Someone Else is Living Your Parisian Dream

I hated to see our summer come to an end.  Each one is so far apart with the interim filled with so much activity and learning that nothing is ever as it was.  I’m forced to move forward before I’m fully ready to evolve with the little boys of yesterday, as they race toward being their little selves of tomorrow.  I see myself in an out of body experience, watching Me standing on a road, like in those old time US military recruitment commercials, a mom waving to my boys who are running forward with an arm in the air, waving back at me.  Love you, mama! See you later!  But in those visions, I’m not empty. I’m brimming.

Each end of summer is a a true milestone; a threshold into their next rite of passage, if you will. And it’s bittersweet. They’re so wonderful in their Yesterday selves, but the promise of their equally wonderful Future selves is exciting, too. They’re witty; both great talkers. They have a wonderful sense of humor that keeps us laughing and amazes people with whom they open up. They’re athletic, protect and love each other, and best of all, they’re bold.  At the risk of sounding trite, I’m happy if they’re happy. And very unhappy if they’re not.  I’m not too proud to admit that my boys are the center of my universe. And that everywhere I go, everything I do evolves around them. Our family vibe is good and it’s made me recognize that the elements in the game of hide-and-seek with Balance vary from person person.

We’ve embraced the fact that they’ll will be young for only a short period of time.  This short lived clip of our lives is the small window in which we establish a foundation for trust building and sharing. It’s what gives The Husband and me the happy excuse to make them our world - a seemingly un-French attitude - and together, in that commitment, we work as partners.  And we’re making a happy family that plays together.

It was wonderful to have my boys all summer….and exhausting.  To fully enjoy two active toddlers, I loosely planned nearly every second of each day to stay active.  Wake up - breakfast - free time/small cartoon while I got us ready - make lunch - off to the park - play in the fountains - play ball - climb rocks - run in trees - picnic lunch - home - nap - wake - pack snack or dinner - park - home - free time - shower - sleep…. Through all of these activities, we work hard to instill in them that if they fall trying, we will always pick them up. Nothing demonstrates this better than this past summer when both boys were mobile and full of energy.

 

We played in the ocean. In the sand. Climbed big rocks. Hung from trees. Swashbuckled with bamboo sticks in our little secret forest. Jumped from and climbed high structures.  Played all kinds of popular American sports that I grew up with, with hopes that they’ll be interested and good enough to participate on the playground with our American friends. And more importantly, to expose them to American culture. Through all of this, they’ve uttered countless times, “I’m scared” or “I can’t”.Scared of the big waves. Scared of unidentified sea creatures, washed up at the shore.  Scared of falling from the boulders. Or the trees.  Scared of the heights in climbing structures meant for 6-10 year olds at the playground, yet, they insist that they want to get on. Afraid of looking over a roof from the edge. Tired of 5 strikes, and CAN’T hit the ball.  Max, afraid of accumulating the speed when riding down a short, but steep hill on his bike, a two wheeled pedal bike that he basically taught himself to ride, insisting before he turned three years old that he was ready to add the pedals.  Leo, on his three wheeler, yee-hawing all the way down.  They faced these challenges, and overcame their fears. “We’re right here if you fall,” we tell them.  Or, “I’m right behind you,” only to have them turn to see that I’m not, and they realize that they’ve accomplished something on their own.  And we always win, this lesson punctuated by relieved laughs and big smiles of pride.For the first time in 5 years since I’ve been here, I’m getting some of the old me back. The gal that loves to play ball, roll in the grass, climb, throw a ball, swing a bat, laugh, and tackle.  While I’m not playing the way that I used to with my friends back home, I’m enjoying and, equally importantly, passing it down to my sons, I realized.  The delight, the skills, the joy, the excitement of a variety of sports and physical activity in the way that I freely enjoyed them and participated throughout my life back home; not as an activity/skill to hone the way it’s commonly done in France. With all of the fun in our summer came a sense of tranquility; that we’re doing things right by the boys. I’m confident that we are good parents. They’re thriving. Happy. Learning. Eager to take on new challenges.  And most importantly, Curious.

 

The story of Parisians cutting in line is as old as that of Paris’ dogshit slaloms from your doorstep to destination x.

I’m standing in line at my local supermarket, and the young man in front of me leaves his spot, presumably because the cashier is counting change in the equivalent of pennies. They maintain a sit down policy for cashiers in France, which enables them to joyfully play with their toes as they watch you bag your own groceries in a frenzy.

