide theme seems to be "Rock-n-Mode" (see their big interior tree here and images of the glass dome here) so the windows had music playing and dolls dancing:

Every one of these marionettes was moving or dancing or playing a guitar.

I liked this window... a girl band with screaming audience members above.

Then I moved down the street to Printemps, where it seems Chanel sponsored all their windows this year. They alternated some marionette scenes with other wild-animal-themed windows, so I really don't know what their overall decorative theme was supposed to be. But here are a few of the windows I really liked:

No dancing poupées but very dramatic with the big lion head, a crystal chandelier and lots of bling and frost.

I liked this Russian ballet scene, complete with Russian music for the dancers.

All the dolls in this window were identical: black suits and dark glasses, white hair with pony tails, and cameras. Not sure what was up with that, but it was set in a snowy Paris, complete with Eiffel Tower, Sacre Coeur, the column from the Place Vendome (with the Chanel logo on top) and a miniature Printemps store!

And I'm not sure what these vintage "travelers" had in common with Beverly Hills, Hollywood, Printemps and Chanel (see sign on back wall) but I liked this because it reminded me of the new series Pan Am and the "golden days" of air travel.

So, there you are... a peek into a few Parisian store windows and a hint of what my life is going to be like for the next three weeks as I tackle my gift shopping for the season. And I need to get a package heading stateside ASAP if it's going to arrive in time for December 24th!

 

And... exhale

After almost a week with a sick child (he's doing better now, thanks, and fortunately it was nothing serious) and fighting some kind of upper respiratory thing of my own, things are once again quiet here Chez Nous, and just in time for a 3-day weekend starting tomorrow. We have no plans whatsoever other than to just enjoy our time together and relax.

In other news (but no surprise by now, I'm sure), we have finally started the legal process to buy an adorable 1-bedroom apartment in the very heart of Montmartre, just near Abbesses and rue Lepic, perfect for travelers. On Monday we spent about 2 1/2 hours at the notaire's office, getting hand cramps as we (and the seller) signed and/or initialled about 150 individual pieces of paper. We won't have completed the sale (involving signing almost as many papers again) until just before the holidays, and at the moment the apartment comes with a tenant so we won't be able to accept any guests for a while, but we're so excited about this and I can't wait until I can get my hands on the place to give it some special touches. Happily, we're buying it furnished with kitchen equipped, so there's not much to do. Fun, fun, fun!

Can't show you any interior photos or details of the apartment yet... I'd prefer to wait until it's available and ready for guests. But I can share that it's just around the corner from this:

So, hopefully before too long, you will have the option of staying in our little corner of Paris, as our guests! Stay tuned...

And that's about all I've got this week... the weather is getting colder, the leaves are finally falling (giving us an even better view of Sacre Coeur, so that's one plus to the winter here), and we're already thinking about our plans to spend the Christmas holidays due south. Mostly I just need to recharge my batteries. I'll be back!

A mom-ish moment

This morning as I was pre-cleaning the apartment (because the cleaning lady was coming -- you all know how that works, right? Where you hustle around the house picking up the crap that you've allowed to accumulate since the last time she cleaned, and now you're embarrassed to let her see how bad you let it get?), I had a strange thought pop into my head for no reason.

I happened to glance at our land-line phone while I was in the living room, and thought something like: "I hope I don't get a call from the school saying that he's sick or hurt". Or perhaps I should  say I was really thinking: "The school *is* going to call today and tell me he needs to be picked up." Like it wasn't a fear I had... it was just something I knew was true. Like it was already a fact. Even though it wasn't.

I immediately realized how odd this was, having that very clear thought out of the blue like that -- because he was fine yesterday, fine last night and fine this morning and I had no reason to suspect anything might be wrong. He'd had a nagging cough recently but thanks to some good medicine, it seemed virtually finished and we weren't even worried about it. So of course, I just sort of shrugged it off and went on with my day. I forgot I'd ever had that idea.

Pretty much the only time we get calls on our land-line are:

1. Telemarketers (oui, ça existe en France aussi) trying to sell us replacement windows or upgraded health care coverage;
2. Georges' sisters or friends sometimes call on the house phone if it's the weekend, or if they need to talk to me instead of him on weekdays; and
3. The (thankfully very rare) occasions when the Little Guy is either sick or hurt at school, and they need someone to come take him home.

