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One of the things that Didier and I were thrilled about was the prospect of watching the FIFA World Cup 2010 while here in Barbados. We were certain that with so many football fans and ex-pats on the island, there would be lots of excitement surrounding the games. So imagine my surprise when yesterday, while watching some of the pre-game commentary, my feed cut out with the message "Program not available in your area" displayed in the bottom right corner. I just knew this had to be a mistake, so I shut down and restarted the satellite. The message was still displayed after a few such attempts to "jump" it into my programming! I didn't call Didier or panic; I just called DirectTV where the line rang busy. After three attempts I tried the on-line route. Sent two messages, very politely worded about my excitement about watching the Cup matches, blah blah blah...
And it was blah blah blah, alright! That afternoon when I called a friend here on the island, she gave me the what's what and it was not sounding good at all! Two months prior, she and her husband had called DirectTV to confirm that the games would be shown on DirectTV and that they had the right package to view it. She was told they would be and that she did indeed have the right package. When I'd called her earlier to tell her my predicament she thought perhaps I didn't have the correct package and that I had been "cut off" because I was essentially stealing the Cup. But a few hours later, hers too had been shut down and the reason she was given by DirectTV had her head spinning Bajan Exorcist style: THEY HAD NOT OBTAINED THE RIGHTS TO SHOW THE WORLD CUP AND HAD THEREFORE REMOVED ALL PROGRAMMING RELATED FOR THE MONTH!
Say what? In a panic, she called a friend who worked for the CBC, the rival to DirectTV who assured her this was correct. CBC had the rights and unfortunately DirectTV was prohibited from showing any content related. Nice. Thank you, DirectTV for letting us in on this. It seems that they were fearful of people jumping ship to CBC for the month and refused to provide accurate information. But you know we wily ones, we can always find a way...and that way was a $12 BDS rabbit ears antenna that allowed us to view only one channel. Channel 8. And Channel 8, my friends, is where the 2010 FIFA World Cup games would be shown in Barbados. I look forward to watching with my family and friends.
The Penn-Virots, 1. DirectTV, 0.
(c)copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle
Yes, it is still scorching hot in Barbados, but there are more pressing matters at hand. Like, where is Virginie's pacifier? Every day before we leave the house for any reason at all, there is the pat down--keys, pacis, sippy cups, snack traps? This ritual takes place in millions, maybe billions of homes every morning and ours is no exception. At any given moment, I can be caught packing four, five, six pacifiers at a time and found with Cheerios and goldfish crumbs in my bag and yet, as we are about to leave the house, there is always that search for the favorite paci or the fresh juice and snack trap. I challenge some creative inventor with loads of time on his or her hands to make a homing device for sippies, snack traps and pacis. Millions I tell you. You'll never have to work again.
Juice cups, for both girls, get lost in the car, hidden under the bed, couch, on the patio, in the toy box, anywhere that is not in a backpack or lunch bag by the door. Most times, Virginie has taken Lily's juice, had a sip and dumped said juice wherever she last had interest. If she is not being followed around, which most times she is not, we can look for an eternity for that sippy cup and never have a real clue as to where it might be. Whoever finds it feels like "the winner" until the contest begins again.
With the house as hot as it is, a left out juice can quickly turn into some fermenting beverage covered in flies and ants and the snack trap, if not a draw for the ants, develops into a cup of soggy treats in a matter of minutes. But Chez Penn-Virot, we have something even more special than all those special treats... and those are really something to behold--the thousands of balled up, licked, chewed, and sometimes well-preserved toilet paper squares toted around the house by Virginie from the first moment she wakes up until we pry them from her tired little hands in the evening.
We are not sure how this habit developed, but toilet paper squares seem to be the first thing on Virginie's mind in the morning, well... after Mommy, Papa, and Lily. She gets out of bed and walks straight to the bathroom for her two squares, one for each hand. Depending on what she gets into during the day, those squares either maintain their original shape or they become soggy shreds of papier mache glued to her hands until a Goldfish, yogurt, or juice is presented.
