De France, avec l'amour

If I thought having visitors with a toddler, who cooked, cleaned, watched after my children, rented and drove their own car, did their own laundry and some of ours, and generally took care of themselves while enjoying beautiful Barbados was tough, I could not be prepared for the visit of Didier's mother and brother for their two week stay.  Not since Virginie was a newborn and Lily had begun her struggle as the jealous older sister, have I had so little sleep.  Just when I thought it was not possible for me to have more to do, I am trying to keep up our household with the addition of two adults, one in the Master Bedroom, the other in the guesthouse, who speak primarily/only French all day long.  As is expected, when one's family comes to visit, especially one's Belle-Mere, all details are to be taken care of by the hosts.  Read Didier and me.  Didier is doing all the driving and cooking.  I am doing all the rest.  And all the rest is in addition to the care of Lily and Virginie who have begun a two week break from school and are home for most of the day.

We are six people, four adults and two children, scrambling around the island in one car as a rental car has not been pursued.  We are two different meals (You think the kids want to eat a seafood pasta with calamari, crab, and shrimp?) , lots of dishes and no dishwasher, well other than me or anyone else who might like to volunteer to get their hands in the murky water.  We are trips to the beach, to all points of interest, to four coasts, to swimming lesson catch ups, and back for nap times.  We are speaking and listening in French, heat rising as semi-cool Barbados "winter" has begun to give way to blazing sunshine and humidity.  We are different parts of a family, but we are indeed family.  And you do for family.

While I am blotto, this has been magical for the girls and, I hope, for Didier's mother.  We dreamed that she and Jean, Didier's father who could not make the trip, would have the kind of time that my parents have often had with the girls.  It is no secret that none of us is getting any younger and at 78 and 81 respectively, Paulette et Jean, Didier's parents, are up there.  They are not in bad health, but not great either and are certainly mentally active, but our living in the Caribbean while they spend their days in France make frequent travel difficult, and time has gone by quickly.  To get to Barbados, Paulette and Didier's older brother had a five hour train ride to Paris, then a 6 to 7 hour flight to Martinique, where they stayed overnight with a friend as there was no suitable hotel for them there, a fifteen minute flight to St. Lucia and finally another fifteen minutes to Barbados.  That's quite a trip for an elderly lady.  Add to that the jetlag and extraordinary humidity and you can imagine how courageous it was for her make the trip for us.

Creating memories can be hard work.  I have been happy to practice my French and see if the Rosetta Stone is really working.  It is.  And even more excited that Lily and Virginie are hearing their father's mother tongue spoken and tuning their ears to it.  In the first days, they began calling me "Maman" because Grandma in French is "Mami" pronounced similarly to "Mommy" and they wanted to be sure that we knew to whom they were speaking and making demands.  Of course, I knew.  But I can say that Virginie demands that it is Mami who gives her her medicine or helps to brush her teeth and Lily asks Mami to do puzzles with her and look at the animals in her drawings.  Maman gets to get up in the middle of the night for water, trips to the potty, and early morning stories or TV watching...as it should be.

We have seen Barbados again from another set of eyes and while I have come to love the picturesque landscape, I have never counted all the flowers or marveled at every bird and vista.  But I have pushed my chest out in pride at the girls' swimming, been thankful that the coconut guys came just in time for a performance for Paulette, and that Mr. Arthur, the pool maintenance guy is such a great character.  All of this and the love from les petites has given Paulette more memories to share, more life to consider, more love to receive.  Even through my tired eyes, I can see the beauty of this. 


(c)  Copyright 2011.  City Mom in the Jungle.

Inspiration on Facebook

I have a friend on Facebook called Denise.  She was a friend, more like an acquaintance actually, in high school, whom I always liked, but never knew very well.  Before my twentieth high school reunion, I got back in touch with so many friends, classmates, even practical strangers from high school in anticipation of that reunion and the reconnecting was intoxicating.  Whether currently or previously friends, nearly strangers or teammates, buddies, church friends, all of those people went through those developing years directly or peripherally attached to me.  It was such a head trip.  Where once one would walk off in to the sunset never to see or hear from some of these people again, there we all were...on Facebook.  For better or worse, a little better than, certainly older than we once were walking through the hallways of FTHS.