To date, in the four years I've known this child, I think we've gotten called by the school twice. Once was for a touch of gastro, and once he got accidentally popped in the head by another kid during recess play and the school felt he should be checked out by a doctor just in case (he was fine). Normally, this boy is in very good health. So I had no reason to be worried.

The minute the phone rang about 2:30pm this afternoon... I KNEW. I knew it was the school calling before I answered. Just like I apparently knew I would get that call when I had that weird thought this morning. Not might... would.

Luckily he wasn't hurt, it was more of an upset stomach and headache (he had fish for lunch so maybe he got a bad piece of fish), and once we got home he was happy to have some quiet time, and he doesn't seem to have any more symptoms though we'll keep an eye on him over the weekend. Just business as usual, right?

What I can't get over is the intuitive moment I had this morning. And that as a result of that moment, I also dragged my feet all day about going out and doing the food shopping -- even though I was not consciously thinking about my earlier moment of concern about a potential phone call from school -- and had I gone out as planned, I would not have been home when the school called. I kept berating myself about NOT going out sooner, actually, thinking it was just my usual lazy procrastination kicking in. But this time, I guess it was something other than hating to go to the supermarket: a sense of "I really need to stick around the house today despite the fact I have stuff I could be doing". Don't get me wrong: I'm glad I'm in the position to be able to go easily to the school "just in case". I'm just not used to labeling my procrastinating tendencies as "intuition".

I've done this sort of thing before, although not where the Little Guy's concerned, but more like sometimes if the phone rings, I seem to just know when it's my mom or my best friend or Georges' sister, vs a telemarketer or someone else I'm not close to. It's not like the cops are calling me to help them solve unsolvable crimes or anything, I'm not "psychic", not in that way. I guess I'm just one of those people who sometimes "gets a feeling" about something. Sometimes I listen. And sometimes, I don't. If I don't listen, sometimes it might be OK anyway, but sometimes I pay the price afterward. So I've learned to try and listen when I feel something is off or when I hear that little voice telling me something is going on, to be into my intuition just enough that I don't ignore my inner compass and have it come back to bite me in the ass later on.

Still... I didn't know that when I became a step-mom, I might one day get a small dose of "mom's intuition" as part of the deal. It's unexpected... but kind of cool.

 

Because I'm tired

I never thought packing up one small boy and seeing him off on his fall school holiday could be so much work, and so exhausting. Intellectually, I figured it was no big deal. He will be spending the time with our good friends and what's the big deal about throwing some clothes, books and games in a suitcase, right?

Pfft.

Because he is spending his vacation where he'll get to play outdoors a lot, and we can't predict the weather but it's nearly November already, I had to plan his wardrobe accordingly. And because we don't have a clothes dryer and the colder weather means air-drying things takes longer, I actually had to wash and organize his clothes about four days ago. Times like this I really miss having a dryer.

Because he was invited to go to the country (Ardeche) with our good friends and their two young boys, he needed rain boots (there is a stream to wade in, and they will go hiking in the woods). And a sleeping bag. While at the sporting goods store, I also picked up good winter gloves (which I'm pretty sure he'll lose within the month), a polar fleece jacket, an extra sweatshirt, and a compressible camping pillow (they're sleeping in the house but I figured he'd like having his own little pillow).

Because he left his really nice red fall rain jacket behind at school on Friday (not the first time he's done this, I might add -- and we never seem to find the coats later on), and I didn't find out until the school was closed and locked for the next two weeks, I had to take him to buy a new winter coat. Luckily, we scored a red one (red being his favorite color). He's extra-warm and he loves it. We'll see what condition it comes back in after he's been roughing it outdoors for the next 10 days, but at least he's good to go.

Because we seem to do a lot of things last minute, despite our own best intentions, we saved the packing for last night, except for those few things we couldn't shove in a sack or suitcase until this morning. I was highly impressed with my own ability to cram 4 to 5 complete changes of extra-warm clothing into a child's small suitcase-on-wheels. And I managed to squish his favorite polar fleece blanket into the bottom of his backpack along with his books, small games and Nintendo DS (and his toothbrush). I am the queen of packing!

Because I didn't bother to check my email last night, I missed the message from our friend asking if I could bring him down to her place a little earlier this morning, so when I got her SMS on my phone this morning, I had to scramble a bit to get out the door (HE was ready; I was the one who wasn't yet dressed). But we made it with time to spare.