In the master bedroom, she is met with a toilet paper roll lock which frustrates her to no end, but prevents full rolls of toilet paper from being commissioned into her army. In her own bathroom, which she shares with Lily, the dispenser has been put up so high that even adults have to stand up to reach it. In case I am not providing an appropriate image, picture an avalanche of snow cascading down the mountain during ski season and you will come close to the powder white of toilet tissue blanketing our home.
I once remarked that Virginie was leaving Cheerios all over the house like Hansel and Gretel to prevent herself from getting lost in here. Well, truth be told, her mile markers are made in toilet paper.
(c)copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle
Didier took the day off and we went to the Open Day at St. Gabriel's School, the new school Lily will attend in September. Another thing we learned quite by accident, without any help from the Human Resources Department at Didier's company, is that many children start school at 4 years old here. The good schools are competitive and many people apply as their children approach one or two years of age to ensure a position with the desired class. We had no idea about this and tried our luck at a few schools that were recommended by ex-pats and parents of Lily's preschool classmates. St. Gabriel's was our first choice because, frankly, it wasn't as white as the other ex-pat schools. Our kids are mixed and while we haven't had that conversation yet, I didn't want Lily to find herself the only one or one of two or three in a classroom and have to "represent" her group rather than just getting to be her own sweet, inquisitive, intelligent self.
The school is lovely and we are excited and nervous about the possibilities. I am a little troubled about the uniforms, something all school kids wear here, an influence of the British in the Caribbean. Lily is already such a fantastic conformist. She does so because she wants to be liked. I know this because she reminds me so much of myself when I was a young girl. I didn't have a uniform, but I knew the signs that meant I had gained approval and those that said my way of thinking or acting was not appropriate for the general population. Later in life, I was able to break free of the mold, but inside, I did still care that I didn't fit the mold, even if it was my choice to break it.
I have twisted myself, bent over backwards to be something that I was not at so many stages in my life. It has been so painful trying to please. I don't want that for Lily and I hope she can see her little blue jumper as just a dress and not a mold. Living outside of America, I can see what we look like to others and with self-depreciating humor, can smile at our boisterous laughs, tell-it-like-it-is conversation, and even selfish desire for things that remind us of home. But I also appreciate individualism. Dreamers. Explorers. Adventurers. And I hope that Lily and Virginie can find their way to dream bigger than this.
Both girls were down for the count this evening before 6:45 pm. It was still light out. Funny that, we woke up while it was still dark. I figure if they are going to get up at 5-5:30 anyway, they may as well get their 10-12 hours in and give me a little time to unwind before bed. It is incredibly pleasant in the house this evening. It rained all day, which seemed to have everyone worried about hurricane season this year. We are in for some tricky weather it seems, although there has been no major storm on the island in 60 years or so. Like everyone else, we are prepping for the possibility if not the probability. Anyway, all the windows are opened and without the use of fans or air conditioning, I am relaxing comfortably in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and trying to decide if an 8:00 pm bed time is too early for me. (I think not, not with these 5 am wake up calls.)
My husband became a hotel chef for us. Lily was a toddler and I was newly pregnant after two miscarriages and I think he just did not want to put in the hours and energy anymore. He wanted to spend time with his family, something he'd dreamed about for years. Lily was so young and adored him and it was difficult to spend so many hours apart. There just wasn't enough money in running his own business that justified his being out of the house for so many hours of the day.
I knew that it would be difficult to take the joy he found in creating recipes, executing ideas, and working with a team of young cooks, from him but I also saw that he was tired. Never did I expect that we would come to Barbados and see him worked to the bone.
He'd spent years training in France and came to New York 20 or so years ago and worked for and with some of the best chefs in the business. He is a good man and a good chef and anyone who has worked with him in the past can attest to that. Self-promotion was definitely not his bag and I think he suffered for appearing aloof at times, when in fact, he is just quite shy and disciplined. I have an overwhelming sense of guilt when I see him suffer the bureaucratic nightmare that is his job right now. True, at the New York hotel where he served as Executive Chef there were union issues and red tape, company protocol and answering to a higher authority, something to which many chefs are unaccustomed, but somehow, that was not enough to prepare for this chaos.