I never thought I would care.  I wanted out so desperately that I raced out of town, never looked back, and my parents' move from town when I was 19 years old, made it easy to forget from where I'd come.  But nostalgia did get the better of me and I was curious.  Though I'd signed on to Facebook at the request/invitation of a former lover, I got attached to it catching up with folks from high school.  And it is here that Denise became my inspiration.

From what I have gathered, she endured a pretty crap marriage and hideous divorce but has emerged like a gorgeous butterfly with two incredibly articulate, artistic, caring, charming young boys, a gaggle of friends and family who love and support her, and a joie de vivre that makes me forget my stuck-in-tar shoes and try to take off into the world.  Every morning.  As she does.  She is a teacher and artist, an incredible photographer, whose posts reveal that she is often to bed late and up before the sun, creating, thinking, dreaming, living.  She works non-stop, writes words to motivate and inspire, sends love in abundance to her friends.  Even when she is sick, she sees the blessings that life has given her and does not wallow.

The photos of her friends and family make me want in on her life.  They beg me to have her in my life somehow, more.  I dream of her taking photos of my life and my family so that we can remember and I can recall that we did live a charmed life and we were beautiful and life was good.  Each morning when I just cannot imagine how I will exercise and write and maybe draw and clean and get the kids to their lessons and endure my suffering on a tropic island (said tongue in cheek), I consider her drive in to work (where there is always traffic and often snow or rain), her really doing it alone, her finding the silver lining, her patience, her love, her commitment , her spirit and think, you need to count your blessings, fool.  Seize it, live it, love it.  Crazy kids, wacky French husband and all.  This is life. 

In the unlikeliest places, one can find inspiration.  One can see the signs.  Now that is not to say that I don't have any complaints in me or that overnight I have become Mary Sunshine.  That things don't somehow wear me down.  That a bad night of sleep cannot leave me groggy and bitchy and tired.  But I can learn and I am learning.  We have teachers all around us if we choose to see them.  And on this monstrously addictive social foolishness called Facebook, I have been inspired.  Thanks, Denise.  I look forward to your next post.


(c)  Copyright 2011.  City Mom in the Jungle.

Let the games begin

Sports Day at St. Gabriel's is a real affair. The Infants' Department, which comprises the younger classes, aged 4-7 years at St. Gabriel's School, held their Sports Day last Friday on a sunny, soon to be devastatingly scorching morning, on the campus of the school.  The children had been practicing for weeks for a few events--the sack race, balancing (a beanbag on a paddle), a running race, and a hula hoop jumping for the wee ones and jumprope running for the "older" kids.  The day is an opportunity for the kids to show their parents, families, and friends their physical prowess and be celebrated for their achievements.  There was a food canteen with fishcakes, rotis, doubles, pizza, sodas, chips, and other goodies run by the school's PTA, as fascist an operation as any in the States.  At every event in Barbados one can find fishcakes and rotis, in the same way that one can find hamburgers and hot dogs in the States.  We'd brought our visiting friends along, so it was nice for them to experience a Bajan/West Indian school event, so like the States and also quite different.


Lily loves physical activity, but her competitive streak runs mostly in the passive-aggressive vein.  She does not defend herself outright and more enjoys games where one is able to run around and be crazy but no one wins or loses.  (I am not sure from where she gets this as Didier and I will compete with anyone for anything it seems.  Didier is sure he is racing some Grand Prix at every trip in the car and I will try anything to see if I am good at it and the only way to tell is to beat someone at it.  I know, petty as hell, but at least I speak the truth.)  All that said, during the trials, Lily was winning quite a lot of heats.  I did not hear this from Lily as she truly is unphased by it, but her teacher and some of her classmates told me that she is quite a little athlete and wins all the races. 