And because I simply couldn't bear letting our friend, all by herself (her husband took the car and drove down to their country place on the weekend with the heavy luggage), take three rambunctious boys across town on the metro, feed them at McDonald's, then walk several blocks and across a bridge over the Seine to Gare de Lyon to catch the train... I decided to go along with them. When I asked a few days ago if she'd like me to go along to help, she said no, it would be fine. But when I showed up today and suggested it again, this time I could tell she seemed a bit relieved (I know *I* would have been, in her shoes). And it proved to be the right move.

So, I saw them to the train, helped get the Little Guy's luggage on board and get him settled in so my friend could do the same with her own two boys (ages 8 and 4), kissed everyone goodbye, and even waited on the platform until the train pulled out so I could wave them off with a smile. I was so glad that I'd come along.

I was even more glad when I finally got home, after stopping on the way to check out the books over at W.H. Smith first. I've been exhausted on the couch all afternoon. And I'm not even the one who now has to look after three little boys for the next week and a half.

I don't know how she does it. But it's 6:35pm and I can barely keep my eyes open. Poor Georges... he's coming home to a pretty boring wife tonight, I think.

Generation gap à Go-Gos

When I was a much younger woman, these were The Go-Gos I knew and loved:

 

I even once sang "Vacation" at a company picnic in front of all my colleagues; two of the guys I worked with were part-time musicians, and when the boss found out we all had some musical talent, he pretty much ordered us to form a band and entertain the troops, so to speak. My God, that was fun. Wish I had it on video!

 

And the Go-Gos were at their peak then in the 80s, and their music defined the era (hey, remember the opening credits of Fast Times at Ridgement High and "We've Got the Beat"?)

 

Nowadays, things have changed. In our house, THESE are the Go-Gos that count:

These little plastic characters, also known as Gogo's Crazy Bones, are the latest "collectible" craze according to the Little Guy (they've been around longer than he's been alive but they're hot with the kids around here). They cost 1.50€ for a pack of 3 (and you get some stickers in the pack as well). Instead of getting up and jumping around on a dance floor wearing a mini-skirt and over-permed 80's hair (yeah, that was me), I now find myself sitting on the living room floor, cursing my aching joints and back, while I play some strange game, a little like playing marbles, where the rules seem to evolve constantly.

Just more evidence of how my life has changed. The Little Guy's never even heard of the band, and he couldn't have been more bored when I tried to get him to watch these videos. Silly me.

It's fun playing with my step-son and making him happy. But I still prefer MY Go-Go's. You can dance to them.

En famille

This weekend, I was reminded over and over again how very fortunate I am when it comes to Georges' family here in France. One of Georges' sisters came for lunch on Saturday, along with her son and a good friend of the family. It's the first time that this particular sister (he has several) was able to come just for an intimate, casual meal with us in our home, and of course I wanted to make a good impression simply because it was their first time here, even though of course I've met her elsewhere several times over the past four years and we get along very well. And her son, Georges' only nephew, is one of those people you can't help but like, he's just so easy going and fun to be around. Because I never met Georges' parents, getting to know his sisters has been really important to me, and I'm sure it's important to him as well because they are his family.

I am sure the last thing any of Georges' kids or sisters ever expected was to have a lunatic American writer enter their lives and refuse to leave. Of course, we've had to make adjustments on both sides for the language and culture gaps, although on my side it feels much easier now than in the beginning simply because I'm making progress with the language and I can participate more in the conversations (I think they are finally beginning to realize I am NOT so quiet as they thought at first!)

Some of the adjustments the older kids have had to make are even a little humorous. A few months ago, Georges' older son and I were chatting while he was here doing his laundry, and he happened to mention that although they thought I was nice when they met me and they had no problem at all when Georges and I moved in together, when he and his sister first found out Georges and I were planning to get married, they were rather shocked -- not because they didn't like me, but because for some reason they just assumed I wouldn't stick around, that I would eventually go back to America! Then when they found out about our wedding plans, they wondered if I was just marrying Georges for the residency card! I had to laugh out loud about that when he said it because (a) it's not like I'm a refugee, I didn't need a French residency card THAT badly that I'd just marry anyone in order to get it, and (b) it just tickled me to imagine the two kids whispering together about their new foreign step-mom-to-be, trying to "figure me out". Kids that age are always short-sighted and often judgmental because they simply don't have the life experience to teach them how to really read people accurately, and that everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves. They were usually pretty nice to me anyway, but for a long time I could tell they were not allowing themselves to fully trust me and on a few occasions we had some small clashes.

