It has been such an interesting experience being an au pair. At first, I struggled with what my place was, how to get the kids to like and respect me. Then I got the hang of it, I bonded enough witht he kids, became a disciplinarian, and have become confident in surrendering some points of leadership to be a servant.
I have been humbled by the fine line that an au pair must walk: being comfortable in the house you are living in and taking care of, while at the same time acknowledging that it is not your own house. Being an influence in children's lives, but not expecting to get to enjoy the fun and sweet moments; I am here to help with the 'dirty work' so there are more sweet and fun moments for parents to enjoy.
There is a lot that goes into this position, and I have found out how extensive and intense that can be this week.
The matriarch, Jennifer, has given birth to a healthy baby boy, Luke! Yesterday at 9am, Luke was born and I am taking the kids to visit this afternoon. Betsy, Jen's mom, arrived Monday, and so she and I have been sharing the responsibility since Wednesday at 3am when Jen knocked on my door to let me know she and Luis were headed to the hospital.
As Luis has been with Jen through such an incredible/arduous time, I have been starting my days at 6:30am when Sebastian first shouts through the quiet morning air. I feel more like a mom than ever. I get the kids, we do a potty trip, get a clean couche [diaper] for Sebastian, they play in the enclosed bedroom quietly while I lay on Alexandra's toddler bed for a half hour in an attempt to gain my wits. I don't really have a problem with the early rising so much as the alarm clock itself - waking up to a little boy screaming, rather than pleasantly babbling, or even a buzzing phone, is not ideal for me.
But, days at the park blowing bubbles, riding the manege [carousel] and picnicking have been great. I just can't imagine wanting to dabble in childcare again for a loooong time.
And so it goes.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
You are my place-holder.
I recall having had conversations with folks before coming here in which I believed that I could love a city without knowing a soul in it. I thought that it didn't exactly matter to me who was in this new city, as long as I get a chance to meet the people already there.
This has been proven true and false. I hate how far away you loved ones are: my family and my sweet friends that I count as family. I wish you posted daily everything you have done accompanied by pictures, I miss you that much. I have come to realize that life really is about the people in your life; it's about love with people who love you back in addition to giving love to those people you don't know.
Paris has proven that I do find a city vibe and meld into it; I love perusing different cultures and I am thankful I get to have a whole year, and that it is only a year, to experience such a historically rich wolrdview that this place has to offer.
But I can't wait to come home. I just want the connection with you people back; we do our best to maintain relationships on the phone, skype and email, and a precious few visits. So this post is to let you know just how much I absolutely adore you. You may think that I am posting this to a lot of people, and therefore do not mean you, or that I don't mean it as much. Well, that's dumb.
I love you. I miss you. And if you are in anyway confused as to whether or not you are on the list of people that I care about, or if you just need some validation and encouragement, hit me up. Because you have been there for me while I am here. It's kind of like a place-holder or a bookmark, and I appreciate you for keeping my place warm.
Lovelovelovelovelovelove you.
This has been proven true and false. I hate how far away you loved ones are: my family and my sweet friends that I count as family. I wish you posted daily everything you have done accompanied by pictures, I miss you that much. I have come to realize that life really is about the people in your life; it's about love with people who love you back in addition to giving love to those people you don't know.
Paris has proven that I do find a city vibe and meld into it; I love perusing different cultures and I am thankful I get to have a whole year, and that it is only a year, to experience such a historically rich wolrdview that this place has to offer.
But I can't wait to come home. I just want the connection with you people back; we do our best to maintain relationships on the phone, skype and email, and a precious few visits. So this post is to let you know just how much I absolutely adore you. You may think that I am posting this to a lot of people, and therefore do not mean you, or that I don't mean it as much. Well, that's dumb.
I love you. I miss you. And if you are in anyway confused as to whether or not you are on the list of people that I care about, or if you just need some validation and encouragement, hit me up. Because you have been there for me while I am here. It's kind of like a place-holder or a bookmark, and I appreciate you for keeping my place warm.
Lovelovelovelovelovelove you.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Lenôtre.
A few of the things I wanted to do most in Paris when I decided to move here, was to somehow be in an art course and to take a French cooking class. After much research, neither of these options seemed truly viable, as they are fairly expensive, and tended to run into scheduling conflicts with French language courses and my work schedule.
Jen has taken a few cooking courses over the years, and as Luis' dad, Manfred, is a retired professional chef [who has worked in top restaurants all over the world], I have picked up a few sous chef talents since moving here. I was generally satisfied as I had learned proper knife-wielding technique, and some true-blue French recipes [crepes and quiches... I think there is a post somewhere in October about that].
However, I was very blessed to have received a very thoughtful and generous gift from my employers, Luis and Jennifer, for Christmas: a 'bon cadeau' or gift certificate for a cooking class of my choice at Lenôtre French Ateliers de Cuisine. Courses are offered in every way, shape, and form. They have pastry classes, which were very intriguing and tempting, but ultimately I decided that I wanted to learn to prepare a full French 'Menu Creatif.'