On that day, it was not meant to be for Lily in all races, but as every child was rewarded just for participating, first with a green ribbon if they did not place and finally with a beautiful medal in a closing ceremony that ended with both fathers' and mothers' races, everyone felt like a winner.  The day went from 8:30 am until promptly at 12 noon.  I wondered at first, how and why with all those children were we really going to finish at noon and then the sun began to turn and reduced shadows and shade to a memory.  It was the heat that would end this day and a burning hot sun overhead shining laser beams down on our heads. 

Both Didier and I participated in the parents' races to show Lily that even though we did not think we would win, we still enjoyed participating in sport.  And with parents ten to twenty years younger than us, we certainly did not win.  She was so happy to see us laughing and smiling and running.  With Virginie spending the morning at Blossoms Nursery School, she had us all to herself.  She was proud.  And so were we.

(c)  Copyright 2011.  City Mom in the Jungle.

It takes a village

While my friends were visiting I found it nearly impossible to sit down and write.  Wanting to talk and catch up, swim, sit in the sun, and eat and drink were major deterrents as well as the addition of one more child, one more toddler exactly, to the mix.  My two girls have proven a challenge for me on a regular basis with the constant competition for my attention, for favorite toys, books, costumes, the need to watch Strawberry Shortcake's Glimmerberry Ball ad nausaeum at top volume, the admission of all toys into play in all rooms of the house at once followed by total abandonment of said toys, along with the usual care giving.  Add a new toddler, a little boy, and all bets were off. 


Chaos reigned almost immediately.  Virginie and her companion got to working on tearing each other up at each moment.  He claiming everything and I mean EVERYTHING as "Mine!"  My water.  My room.  My toys.  My Momma.  Whatever.  And Virginie working on cutting his little behind down to size with a lot of No's, Don't do it's, and Not Nice's.  You guessed it, love at first sight.  Lily, feeling a bit left out, got to loving on this little boy like no one else and he, feeling the love, gave it back to her.  Lots of hugging and shout outs, sharing, singing.  Love triangle on a tiny scale.  Because Didier's mother and brother are coming next week, he was not able to take off too much time to be with us, so many nights we were fending for ourselves.  It was during this time that I realized what I have been missing all my life, OK, all my life with children.  A village.  As in, it takes a village to raise a child.


A community of people, women, to help me tend to my children and my household and the opportunity to do the same.  Sharing tasks and responsibilities that allow the kids to be together, learn, grow, fight or nearly kill each other, and the adults can prepare dinner, do dishes, laundry, tend to shower time and other night rituals.  Together.  It has been well reported how tiring and maddening all this has been for me, alone in the house night after night, pleading with the children to do the right thing and eat, brush teeth, shower and go to bed with not too much fanfare or crazy childish outbursts (imagine that, crazy mommy).  With others in the house, or at least on site, I could tend to Virginie while someone else did vocabulary words with Lily.  Wash bodies and leave them for a bedtime story read to the group of children.  Eat dinner, DINNER, sitting down at a table and share, participate in adult conversations.  Even go out without the children or the husband!  I have missed this.


It doesn't always happen when guests with children visit that we are able to sync our schedules, our programs, or our needs seamlessly, but as Virginie and her pal are just months apart, nap time, feeding schedules, play, and bed times fall at similar times.  My friends were not hard pressed to do everything possible in Barbados and keep their boy up for all hours of the night.  They still got in a bit of surfing, visits to cool tourist destinations, beach visits, swimming with the turtles, and other activities but as the sun began to set and the needs of the children came to the fore, they were there.  We were on the same page. 

Getting back talk, having my lovingly prepared dinners handed back to me untouched, screaming matches over hair combing, demands for popsicles, chocolates, ice cream, anything contraband before dinner or before bed were all made easier in the presence of and with the support of others.  A tiny village on the West Coast of Barbados where even watching the monkeys is not so bad.  OK, not so much, but they certainly are cute when viewed with good friends.  When one came charging at us, possible to take a closer look or maybe to scratch my face off, my friend stepped in front of me.  When she and her son played cautiously at the edge of the pool, I encouraged her to let him leap to her arms, knowing she would certainly catch him and that he would be thrilled.  Her partner took Lily to the sea to collect sea glass and talk about the tides.  Lily felt special and appreciated.  Honored just for being herself. 