I could understand that they, being adolescents at that time, were naturally a little distrustful of someone who was so strange to their way of thinking. In fact, that same son used to complain to his dad early on that "there's all this strange food in the house now that she's here!" -- and the so-called strange food was really nothing more than American brand products I'd either brought from home or bought here. Yes, Heinz Ketchup is sold in France! (He was also shocked to learn that I LOVE LOVE LOVE escargots: "But... you're AMERICAN!") Clearly, the kids had a lot to learn about Americans before they could come to understand that there are more similarities than differences, and that the differences aren't really so horrible after all. They also needed time to get to know me as a person, to see that I'm someone they CAN come to trust and rely on if they need to. I'm not their mother and they don't need me to be, but I care about them and their lives and their wellbeing. And Georges and I always knew that time would give them the "proof" they needed, the reasurrance that we ARE a "real" couple and I'm here to stay.

I was a little nervous with Georges' sister coming to lunch for the first time, but it was clear that I really had nothing to worry about. Now I think we're all at that place -- me and Georges, his kids, and now also his sisters -- where there is no longer a need to prove anything within the family. I am now just a part of it, albeit perhaps a more unusual part and one who still needs a translation now and then. All three kids are comfortable and happy around me (the Little Guy actually brought me FLOWERS yesterday afternoon, that he chose himself and it was his own idea, and they were for no special occasion -- my first "Mom" flowers!), I am the same around them and am always happy to see them when they're here (since they all come and go at different intervals, it's difficult to get all three of them in the room at the same time, but we'll take what we can get). I miss the kids when I don't see them for a while, too. I love when the Little Guy sits next to me to cuddle up while he's simultaneously playing a game on Georges' iPad, or when we share a laugh together over something silly. I love it when my step-daughter comes home for a weekend, and we hang out and just talk for a while, especially when sometimes she'll choose to share something extra with me about what's going on in her life. And I love when the oldest talks to me about his architecture school projects because that's clearly the biggest thing in his life at the moment, and he knows I'm always interested. The icing on the familial cake is that now, where Georges' sisters are concerned, I noticed this weekend that I also feel more natural, more like I can be myself around them... but in truth they have always, ALWAYS, right from the get-go, been completely wonderful to me, always doing their best to make me feel welcome in the family, even when I was a complete stranger to them. And for this I am especially grateful.

So Saturday at our family table, we had one sister and a nephew, Georges' two boys and his step-daughter (his daughter is away at school and couldn't make it, having just been home the previous weekend), plus our good friend from the south, and we Skyped in Georges' sister down in Saint Raphael for some added fun and craziness. Between the two of us, Georges and I put together a really good meal for everyone (he does the bulk of the cooking but I do all the shopping and organizing, and much of the set-up and the clean-up), and frankly -- we had a BLAST together. It was just a wonderful weekend, en famille. In some French families, nearly every weekend involves at least one big family lunch, but because Georges' family is rather spread out, we rarely get to do these things together, which makes it even better when we can.

Sometimes I really miss my own family and friends back home, and I always will miss them. But it's wonderful to know that now, I really DO have family here in France.

Mini-moving day

We have lived in this apartment for a year and two months so far, and since we've decided to stay longer than we originally thought we would, we are finally going to take the excess boxes of stuff out of our house and put them in storage.

Since we don't own a car, this involves renting a vehicle. The past two times we had to do this, it was me who did the driving, since Georges' eyesight had gotten rather bad. But since he had his miracle eye surgery last fall, that has all changed. So right now he is on his way to pick up the van and I can leave driving in Paris to him (woot!)

Now, my biggest challenge is going to be getting La Fille and her copin to wake up and vacate the salon so I can get in there and pull out the boxes! Then the Oldest will come around 10:30 to help us schlep everything down into the truck and over to our storage unit (which will certainly be full to the roof after this).