In the heat of the Caribbean sun, he is working in a kitchen without air-conditioning, with no real inventory controls, and a staff of untrained cooks. He has no sous chef and works long, grueling hours, with little acknowledgement of his efforts. He is suffering for us and I would be blind not to see it.
Somewhere in the quest to find suburban, middle class success, we have forgotten that we are artists. We have that sensibility and want our kids to have it as well. Maybe in this day and age, for most, it is impossible to chase that dream and "settling" is not only the norm, but encouraged by your family and friends.
Didier had a successful little restaurant back home and we loved being a part of that family. Here, not only have I have not been well received by the executive team, but I think they do not realize what they have in this incredible, talented man who slaves more than 12 hours a day for them. It is because of this, that when I find myself taking care of the girls alone and the house alone and being left alone for hours and hours, I don't want to nag him for some peace of my own...because I encouraged him to do this so that we could be more secure...and I have never felt worse.
(c)copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle
Saturday and Sunday were spent together as a family, something that hasn't happened in a long while. The girls were tickled to pieces to have Didier home all weekend and we did one family activity after the next until all were thoroughly exhausted. Saturday was pool day with both girls practicing the skills they'd learned at their swimming lessons and Mommy and Papa swimming laps and racing according to Lily's commands. We did make a quick diversion to the grocery store to get some food for the week, but the girls love that too, so it was all in fun. There was splashing in the paddling pool, baseball pitches to Lily, stroller rides around the garden for Virginie, capped off with an evening barbecue for all.
Sunday morning did not start out well, after a night up nursing and chatting with Virginie who continues to suffer each tooth as though she has never felt that sensation before. A morning visit to the beach always washes the stress away and Didier proposed we do just that before I became the ogre I was beginning to resemble.
Our visits to the sea have been far too infrequent of late because it is such a chore to get everyone sunscreened and dressed, toys, blankets and towels packed, and Virginie in the stroller and Lily flip-flopped and ready to walk. But once there, I always forget the struggle. It was beautiful today...and something I cannot trade, not even with the Hamptons or the Jersey Shore, both places I have spent a good deal of time. The water is so clear and refreshing and we never find ourselves surrounded by people or lots of overproduced music. The most obnoxious visitors to our beach camp are the wave runner drivers trolling the beach for people who might want to pay for a ride and the jewelry peddlers selling shell necklaces and coconut bracelets.
I am so happy that we spent Saturday and Sunday morning together honoring each of the girls in their own way, because when a Sunday afternoon birthday party came around, I witnessed Mean Girls at the pre-school level and was nearly crushed for Lily in the way some of those little girls behaved! It is my own fault really. I took Lily to a birthday party for a little girl who was turning 5. I am friendly with her mother, a woman I like very much and was hoping to get Lily and her daughter acquainted. Perhaps I should have chosen a different day to do so, but hindsight really is 20/20.
Lily didn't know any of the kids there which is usually not a problem. Although a little shy, she makes friends easily; but she was out of her element here. The kids were a little older and many knew each other already from school. They just seemed to close their circle and poor Lily couldn't find a way in. I felt myself wanting to defend her, to get in there and support her, and honestly, I did a few times. She would get in the pool to swim and the other girls would just swim past her. She tried to smile at them but they just ignored her. There were a couple of girls who let her race with them and paddle around with them, but I found her often alone.
When it was time for the kids to eat, she sat at a little table and ate her pizza and drank a glass of water from a crazy straw all by herself. She seemed okay with that. We have taught her table manners and she often seeks out a nice table with a napkin and a place for her cup so that she may dine properly. (I mean, her father is a French chef after all!) The other kids sat around, some with their plates on their laps, something Lily really doesn't care for.
Once the evening was over and the girls were put to sleep, I spent far too long in tears thinking about my sweet girl feeling hurt and left out. I know this is something all, or at least most kids go through. I just wanted to spare her a few more years before that all began. If I don't try to protect her, try to help her through these times, then what kind of mother would I be?