A village.  Working together, finding the best in each other and letting each rise to his or her talent.  The kids cannot help but feel loved and cared for.  The parents too.  There was never a moment that any child was out of the sight or company of a loving adult.  In this idyllic setting, being with the girls, raising them, loving them, teaching them was so much better than doing it alone, waiting for my man to come home.  Sure, it was a dream, just two weeks out of my life, but I hope that wherever life takes us, we find community.  A village in which to raise our children.

(c)  Copyright 2011.  City Mom in the Jungle.

The Visitors

We have two very good friends and their son visiting us for two weeks.  I brought them to a favorite happy hour spot on Friday to meet some of the "gang" as all of us in said gang have done whenever someone is visiting.  Having people visit us in Barbados is like showing our true faces, who we really are, something many here seem to be hiding.  Here, we are something else, like holograms on Fantasy Island.  There are not often moments where we sit in truth and really show ourselves.  It's sun and sea and happy hours, PTA and teacher meetings, work personas and playdate smiles.  I suppose one could be whomever one wanted to be here, abandoning the lives they'd come from and starring in a new role developed especially for expatriate, island living.  Because we are transient, I don't feel like I will be here long enough to share myself, and visitors from home are proof of who I once was and might still be, to myself as much as to my friends and acquaintances here.


It is not just me, but I can admit it.  I can see it on the faces of the friends and family who visit as they try to figure out some of the relationships developed here, showing on their faces that they never would have seen this match up or that friendship.  Wondering what a nice girl like that is doing in a place like this.  I am and have always been a tough nut to crack, so I am not implying that I am or have been insincere here, but at 41, my resume is now long, much longer than the recommended one page and I have not provided many of the smaller details or fine print.  For many, I have been written more in broad strokes or dramatic flourishes.  With the arrival of my girlfriend and her family, the little things, the moments that have shaped me come flooding back to me and I am comforted by the knowledge that someone close to me knows me.


When we first moved here I invited everyone, EVERYONE, I knew to come and visit, in the hopes that keeping my people close would keep me in touch with me.  I was identifying entirely with where I was from, something New Yorkers definitely do, and trying to live in Barbados like I was on an extended vacation.  And then people didn't come.  Sure, some did, but many said they would try and I believe they tried, but they couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't be able to make the trip and I found myself further and further isolated from all that I'd had to define myself.  I have made friends and lost friends during this leg of the journey, come closer to many who came to my aid whether physically visiting Barbados or writing, chatting, Skyping and lost some too scared, tired, or bored with my struggle to define and defend myself in my new existence.  This has been a unique opportunity for me and my family, but when I consider my own spiritual journey, it has been a true awakening.

Discovering who I am when not defined by the place or the people around me, not by the work or the clothes or the neighborhood in which I live, has been eye opening.  I have reached out and reached out in despair really, especially in the beginning.  Called my parents more than ever, Skyped with them under the pretense of letting them see the girls as they were rarely interested in me without the girlies, set up a Skype number with a NYC cellphone exchange to make it easier for people to call me without charges, emailed and Facebooked like a maniac, sharing pictures and anecdotes and impressions.  I was not just feeling lonely.  I was alone.  A-lone.  Alone with one's self as the only company can be a tough place to be.  I know it was for me.  Craving a break from the constant demands of the girls and taking care of the home, I'd begged for some time by myself and then I was overwhelmed by the silence of being alone.  Of the sudden awareness that even with all my friends, even with family, contacts, schedules, and events, I, all of us really, just have ourselves.  Nearly two years here in Barbados have shown me a lot about how I have presented myself, how my history has shaped me, how I have navigated the world and how I hope to once I leave here.

It really is a shame that more people did not come to stay with us as the house, the garden, the beaches, the surfing, the landscape, and being able to experience them with a "local" perspective rather than as a tourist tied to hotel or travel agency suggestions, rental cars, and meal tickets, offer an opportunity not to be missed in any country.  Those who did make the trip, save one, have grown closer to us while having an amazing experience in a country they may never have considered exploring.  As for me, I will try next time, if there ever is a next time, when living abroad, not to be a stranger in a strange land, a visitor, but to free myself of my definitions and live, live, live wherever I am.  I have done much to improve my lot here in Barbados, but the original feeling I had when I arrived is still there.