As I was cleaning out things in our bedroom yesterday, I realized that I am definitely NOT a hoarder. I am ruthless when it comes to throwing out most things. Old magazines? Interesting, but not valuable enough to hold on to for infinity. Old client files? Since I'm no longer ghostwriting and all my projects are complete, there is no reason for me to hold onto that stuff, either. Old clothes? Putting them in bags to donate. An old chair that's partly broken? It was from Ikea and not worth trying to fix it, so out to the curb it will go. If I stop and think about it, I'm a person who was willing to sell, donate or toss nearly everything she owned to move to Paris in the first place, so holding onto the clutter just isn't my favorite thing. That being said, I still tend to collect clutter in small amounts, and I'll never be the perfectly organized housekeeper. But it does feel good letting go of things and creating more space.

Well, time to go wake the kids and get to work. Hopefully at the end of the day I'll have enough energy to go watch this guy throw himself off a ramp in front of Sacre Coeur this evening.

Farewell, 40s

So, it's finally upon me. At 3:50am Eastern time tomorrow, May 19th, I will officially turn 50.

I am very NOT happy about this. That's the bottom line.

I don't know why this is bugging me so much. But it is, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't.

I planned our trip to Venice so I'd have something positive and happy going on, so we'll be heading to the airport at the ungodly hour of 5am tomorrow morning to get in a full day in Venice (we'll be there in time for a birthday breakfast, and I'm sure by the afternoon we'll be exhausted and ready for a nice siesta like all sensible Italians). We are both super-excited about this trip; we rarely get to go away somewhere like this, all alone, and for 4 1/2 full days. And let's face it, as far as romantic getaways go? Hard to top Venice.

I've also been working furiously to finish this book, and today's my last day to do that. The writing has been a good distraction from this feeling of sadness over the turning 50 thing; after I've clocked in 4, 5, even 6 hours of writing in a single day, I can't help but feel good about that.

It occurred to me last night that I really AM a late bloomer in so many ways. I spent the first half of my adult life not sure who I was or who I wanted to be. I struggled with old hurts and past demons. I suffered from serial insecurity. I was afraid to declare what I wanted out of life, mainly because I simply didn't know.. or if I DID know, I thought that what I wanted would be either unacceptable or out of reach.

I really LOVED my 40s, because as I cruised from my late 30s into the 40s, I was in a place of getting more clear about myself and my life. I changed careers. I changed relationships. I changed living spaces (a lot). It was in my 40s I finally found the cajones to live more boldly, and it was in my 40s when I finally fulfilled my dream of living in Paris and writing.

Now, as I drift into 50, I know I already have so much good in my life, so my sadness at turning 50 isn't so much about having big regrets about things I haven't done (although, I do regret that Oprah is ending her 25-year show before I could write a book she'd want to feature; another item, along with "flying on Concorde", I'll have to cross off my bucket list because it just won't be possible). I AM living in Paris. I AM writing. And to top it all off, I have the most amazing, loving, wonderful husband I could ever have wanted. I feel like such a lucky, blessed woman.

(I even got 50 bisous this morning from the Little Guy as a birthday cadeau, since I won't see him tomorrow, and there is nothing like 25 sweet little kisses on each cheek from a child you love to help shake you out of a crappy mood.)

Better a late bloomer than never, right? But I do wish I'd gotten my butt in gear earlier in life with regard to some of these things. I wish I hadn't waited as long as I did to take control of my life. I wish I was already a well-known writer with a great agent and publisher, and was just churning out new books every year with ease instead of still working through my "process". I wish I'd come to Paris sooner, met Georges sooner. Mostly because I feel like I wasted a lot of years being unhappy and settling for a sub-par life. My life today isn't always perfect but damn, it's pretty freaking great most of the time.

And for this, I am so grateful.

Maybe it's precisely BECAUSE I'm a late bloomer, that I feel sad about turning 50. Because I'm finally living the life I always wanted, the one I should have been living all along... but I'm NOT 25. I'm not 30. I'm not 35 or 40 or 45, even. On the inside, I feel excited, like life is just beginning for me. But it's not. I'm well into my years on this earth already. And sometimes, it's hard to reconcile that on the outside, I've got this body that is visibly aging while on the inside I still feel like a teenager a lot of the time.

I'm (deep breath)... 50. I just need to keep saying it until it feels OK.