I step forward to close the gap between an older woman and myself, while at the same time, another older woman slides into the small space. There’s breathing room only between people in line, so it’s a real squeeze.

“Excuse me. The end of the line is back there.”

“No. I was behind this woman.”

“No. There was a young man in front of me who just walked away.”

“No. I was behind this woman,” she insists.

As we’re arguing this, the man comes back to re-take his place, stating, “This was my place in line.” He’d just walked away to get something, taking advantage of the slow cashier’s snail pace.

I look at the Cutter knowingly, and she kindly tells the young man to go right ahead.

She continues to mutter about how intolerable I am, as she takes the spot in line behind me, thus, cutting in front of 5 or 6 people behind me. Caught in a bold faced lie, but still talking….I stare her down (she’s short), and turn my back to her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In line at another local store, a woman stands next to me with a glance at me, then a step forward, into my spot, without looking at me. I tell her, “Excuse me. You’re standing in my space.”

She looks at me, moves to a new line…..where she exits faster, anyway. C’est la vie.

Meanwhile, back in San Francisco……

There’s about a shopping cart’s distance of empty space between us and the person ahead of us in line, because you know….we Americans like our space and don’t really believe that anyone beyond the 4th grade level will try to sneak in.

A woman asks, “Are you in line?”

I reply,”Yes we are.” And I give my husband smug look, “This is how WE roll…”

“….he walked in by himself, then turned and began to cry a little. ”

And I imagined those big, big teardrops, and perfect little lips turned down into the biggest crying frown.

“…and the woman took him, and I walked out.”

“When I turned to look, he had stopped already.”

That’s my big baby. Leo is independent but cuddly, a little stuntsman since he could pull himself up, but loves equally to be held tight. Cries hard, laughs harder - a real a guy’s laugh from the belly. Tenderly loves his animal and loves to be buried under all of them, and will go to the mat with you - fierce - to protect them if you try to take them away (ask Max). He’s a raging fire in the woods, but also the warm, stone fireplace that gives the cabin that glow.

He and Max are different as night and day, and I worried that I couldn’t love my second baby as much Max. But what they say about Mother’s love, and the uniqueness of children is true.

“Where do monkeys live?”
“In the trees.”
“Where are the trees?”
“In the…..jungle.” I hesitated to use the word because I knew that Max had zero context but remembered that it builds vocabulary.“I want to see the monkeys in the jungle.”  
And as I’m always looking for opportunities to show him pieces of my world - my own slice of life - I pulled out some photos that he’s never seen. Suddenly, I was superhero - better than Samsam, as Max excitedly pointed out, “HEY! That’s monkey is on your lap!!”
Of course followed by questions…“WHY is that monkey on your lap?! WHY is his head on you!?”
“He was on my lap because he wanted me to scratch him. And when you and Leo are bigger, Papa and I are taking you to the jungle to see monkeys, too.”

Pioneer Trail, Lake Tahoe, CA And I felt strangely proud for the moment. Proud that I’d gone places and seen things so that I could share with them in the future; first hand lessons from the school of life about the places that I’ve been, the beauty and the horror that I’ve experienced, the peace that has overwhelmed me, the confidence that I’ve built, and especially the faith that I tossed to the wind on that quiet island that blew back, days later, with the man who would be their father. The faith that allowed me to stay on there - even though I had no money - just because I loved the place and trusted that all would fall into place. Proud that years of whimsy, recklessness and wonder have become the gift that keeps on giving, first to me, and now to my sons. And at a more simple level, I felt proud that I know which non-man-made wonderland to take my boys to, to see their monkeys in the jungle.  

With the boys in daycare full time, I now regularly have time for myself, after over 2.5 years. TWO!AND!A HALF!YEARS! Just in time, because as Léo waddles and toddles unsteadily, and as Max’s regular speed is ‘overdrive’, they’re like a race car on an oil slick. There are many accidents, bruises on the head, subsequent crying, calming down and cuddles. Max is not a bad kid, so I don’t like to have to calm him down, rather squash his energy. He needs to release it. Whereas Léo now seems to accept daycare - this is his first experience with the ‘collective’ - daycare is the place for Max. He must agree, because daily, at 5:30pm, he tells me that he’s not “ready to leave yet. Can you come in and play?” I get Léo early so that we can have our few hours of “Mama + Léo” time - personal time that he hasn’t had with me, previously. Max and I had lots of time together, fortunately, for his first 18 months. It seems that I’m constantly making up for last time with these two, and will begin to do so with the husband, this weekend!