My friends have another week left and we hope to fill it with a swim with the turtles, small trips around the island, a visit to Lily's school, a possible surfing lesson, maybe some golf (well, for one of us who is most definitely not me).  We have gone to different beaches.  They've tried rotis, gone hunting for sea glass, sat out talking with the locals on the street, checking out the supermarket, had home visits by our doctor and the amazing coconut guys, and come home to the safety and comfort of our home where we have shared meals, watched the kids play, and sat on the patio talking and laughing into the night.  They have helped me with the girls while Didier was working and done vocabulary words and read stories with Lily, making her so proud to share her new-found skills with new people.  With my visitors, Barbados is so lovely.  The time spent with all of our guests over these two years will create those moments that we will look back on fondly when Barbados is no longer our home.  There is still time.




(c)  Copyright 2011.  City Mom in the Jungle.

My tender-hearted girl

Lily has started feeling sick again on the way to school.  It is a bit different this time as she does not feel sick on the ride, but as we are getting closer to school, having already gone through Bridgetown.  When I ask her if she likes school and her classmates and her teachers and the activities, she says she loves them.  That is is supremely happy and her teacher, the gorgeous Mrs. Young, has confirmed that.  Lily is well-liked, friendly, kind, attentive, all of the qualities that make up a good student and a good classmate and friend.  I have been more gentle with her this time, as I know she is tender-hearted and that if something is bothering her enough to make her sick, she is letting it weigh on her little heart without having the words to express it.

This morning at the school drop off, I discovered our problem.  There is a young woman at school each morning who has been assigned to tend to the smaller children before the bell rings.  She looks after them, draws pictures with them, holds their hands and wipes their tears.  Her name is Miss Lucas and Lily loves and adores her.  This woman has made drop off not only easy, but pleasant.  Lily gets kisses and hugs from Mommy, Papa, and Virginie and then jumps into the waiting arms of a hip, young Bajan lady who lets Lily listen to her iPod and teaches her schoolyard songs and games.  Miss Lucas is loved by many and a group of older girls, read 6 year olds, has returned to her side each morning. 

At first I thought that Lily felt edged out, but the problem is more subtle.  This group of six year old girls has been fawning over Lily, petting her, trying to carry her, playing with her hair, in the morning and again at recess.  They have taken out the braids I have put in in the morning and brushed her hair to craziness and given her little trinkets of love and friendship and told her that they are her best friends.  She does not even know their names. 

Lily's safe place with Miss Lucas is now threatened.  At four and a 1/2 years old, she does not understand this kind of relationship.  Some of the girls are so in her face that she loses all of her personal space.  They are nearly cheek to cheek or mouth to cheek.  They touch her face, pet her like a doll, try to manipulate her position so they can be closer to her or hold her.  She does not have the courage to tell them to back off, nor does she have the language to express her concern about their adoration.  When she came running to me this morning complaining again of an upset stomach, she looked like a deer in headlights, completely terrified.  I will confess that I was not quite sure what the problem until I saw one of the girls trailing behind Lily, trying to grab her legs to lift her and carry her though she was already in motion!  When Lily sat down at a bench to draw, this little girl sat almost on top of her and tried to help her draw as though she were a baby.  I interceded and told her to give Lily some air, but the crazy mommy was about to come out.  Before I said something I knew I shouldn't, I went straight to Mrs. Young and gave her my impressions.  I thought it safer for all involved that I say no more to the little girl.  She is, after all, a little girl too, but my concern right now is for my child.  My child who is terrified and confused and freaked and I did not want to speak too harshly or aggressively during what is obviously a strange situation for all involved.

