Uniform

The prospect of Jack attending a private middle school has been a steady focus for us since last August when we decided to try our hand at having him apply. We selected three within a reasonable distance from our home. Two of which were very hard to get into; one basing the decision on report cards, teacher letters and the ISEE exam, the other, on report cards and the admission interview.

What we did not anticipate and what came as a total and complete delight was that Jack was accepted to all three. I had actually hoped that these schools' selection process would kind of make the decision for us. Lame, I know.

What ensued was a soul searching debate over which school to enroll him in that sent me into a tailspin. I really had to think about who Jack was now, visualize him as who I saw him to be in high school and hope that whatever decision EM and I made would ensure that he would continue to enjoy learning and not flounder. Each of the school acceptance letters arrived on the same day and each gave us ten days to make our decision and come up with the (gulp) down payment. Jack favored two. One an art school with a progressive approach to teaching, a half hour from where we live, and the other a more academically demanding school where one has to wear a uniform and also the same distance away. The art school insisted they had an academically rigorous curriculum and the uniform school insisted they had a great arts program. EM and I were completely torn. The decision we had to make brought me back to my childhood and to the choices that were made for me and then memories and feelings floated up to the surface making this a very emotional decision for me.

I had to cash in several of my "wise parent" chips and hope that our choice will pay off. So come September, Jack will wear his hair slightly shorter and look like everyone else. Yup, Jack will be wearing a uniform -- which ostensibly should cut down on the time it takes to get us out of the house in the morning. Come to think of it, maybe I should wear one too

EM and I also made a pact that once the decision was made that we wouldn't look back and agonize over the decision.

So, with that in mind, I am visualizing pool side Mojitos as we are headed to Florida for spring break and to reunite with two of Makena's China cousins.

Is-a-uniform

Huh?

I drive home, bleary eyed, with visions of my children running toward me in slow motion, their faces streaming with tears of joy. What I in fact arrive home to are two very casual children who act as if I've been gone five minutes instead of a week, a dog (and now cat) with diarrhea and an absent husband who is dealing with an emergency at the lake house.

Jack walks up to me and gives me a "hey, mom"/ hug/ slap on the shoulder/ what did you get me/ look and I find Makena in her room. It takes two "Meimeis" to get her to look up, at which point she says, "hi, mommy" and goes back to her Little Mermaid video. I was expecting to be punished for my absence, I didn't expect it to be so slyly lethal.

The tell tale sign that their aloofness is in fact an act is that Makena decides to remain attached to my hip for the next two hours and that Jack just isn't cooperating about going to bed. I am wiped out. My eyeballs are dry and I feel very lightheaded.

I wake up around five in the morning, fully dressed, with Makena wrapped around me; legs, arms, everything. I guess I must have put her to bed and ended up spending the night right where I was. The next thing I realize is that my throat is sore. I can barely swallow and my ear won't equalize. Ugh. A cocktail of too much freedom combined with jet lag and pain leaves me shaken and stirred

I spend Tuesday having the horses shod and taking the animals to the vet. I spend the rest of the week in child chauffeur mode, coughing and feeling pathetic until EM can't stand it anymore and orders me to see a doctor.

I begrudgingly drag my derriere to our local urgent care to be told that I have bronchitis and that the "equalizing" problem is an ear infection. I leave with prescriptions for antibiotics, prednisone and an inhaler. I guess I was sick after all. The revelation actually cheers me up because I was beating myself up for not having more energy and not being able to get everything done. I'm sick!

Is-on the mend

Last stop

Anouk and I had planned on sharing a hotel room around the Paris airport for our last night in town but my friend, Vero, invited us to spend it at her place near Montmartre. She even sweetened the invitation by offering to drive us to the airport the next morning. I have to say that it was such an enjoyable and relaxed way to end this adventure.


When we showed up, we were met with the classic challenge of having to get our luggage up three flights of steps. We managed to cram two suitcases and me in the elevator while the other two ran up ahead to meet me. Since eighteenth century buildings were constructed before the advent of the elevator, I was amused to see how the floors were numbered. I ended up half a floor up from my intended destination.


We took Vero out for drinks and she brought two of her three children along for the escapade. Ines, her twelve-year old free spirit...


And, Lucas, her rambunctious ten-year old. Anouk and I had a good laugh at poor Vero's expense, watching her discipline her kids (and only because ours weren't there to add fuel to the fire). Ines and Lucas spent most of the outing sabotaging each other's drinks, hopping from seat to seat and pinching themselves. Vero was not amused. When she wasn't looking, Anouk even tried to teach them how to make spitballs with pieces of napkins.


The evening turned out to be greatly motivational. Anouk and I having had a weekly taste of freedom for the first time, in a long time, were instructed by Vero to make it an annual event. She shared that she had been taking a week to herself for the last two years and was about to implement a two-week getaway this year. (Those bold French women!)

I decided to begin formulating a one-week escape plan after I see what the impact of my absence will have been on Mak and Jack.

In the meantime, au revoir freedom, au revoir fries, and merci you Vero!