Max is a blooming field of curiousity in the wind, with a thousand questions on how things work, why people feel the way they do, what am I doing? what are you doing? and why, why, why? A handful of times, I’ve had to shut down a barrage of ‘whys’ with an authorative, “Because I’m your mother.” That absolutely did not feel like a ‘win’ for me, even though it stopped the interrogation.

As he grows, gets wittier, sassier and more rebellious, I find that I need to improve my game also, as a mother. I read something that resonated with me; a reminder to think of the “end result” with each of my actions. For example, if you hold them too much, what is the possible end result? Against the advice of my family, I held Max constantly, as he was my only ‘job’ for a very long time, and he’s growing into a wonderfully adaptable, confident, easy going little boy. The end result, if these are correlated, is fantastic. With this example, I learned that unless safety is concerned, there’s advice to be considered, but novody is really ‘right’ but me, in raising my boys.

I do strive to be close to them. To be a source of their comfort. Their ’safe’ zone. I want all of this to be the end result. Whereas I normally lose my temper when Max..ohhhh…pushes Leo down or takes Leo’s doudou and runs off cackling like a mad man, leaving Leo crying and toddling after it - I’m trying to remember that he wants time with me, too, wants the attention, and that my angry approach is divisive; both for them, and for Max and me. In Max’s mind, it was always Mama and Max. When we’re alone - while Leo takes his naps, or during our coffee dates in the mornings - he is absolutely calm, perfectly happy to sit on my lap with a book, a puzzle or our blocks, or just to be held, “like a baby,” as he sometimes requests. I wrap him up tight as he snuggles down in my arms as we were when he truly was a tiny baby, and we enjoy the moment. And then he asks, “Am I a little baby now?” If that isn’t pure honesty…. None of the running in circles and screaming or looking for something (body) to knock down.

My husband gently reminded me yesterday, that Max needs me, too. It makes me think, sometimes, that as mature as he’s always been for such a young thing, that he was forced to be a big brother far before he was ready to give up his role as ‘baby.’ It makes me think of a time at a friend’s house, when Max was about 18 months old or so, when she asked us naively, “If you tell him not to touch the food on the coffee table, he won’t touch it, right?” She’s since had her own child, and I’m certain, knows better, but these are the reactions to his personality that he illicits.

I learning, though, that I can’t be a complacent mom. While I’m probably not horrible, I’m learning that I need to grow with my boys to meet their needs. He was up to his usual antics of harassing Leo, yesterday evening, when I asked him to go sit on his bed in the bedroom until I came. If we can’t play nicely together, then we need some space, I told him. I came to him 5 minutes later, and crawled into the cave (the lower bunk) and snuggled in next to him. Here, I decided to try my hand at some ‘emotion coaching’ though I wasn’t certain that he was ready to be on the receiving end; to ‘respond.’ Again, as I am every time I underestimate Max’s sense of awareness, I was mistaken.

“Do you know why you’re in here?” (First mistake. I should’ve just told him why he was there.) The in between was a blur and it didn’t follow the emotion coaching concept to the T, but the end result, 2 minutes later, was excellent.

“…… Is it that you don’t like it when I hold Leo?”

He answers, “Yes.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I want you to hold me, too.” And he crawls on top of me, and rests his face in my neck.

“Of course I’ll hold you. I’ll remember that you need me too. I forget sometimes because you’re such a big boy. But you need to use yours words to tell ME that you want to be held, and not hurt others.”

Later, in the living room where I’m again holding Leo on the sofa, sitting next to the husband, Max grabs his blankets and asks, “Can you hold me, too?” And there, we all snuggled in close.

Because Max has always been pretty mellow, an early speaker thus he didn’t have to cry or whine much for what he needed, etc. and with his old soul eyes, he’s always seemed to be more of a little boy to me, than a baby. More often than not, I forget that he’s still small and needs his Mama. How humbling it was, and what a lesson for me, that he just came out and told me what he needed from me, when I gave him the opportunity.

Hopefully, we’re on our way to understanding the other’s needs. That Max still needs me. That he understands that Leo needs me. That I need to divide my time and affections more equally, as my big boy really sometimes wants his turn to be small, too.