Maybe, because I know I AM a late bloomer, my 50s will end up being the best decade yet. I do intend to get this book finished and published before I turn 51, and I've already got two or three other book ideas in the pipeline to follow. I also know that there will come a time when I have birthdays and instead of feeling sad that I'm another year older, I'll feel happy about it because it will mean I've survived another year of life. Hopefully, having a little "mid-life crisis" at 50 means I'll live to 100?

So, next time you see me online, I'll be 50, and that will be that. I can't change what is, I know that. It's just proving to be a bumpy transition, that's all.

Adieu, 49.

A week in the life

Writing, writing and more writing. That's what's keeping me away from the blog.

But here's a peek into my week here.

Sunday: family day. Georges took the Little Guy and several friends for some Sunday morning football, which has become sort of a ritual this year. Little Guy's team won (I think). Georges had discovered the computer disk where he's stored all the home movies he'd taken of the Little Guy since he was born, and we had a blast watching those -- I'm not sure who enjoyed them more, the Little Guy or me!

Monday: métro, boulot, dodo (i.e., same old weekday grind)

Tuesday: after school, the Little Guy had a field trip to a professional handball tournament with his multisports group, and Georges and another father tagged along. It was all the way across town, they had the stadium practically all to themselves (picture 11 little boys having front-row seats for ANY sporting event), cheering and yelling for Paris to win (I think the other team was from Lyon or Marseilles). At some point, the manager of the stadium brought a HUGE box of Haribo gummy bonbons for the boys -- Georges said you'd have thought it was gold by the way the kids looked at it. After the match, the players came over and gave autographs to the kids, and then they went out to -- where else? -- McDonald's for dinner before getting home around 10:45. Father and son had a blast together... so great! And me? I had a quiet night to myself, after a day in which I had dental work in the morning (finally having a broken crown replaced, this was Visit 1 of 3 for that procedure) and my first workout with my new personal trainer, an American from Colorado who I met in my phonetics class at the Sorbonne French course!

Wednesday: the one day a week the boy could sleep late, but rarely does. Luckily he's old enough to turn on the computer/TV himself now so he doesn't need to come looking for one of us at 7am. Georges goes off to work; I let the boy have some play time before getting dressed and organizing his things for the babysitter who comes around 11am to take him to his mother's for the next few days. This Wednesday, I finally got around to sitting down with the Little Guy and trying out our very first English book together (a very easy Star Wars book)! After he left, I cleaned up the house and food-shopped in anticipation of the 4pm arrival of our houseguest, a good friend from Saint Raphael who was spending Wednesday night with us. As I ate my lunch (OK, in truth, it was some of those damned Haribo gummy bonbons the boy brought home), I felt something unnaturally crunchy (gummies aren't crunchy) and discovered that a molar on the other side of my mouth had BROKEN. I could not believe it, after I had JUST been into the dentist the day before. I had to wait until after the lunch hour to phone and get an emergency appointment for Thursday. But I still had a nice time with our visitor, nonetheless.

Thursday: our guest departed at 9:30 and I departed for the dentist 20 minutes later. Happily, she was able to repair the broken tooth AND fix the cracked enamel in another crown next to it (I had no idea my teeth were in such crappy shape), instead of having to do another new crown on that tooth. So for the time being, it seems OK and I don't need to add on yet another visit for even more work later. Spent the afternoon working at home, and then Georges and I went to see Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris", which was FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC! I think it's one of his best ever and certainly now one of my favorites of his. Perhaps even one of my favorite films about Paris, period. I won't speak about the plot, which the trailers don't give away AT ALL, but Georges and I both felt that only Woody Allen could pull off a plot like that and make it believable. Lovers of Paris will ADORE this movie, both for the beautiful on-location filming (and the scene WE saw being filmed at the foot of Sacre Coeur made the final cut, which we were delighted about because now we know what the dialogue was) and for the script and acting. The Frenchies in the audience were delighted with some of the French actors who'd been chosen to play, ummm, let's say "certain specialty roles" (can't say more without spoiling it). I've never been a big fan of Owen Wilson but he did a really good job in this role. Go see it! We hear that Woody's next film is on location in Rome. His last one before this was in London, I think. Is Woody done with New York shoots?