I was hoping I had a little more time to talk about the complexity of female relationships.  We do not talk about beauty or call people special because of how they look.  Lily, like most children her age, does not know that some people get more attention than others based on societal ideas about looks, beauty, charisma, charm, all that stuff.  All she knows is that it feels yuck and that she just wants to play with her friends.  Well I want her to play with her friends and be a regular little girl full of charm and charisma and beauty, without having to even think about it.

To be continued...


(c)  Copyright 2011.  City Mom in the Jungle.

Balance

It's not rocket science, you know?  If you want to keep your relationship alive, you have to commit to it, tend to it, keep your life in balance.  It has been pretty darn tough doing that as we've had to navigate life with two small children, Didier's demanding job, drop offs and pick ups and after school activities, homework, my need to write or do anything for myself, really, sleep.  Petty fighting and snippy comments, OK mostly from my end, had taken their toll on us and I must admit, I was starting not to recognize us.  The "us" that was "we" before "them."  Now I love our lives together and feel truly blessed to have this family, but I also loved being with Didier when all his focus, his love, his energy, his effort was directed towards me.  I am seeking balance.


When you finally meet someone who tickles your fancy, someone with whom you wouldn't mind spending more than a day or two, someone with whom you not only could consider spending your life, but could not imagine not spending your life, all kinds of magic begins and there is light and sparkle.  I remember it so well and catch glimpses of it when I peer at Didier as he sleeps or when he is looking at the girls as they explain something very, very important to him yet again.  But I am certainly not the first, nor will I be the last to say that children, demanding work, lack of intellectually challenging work, can dampen that burning, yearning fire pretty quickly.  It is not to say that we do not love each other as we surely do and say so often, well more often than we once did, but the expression of that love is often different.


Where we were once able to just pick up and get away, take the day off to roam the city, stay in bed, go to a cafe, there are now new demands.  Getting to school on time, having reviewed vocabulary words, read the assigned books, packed lunches, packed backpacks, planned for after-school activities, wiped tears, calmed fears, taken one, two, three trips to the bathroom before getting in the car and then having to go once strapped in, washed dishes (by hand as we have no dishwasher), taken care of household chores and details certainly changes the morning routine.  There are fewer opportunities to stare into each others' eyes, hold hands, have a conversation about ideas and thoughts and dreams rather than the minutiae of family life. 


While children are often adorably narcissistic, they do actually get a little twinkle in their eyes when they see their parents in love too.  They feel safe, secure, protected because their parents are a force guiding the family team.  My girls were watching morning battles over seriously insignificant details of our day and wondering what Mommy was yelling about in the car.  Again.  And I really wasn't yelling about anything other than the fact that I was tired, dissatisfied, overworked, overwhelmed, and lonely and wanted validation for those feelings. 


And then it happened.  One Monday morning after dropping both Lily and Virginie at their respective schools, we found ourselves alone in the car.  Without needing to go to the grocery store, pay any bills, open the gate for the gardeners, cleaning ladies, or plumber.  A free morning to be together.  Alone.  As a couple.  We walked on the beach at Paynes Bay, near the fish market and marveled at all the fish heads on the ground and manchineel apples dropped from the trees.  The turquoise of the water is just luscious at that spot and we took it in, holding hands and smiling.  We took a drive to Brandon Beach off Spring Garden Highway and joined the groups of old Bajan men soaking in the water chatting, Rastas bathing, young mothers splashing their babies at the shore.  We walked and laughed and watched young couples playing hookie from school in the throes of early love.  We remembered.

On the drive home, I put my hand over his and without uttering a word we reconnected.  Warts and all, this IS the man with whom I want to spend my life, raise my children, discover the world.  I just needed to see him again, to look at him, and be with him.  I hope we can do this at least two or three times a month.  I know it doesn't seem like much, but it is a real start.  Virginie attends nursery school for just half a day right now to get back home and have her nap, so we will have three hours at best.  But that three hours, that day, was pure magic.  And it brought us back to love.  Of course, that night there was chaos and screaming and vocabulary words and giggles and story time and dinner, dishes, and bedtime.  But there were also smiles.  There was peace.  And there was balance.


(c)  Copyright 2011.  City Mom in the Jungle.