For three and a half hours this past Thursday afternoon, after some initial trepidation as I realized I have zero French kitchen jargon, I really enjoyed myself with this class. I was one of four pupils; two French women, one obviously a wife of leisure, and one Taiwanese tourist. Our chef professor was such fun, and patient with my accented French as I asked him repeatedly "how much of what?" that he wanted measured.
I can now successfully create a three course French meal [entrée, plat at dessert] consisting of: cannoli pasta stuffed with a crab and zucchini mixture with a citron herb sauce, back of rabbit stuffed with and olive and caper mixture with a white wine reduction sauce, and a balsamic strawberry pastry dessert.
Life is good.
Jen has taken a few cooking courses over the years, and as Luis' dad, Manfred, is a retired professional chef [who has worked in top restaurants all over the world], I have picked up a few sous chef talents since moving here. I was generally satisfied as I had learned proper knife-wielding technique, and some true-blue French recipes [crepes and quiches... I think there is a post somewhere in October about that].
However, I was very blessed to have received a very thoughtful and generous gift from my employers, Luis and Jennifer, for Christmas: a 'bon cadeau' or gift certificate for a cooking class of my choice at Lenôtre French Ateliers de Cuisine. Courses are offered in every way, shape, and form. They have pastry classes, which were very intriguing and tempting, but ultimately I decided that I wanted to learn to prepare a full French 'Menu Creatif.'
For three and a half hours this past Thursday afternoon, after some initial trepidation as I realized I have zero French kitchen jargon, I really enjoyed myself with this class. I was one of four pupils; two French women, one obviously a wife of leisure, and one Taiwanese tourist. Our chef professor was such fun, and patient with my accented French as I asked him repeatedly "how much of what?" that he wanted measured.
I can now successfully create a three course French meal [entrée, plat at dessert] consisting of: cannoli pasta stuffed with a crab and zucchini mixture with a citron herb sauce, back of rabbit stuffed with and olive and caper mixture with a white wine reduction sauce, and a balsamic strawberry pastry dessert.
Life is good.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Bar[th]elona.
This was the first time I have traveled quite so alone. What a truly incredible experience it was, too.
I have always wanted to go to Spain - since freshman year of college when I had to choose which Spanish-speaking area I would focus my studies on: Latin America or Spain. I chose Latin America, as it provided more variety in coursework and with the immigration patterns back home, I figured it made more sense. I do not regret in the least that decision; but I knew I wouldn't have much of a fighting chance of getting a study abroad trip to Spain included with college since it wasn't required.
It's so much better to have accomplished that goal on my own! Abuela and Opa, the paternal set of grandparents who live in Madrid are visiting our house this week, and as such I was blessed with the opportunity to take a long weekend. Unfortunately, not many of my au pair friends get time off on a random occasion, so there weren't many options as to whom I could convince to go with me. I am so thankful to Becca for convincing me that I could go on my own, and for the confidence that I am sure came as a result of prayer about it.
I booked my flight with RyanAir, the discount airline here which is similar to Southwest [but actually even cheaper] to get out to Barcelona. The only problem really with RyanAir is that in order to maintain such low costs, they fly in and out of small town airports, usually an hour or so out of the town you are trying to go to - oh, and they usually fly at odd times of the day where your arrival will put you into town at 2am. Instead, I chose to take the early flight, which had me arrive where I could still enjoy my first day in Barcelona, but that required me to get up at 4:30am to take the very first RER from my house at 5:08am, to connect to the metro, to get on the bus out to the airport for my flight. [That's right - 4 transportation methods.]
So, other than being incredibly sleepy, arrival was great. For accommodation I decided to do something which I had only recently heard of and was a bit skeptical of: Couch Surfing. CouchSurfing.com is an online community, basically of hippies, that allows travelers to find other travelers with an open-door free-couch mentality. I found two hostesses that were willing to have me as a temporary roommate, and in addition to meeting some quirky new friends, my Excel spreadsheet budget looks much nicer without the potential hostel expenses. This definitely added to the uniqueness of the experience in Barcelona – my first hostess, Elvira, is a native Barcelonan who has been hosting couch surfers nearly every week for the past two years, and had rave reviews. She was a wealth of information that was a great supplement to the guidebook that didn’t leave my purse, and was great for practicing my increasingly rusty Spanish with! My second hostess, Silvia, is a Slovakian English teacher who moved to Barcelona about the time that I moved to Paris, and was truly great. I met up with her Monday morning, and after dropping off my stuff we headed to the beach with a small picnic and had some good conversation. Silvia was raised in an Eastern Orthodox Christian household, which unfortunately I don’t know much about, except what she told me: that it is quite pretentious, stuffy, and showy. And not much about God’s love of people, or our love for people; consequently, Silvia relates more to principles and values of various religions, and has chosen a vague spiritual path for now. I am praying that she will find the fulfillment and profound joy that I have in knowing the grace that God has given me, and hope to maintain a friendship and good conversation with her.