Is-going home

I Do

When Anouk found out that her mother would be wearing red at the wedding (as was she) and that so was the "official" maid of honor, she began a mini campaign to have me wear that color, too. We weren't going to tell Do any of this, just surprise her. Do, who as we know, went into shock the minute Christophe proposed to her. Actually, we all did. Forty-eight years as a single woman, finally deciding to tie the knot for the first time, with someone she's only known for six months (two, pre-engagement,) was a bit of a whirlwind for everyone. Dominique spent the following four months leading up to this day in a semi-functioning zombie state that her new French family amusingly thought was very "zen." (We knew better.) And so it was that we showed up on a rainy Saturday in the beautiful French countryside to celebrate, boldly. We wouldn't have missed this for the world.
The best part of the ceremony, other than the moments where they both said their "I dos," was when Christophe put the ring on Dominique's hand and it would not slip on! We all chuckled nervously and then with mounting panic watching Christophe, who had that finger in a death grip trying to get the ring on. I was ready to hurl a spit-ball at Dominique's finger to help lubricate the action. Thank god sheer force prevailed (because I'm really not that good a shot).
It did rain that day, but never for the important parts like walking in and out of the ceremony, reception and visits to the porto-potty.
I ended up writing the speech that morning. I composed it in English until I realized, late in the game, that my audience wasn't going to understand a word of it, so I grabbed the best man while we were all taking wedding pictures and had him help me translate it into grammatically correct French. (Although I do speak it fluently, I hadn't written more than a French sentence or two since high school.)
Standing before everyone, I managed to give the audience a peak at Do's personality and tidbits about some of her more outrageous exploits, without embarrassing her (or her husband). I did manage to make her laugh and cry. So I have to say that it went over quite well.
I was sad to say goodbye the following day. I was also exhausted. We had shown up at the farm at 2PM, the prior day, and had left the wedding at 3AM, the following, only to be back at there for brunch at noon with our bags packed and checked out of the hotel. A week as a single woman had my head wanting to explode. I was so delirious that I actually started fantasizing about making school lunches and driving carpool. Proof that I must have been hallucinating.

Boy, do the French know how to throw a good party, or what.

Is-almost home

In the meantime

EM and Makena's preschool e-mailed me a couple of pictures of the kids. Makena is happy to blow bubbles and paint all day long.
EM took Jack to Arizona for some father-son time and to catch a few games at the Dodger training camp.

I miss them but it doesn't seem to appear that my absence is causing them too much wear and tear. Unless you take note of Jack's nails -- which need some serious attention.

I am off to search for a French souvenir nail clipper.

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Crystal clear

The official maid of honor had us over at her apartment for cocktails. The evening was also supposed to include dinner but she ended up bailing on feeding us because she didn't have matching china. (Apparently, she hadn't heard of take-out which usually comes with matching plates, all be it of the paper variety.)

As we scrambled to figure out what to do for Do's bachelorette party, the best girlfriend of her future groom stepped up to the plate and batted it out of the field by making reservations for us at the Crystal Room. It was thus that we proceeded out of the apartment and caravanned over to another arrondissement for a memorable experience.

I assumed that the celebration of the interment of Dominique's life as a single woman would include a pole so I was slightly surprised when we ended up at a very chic restaurant. Sadly, my crisp Euro bills ended up staying in my wallet. The Crystal Room restaurant was located inside the Baccarat (duh, crystal) museum. The place was renovated by Philippe Stark who married 18th century French with contemporary serious chichi.


The Maitre D saw us arriving with our cameras and was mortified. He asked us not to take pictures in the restaurant (boo)... but he didn't say anything about the rest of the place. Ha!


This was the kind of dining experience where you were presented with four glasses and the same amount of forks, spoons and knives and the object of the game was to figure out which one to use, when. You could feel the eyes of the waiters behind us ready to catch us in a dining etiquette faux pas. I thought of Jack's table manners and decided to look into cotillion camp when I get back.

On the way home, Dominique mustered up all of her courage and asked everyone present to keep the microphone away from me at the wedding. Well that did it for me. I had never planned on saying anything (nor Anouk) because I was too miffed to have not been asked to be a bridesmaid, that I decided there and then to prepare a speech. No one on the Canadian side of the family was planning on speaking so I decided (with the blessing of Do's mom and sister) that I would do the deed.

Horror of horrors, the fear that set into Dominique's eyes should I recount some of the experiences we had shared in our lives, certainly played a minor role in the insomnia that set into her for the next two nights.

I have to admit that the pressure of coming up with something to say about my friend (who I have known since I was nine years old) without making it too mean, too revealing (to embarrass her or the groom) and funny and touching at the same time, but most importantly, short, did rob me of a couple of hours of shut-eye, as well.

Is-a-plotting

Vive la France

What's a girl to do with all this time on her hands? One option is to spend two hours watching the hairstyle trial for Dominique's wedding.


Another, is to wrap a hundred snow globe party favors in tulle, stick name tags to red cards, organize guests by alphabetical order and cross check that everyone will be seated at the right table. Which is how I found out that I will be seated in Siberia with no one I know.