And now, it's Friday. Today I'm working, scoping out airfares for the U.S. in August (oh, that's gonna hurt, with the prices already over the top), personal trainer at 3pm, and this afternoon the Little Guy's getting braces... so I think our weekend will involve lots of cuddles and soft foods, while he makes the adjustment. Orthodontists are putting braces on 9 year olds now, whereas it used to be that they waited until age 12 or 13, and I have to imagine that this might be a bit traumatic for a younger child. We'll have to see how he does. Georges is going to be there with him so that should be reassuring for the boy.

There you go. So exciting, huh? And how was YOUR week?

Wicked step-mother? Uh... not if I can help it

In French, the word for "mother-in-law" is the same as the word for "step-mother", even though they are both very different relationships in a family: la belle-mère or "beautiful mother".

When I saw this theatre poster in a shop window the other day, I had to laugh at the image of the belle-mère as a disagreeable bulldog because isn't that how mothers-in-law (in particular) are portrayed? Step-mothers, on the other hand, are often symbolized by Disney witches and bitches alike. I suppose the stereotypes exist for a reason; some mothers-in-law ARE unhappy to have their sons married to someone they may not like (but really, who would EVER be good enough?) and some step-mothers probably do resent and even mistreat their step-children. I happen to have witnessed some of both stereotypes in real life, and find it very sad.

The negative symobolism in this poster, while it also made me laugh, caused me to reflect a little on my own step-mothering experience thus far.

I am careful by design about what and how much I write about my step-kids, because Georges and I established some ground rules about that early on. Let's face it, this blog is not about them and their lives, it's about me and my life. Yet they're in my life, and sometimes there are things I wish I could share about them that I simply can't or won't. For instance, the oldest recently did an art project at school that totally blew me away, and I would have loved to photograph and share his work with the world, I was so excited about it. But it's not my story to tell. It's all to protect them in the long run; some day if they decide to write their own blogs, that will be their choice. I don't even ask to friend my step-kids on Facebook because I don't want to cross that line unless I'm invited.

So I'll just say this about my role as belle-mère: I really feel very blessed to have these children in my life. A lot of women in my situation might not have as nice a relationship with their step-kids as I've been fortunate enough to have; it is never easy coming into an existing family unit and being the "new kid on the block". There is never a guarantee that one's step-children will be accepting of the new parent-figure, no matter how hard one may try. It hasn't always been easy knowing how to find the right balance with the kids -- I am always aware that, when push comes to shove, I am NOT their actual parent -- and my strategy has always been to first just get to know them as PEOPLE in their own right. To observe and keep my mouth shut, especially in the very beginning. To look for and support their strengths as individuals, and on occasion to perhaps help them work on their weaknesses (this is probably more true with the youngest who is still learning about manners and behavior and life in general). To make it possible for them to have as much time with their dad as we can all manage. To be a sounding board on those occasions when they choose to confide in me (and I'm always surprised, but very grateful, when they do). To help provide for their basic needs (I do the majority of the food shopping and laundry, for instance), but also to encourage them to grow as human beings, in any way I can. And to also know when to back away and stay out of things when it's really not my role to stick my nose in. Do I occasionally have to draw boundaries with the kids and be a bit "strong" with them? Sure, because I won't tolerate bad behavior or disrespect (and tolerating it teaches them nothing about how to treat others or deal with their frustrations), but fortunately those moments have always been minimal and nothing out of the ordinary, mostly just kids being kids and needing an adult around to nip a bad attitude in the bud and steer them in the right direction.

When all is said and done, and these kids are all one day out in the world, completely on their own (and two of them are well on their way to that stage already), when they look back on their youth, I simply hope that they feel that having me in their lives has been a positive experience, that they've gotten something good out of me being around (not just being able to improve their English). I hope they see me perhaps not exactly as a friend, because they'll choose their own friends, but as a loving adult who genuinely cares about them and their happiness in life, as well as the woman who wants to make their father as happy as he's made me.

Sometimes I think that being a step-mom has given me the best of all possible worlds: I happen to really like kids and always thought, when I was younger, that I'd have children of my own. That didn't end up being the plan, and I'm okay with that. With "my" three step-kids, I get to enjoy at least some of those great parenting moments, like good heart-to-heart talks with the oldest (or being the reason they've already been able to roam around New York City, a dream of every French kid) and lots of cuddles with the youngest.

And I got all those bonuses without any of the stretch-marks. Totally a "win" in my book.