Motherhood. In France

The alarm goes off early at 7:20.  It's on purpose because I need those extra 10 minutes to snooze.  I can usually swing it, even getting up as late as 7:40, then pushing everyone to be ready on time to make it down to the corner bus stop by 8:10.  But I usually need at least one extra snooze.

I wake the unwilling kids up and shove them into their clothes, then up the stairs to have breakfast.  The biggest part of the battle is done because they don't have to finish breakfast, but they obviously can't go to school half-naked.  They eat toast with jam and butter and hot chocolate.

Once the bus picks them up, I toy with the idea of going with Peanut into Paris - I mean I do live here after all! - to go to a museum or visit some trendy shops, but the idea of having to change trains on the metro is too much of a deterrent for me.  I can't handle the winding corridors and the up-and-down-the-stairs it will entail just to get from one train to another, not even to mention the stairs exiting the metro.  Plus, a lot of the entrances aren't equipped with handicap exits, which is really hard to manage with the stroller.  (Heck, even the social security in my last town didn't have a handicap entrance, so why should anyone else care?)

For my guilty pleasure, I go to my old comfortable stomping ground - the mall at La Defense.  There are always elevators and escalators there, and everything is accessible and easy.  I stop at Starbucks - they greet me as an old friend and I explain that we moved away.  The sweet caffeine jolt puts me in a pleasantly tolerable mood, which lasts almost an hour.  I peruse the shops, but a lot of the nice stores don't have clothes in my size.  (Without admitting my actual size, I'll say that I would be able to find it in a normal store in the States).

I've gained a lot of weight in the recent years from post-pregnancy, sleep-deprived snacking.  Going to a gym would really help as I love exercise, but most people do sports through the town hall, which requires committing once a year for the whole year; it's expensive .... and it's just not the treadmill which is sometimes all you want that day.  I know the real answer is to eat like a french woman, but this post is not about that right now.

So I head into the kids' shops.  That's a real pleasure for me as clothes will always look great on my babes.  I try not to spend too much (although that's hard because unless you buy everything in the supermarket you can't, for instance, get shoes for less than 40 euros = $52 when the dollar is strong).  I run into an old acquaintance who still lives in the area.  We chitchat a bit and I realize that I miss how friendly everyone is in this little corner where almost no one is French.

I head back in time to feed Peanut and put him down for a nap.  I pass by all the bakeries, whose offerings I cannot enjoy due to an intolerance to gluten.  I head into the cheese shop, but the hundred varieties have lost some of their interest for me, especially without the baguette.  I get the usual camembert, Mr. Welcome's preference for daily meals.

With Peanut down for his nap, I listlessly consider all the things I could do for a span of two hours.  Today is not a day for ambitious projects, like scrapbooking, organizing the furniture in one of the rooms, weeding the garden ... cleaning the toilet.  I throw in a load of laundry because I love hanging it to dry in the garden, and then I sit down to blog a bit.  I almost don't even answer my e-mails anymore or post on Facebook - just blog.  Fortunately, I no longer need to take naps every day, now that I've been diagnosed with sleep apnea and wear a mask at night.  That's helped my morale a lot to not be so exhausted and waste so much time sleeping.

Peanut wakes up and it's just time to head out to pick the kids up from school.

There's a lot to be grateful for - the 287€ I get each month from the government for having three children, which helps allow me to stay at home; the large family card that allows us half off transportation and loads of other discounts, like the entrance fee to the swimming pool; the fact that children start school at age three, and even babies and toddlers can often get part-time nursery spots to give mom a break; there is an activity center for Wednesdays and vacations if you are at a loss for what to do with the kids.

But today as I'm standing in the crowd waiting for the school gates to open, surrounded by all the other mothers, I'm not feeling grateful.  I'm feeling lonely.  I've given up making all but the most basic efforts at communication, knowing that "let's get together" will be met with a false assurance.  Some days I handle it more optimistically than others, but not today.  I've prepared a snack for the kids that is not the most healthy - store-bought cookies and a fruit juice.  But I look with satisfaction at the school lunch menu, noting that today was up to the usual standards for a french public school.  Appetizer: cucumber and beet slices with vinaigrette, Entrée: salmon with baked potato and green beans, Dessert: cheese selection and a piece of fruit.  I know all this will be served with water in glasses (made of glass), real plates and silverware and even cloth napkins in our old school, although here they use paper I think.  There will be a baguette too.  Of course.

When we get home, I put the kids in front of the tv while I continue to blog and drink another coffee (and yes, eat something sweet usually).  I finally rouse myself to think about dinner and decide on soft-boiled eggs with toast since lunch was so complete.  Other mothers often give me grief when they hear I serve meat for dinner so I usually try to have something vegetarian.

I'm not motivated, but I need to go back to the school at 8pm to attend a parents' meeting about Young Lady's moving on to (the equivalent of) first grade.  It lasts a really long time and is interminably hot, although I'm impressed with what I hear and am glad we live in such a good public school system.

I run into a mother that I know - it's the sister-in-law of a close friend who invited me over once when we first arrived, but who pretty much ignored me at school after that.  It's been a really long time since I've felt insecure about myself or my worth as a friend.  Living in a lot of different countries and big cities pretty much takes care of that.  Drats - I'm sweating and feeling so uncomfortable in my cover-the-pudge outfit and she looks fresh and breezy in dressy black shorts and a top that, together are probably nice enough to wear to the office.  I have trouble being myself and don't keep up the conversation as we start the tour guide.

When I get home I collapse on the couch and gratefully listen to Mr. Welcome's chitchat about putting the kids to bed and all the comfort that's found in what is my family and my life.  He encourages me as I grumble about my day.  We decide to watch a dvd of Ugly Betty, Season 3 that my sister sent me.  I follow many of the American series on DVD because I want to see them in English, even if that means being a season behind.  Then we look at some American Idol clips on his iphone.  Even my frenchman got hooked on that in the States.

We climb into bed and I feel relieved.  Relieved that there's the haven of our bedroom, the soft lighting, the peaceful relationship that we share, another day ended.  I don't know why I want the days to pass so quickly, what I'm looking forward to ...  I do love being a mom.  Perhaps it's the desire for something more that gets to me and leaves me dissatisfied.  I wish it were enough for me to keep a perfect house.   But it's not enough for me just to live in France.  I hardly even realize that I do, except for feeling so lonely.

I'm just living the dream.


I suppose this would be a typical day if I took all my negative moments and shoved them into one 24 hour time span.  But there are rarely 24 hour days that contain all the negative moments are there?  However I wonder if my life as a SAH-mom in France is not that much different than yours wherever you are.