I feel that I can rag about this because Anouk and I are not Dominique's bridesmaids or bridematrons - whatever we should be called. Anouk and Dominique were mine. Dominique and I were Anouk's but Do decided to break that tradition when she asked a cousin of hers to take on that role. We are still waiting for said cousin to show up, step up to the plate and help. News flash: She isn't. She has been too busy attending the opera and going to museums to help. Which is exactly what Anouk and I should be doing. Aaaghhhhhh. I knew this was going to happen. Anouk knew this was going to happen. Even their mother knew this was going to happen. And guess what? It did! On the plus side, I don't have to wear one of those ridiculous pastel pouffy dresses or make a speech at the wedding. Please keep the microphone away from me.

Thank god for friendships.

We are done non-bridesmaiding for today. It's threatening to rain and Anouk and I are about to head out and salvage what we can of this vacation - which may really mean heading to a cafe and ordering wine at noon - all the while telling ourselves that it's five o'clock somewhere in the world.


Five hours later...

We are back, having window shopped our way through the sixth and seventh arrondissement. (Our husbands will be relieved to know that we purchased small, inexpensive, token souvenirs for our children.) We did end up in a cafe but we were too exhausted to think about drinking wine. So we talked about Dominique (our favorite subject) and ordered fries, instead. Freedom fries.

Vive la France!

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Freedom

So the plane was an hour late in taking off and by the time the Air France flight attendants with the red, red, lips served dinner, I was actually hungry. I had my cocktail, ate my dinner and refused bread three times -- which is not very French. In fact it might even be considered an overt act of hostility not to eat it. I refused wine, too, and that's when they stopped smiling at me.

I settled in and chose "Quantum of Solace, which I stayed awake for, and then fell asleep through "Vicky, Christina, Barcelona." I woke up when the pilot announced the decent toward Paris. I slept. Yippee.

When we landed it was two in the afternoon of the next day and I received a text message from a good friend of mine telling me that she was waiting for me on the other side of baggage claim. Quelle surprise! What a gift! On the drive into town, we caught up on our lives, our kids and the necessity of abandoning our families for a week to seek freedom and regeneration.

Dominique (AKA the bride) showed up later in the afternoon and we spent the rest of the day catching up before going out to dinner. We chose Indian and thus did not have to refuse any bread. Brilliant.

Back at the ranch...

I called EM to see how things were going and things had gotten off to a ruff start in the morning when Tiger had some gastric complications in the middle of the night and decided to express them in front of our bedroom door. Ugh. Jack was dragging his heels to get dressed for school and Makena was clingy...

I am feeling a little bit guilty about all this freedom but I have been assured that this feeling should completely dissipate by tonight. I'm waiting for this moment to happen with anticipation.


In the meantime, Anouk, Dominique's sister has just arrived from Montreal. Time to explore.

Is-in France

And she's off

I interrupt this blog to announce that I have the week off. My friend, Dominique is (finally) getting married for the first time and the ceremony is taking place just outside of Paris. As in "France!" I am writing this from the airport lounge awaiting my flight.

El Mysterioso gave me his blessing and I purchased one ticket to Europe. This is quite possibly the first time in almost eleven years that I am taking more than two days for myself without a husband, a child or two children in tow. I arrived at the airport about an hour ago and breezed through security. I didn't have to unstrap a child out of a car seat and strap her into a stroller. I didn't have to hear another one complain about the long lines. I didn't have to remove three pairs of shoes and stuff all the baggage through the x-ray machine. I just placed my hand bag on the conveyor belt, showed my boarding pass and walked through.

My deodorant supported me, I have no food stains on my shirt. I feel calm. I debated about whether or not to have a drink before the flight and decided to blog about this momentous time in my life instead.

All it took for me to get here was spend a couple of days writing down an intricate schedule for my husband, three babysitters and driver-friends to follow. Mak and Jack will be chauffeured to school, baseball, karate, tennis, gymnastics and Chinese tutoring. Teachers, coaches, doctors and veterinarians have all been alerted that I am leaving town. The horse feed is being delivered tomorrow. The geckos have feasted on crickets and the health insurance card is tacked on a cabinet in the laundry room.

Mommy is off.

Next stop, Paris.

Au revoir.

Is-away

Zoo

This picture would have been perfect had I been faster to whip out my Iphone to capture the cat in this shot, as well. But he saw Makena on the hunt for him and bolted. I did manage to get Makena, Tiger, Romel and Scarlet in the same frame so I would deem this a successful shot. I have visions of rounding up all our animals, along with the kids and posing them for a holiday but I chicken out every year at the time consumption such a photograph would take.
Makena is obsessed with Jerry. She finally caught him and wanted to introduce him to Rommel, but the tortoise was too preoccupied, trying to snap at Tiger, to bother. Every time Tiger makes an appearance in the "tortoise sector" of the yard, Rommel makes a mad dash for the dog and chases him away. He is extremely territorial.
Jerry is quite possibly the best cat. He has been with us a month and has not scratched or bitten Makena. This poor cat spend half his day in her embrace (under our supervision). He has learned to go very limp and pretends to sleep. As soon as Makena releases her grip, he sprints away to hide and then the search for the cat begins again. Endless, obsessive fun for a three year old.

Is-a-zoo