My planning for this trip didn’t extend far; I figured I could lump attractions together by geographic proximity or relational correspondence, and for the most part that worked. I have never had an experience that was such a perfect blend of education, attractions, and relaxation. Living in Costa Rica, there were definitely touristy attractions to go see and do, but as soon as you got to the beach that is basically all there was to do. Which was wonderful; I have absolutely no complaints. Paris, with the exception of cafes, is really all about the going and doing and seeing. Barcelona has a fabulous blend of the two, in that it is a city founded by the Romans before Christ, and so is steeped in history. But, as it is a beach town, and a Latin culture, it is imperative to being a cultural tourist to take in the sights and the city and the people from a bench, or a beach blanket.
I started Saturday with heading to Las Ramblas, five connected streets that ramble on a path from Placa Catalunya down to the dock and Port of Barcelona. I checked out the market, walked on, had a bite, walked on, watched street performers, walked on, and found a sunny spot on some grass at the end by the boats to people-watch and read. After a bit I headed up to the architectural stunners by Antonio Gaudi, and saw his Casas in the north of Barcelona. They sit side-by-side, and form the Block of Discord, because of the clashing styles of the architecture. One evokes that ugly southwestern style rug that everyone’s aunt probably had at one point in time, with the stair-step configuration and sunset-like colors. The other, Casa Botllo, has a wavy façade and is covered in a rich mosaic of colored tiles and glasswork. Very impressive. Down a block or two is the Pedrera, the most famous of the casas built by Gaudi. It is wavy in stature too, and has incredible ironwork on each of its many balconies, windows and doorframes.
I also checked out the Museum of Contemporary Art. I thought I liked contemporary art. Apparently not, but the building was a cool structure, and the teenage hipster skater crowd seemed to agree. Great tapas polished off the evening.
Palm Sunday, I rang in Holy Week with a televised mass outside of the Sagrada Familia temple, the church the Gaudi began work in 1882 that is still under construction. There was a lot of palm-frond waving, but it was neat to see such crowds of believers gathered to celebrate. I ducked in a side entrance to a chapel where I stumbled across a much more intimate gathering, and enjoyed finishing up 2 Samuel[nothing much to do with Holy Week, but what I happened to be reading at the time]. When I finished with my two masses, I discovered that they had finally opened up the ticket counters for tourists to enter the temple, and thus I only waited in line long enough to polish off the sandwich I had packed and then I was in…
…To the most incredible architectural display I have seen. I have been blessed with opportunities for travel and exploration, and thus have seen some great displays of intricate architecture. But never before have I seen something so innovative and so intricate. I will have to go back in 2026 upon the estimated time of completion to see what it will look like without scaffolds, cranes and sheet plastic.
After five hours at La Sagrada Familia, I decided I should probably head on, so I went to the Picasso Museum and the Museum of Design. Both were notably awesome. After the beach with Silvia on Monday, I went to Park Guell, designed again by Gaudi, and enjoyed some cool views of Barcelona as well as some nice time with green space and not quite as many tourists. [Still a lot.] I saw the gothic cathedral of Barcelona and then went back to share a great dinner with Silvia. My last day in Barcelona, Tuesday, I went to the Museum of Catalan Music, as it has fabulous tile work, mosaic stained glass fixtures, and a stunning auditorium. The History of Barcelona museum is probably the greatest history museum I have ever seen. The museum is built into and on top of the original Roman city of Barcilo from before Christ, and allows you to tour the ruins of a wine production center, a garment production factory, several homes, and even the outer defensive wall, which you can see above ground as it makes up parts of the museum’s walls.
Then I headed to the beach and enjoyed calamari and sangria with seafood paella. A very perfect Spanish meal to round off my time in the sun before coming back to windy, rainy, cold Paris. But, it’s become home.
I have always wanted to go to Spain - since freshman year of college when I had to choose which Spanish-speaking area I would focus my studies on: Latin America or Spain. I chose Latin America, as it provided more variety in coursework and with the immigration patterns back home, I figured it made more sense. I do not regret in the least that decision; but I knew I wouldn't have much of a fighting chance of getting a study abroad trip to Spain included with college since it wasn't required.
It's so much better to have accomplished that goal on my own! Abuela and Opa, the paternal set of grandparents who live in Madrid are visiting our house this week, and as such I was blessed with the opportunity to take a long weekend. Unfortunately, not many of my au pair friends get time off on a random occasion, so there weren't many options as to whom I could convince to go with me. I am so thankful to Becca for convincing me that I could go on my own, and for the confidence that I am sure came as a result of prayer about it.
I booked my flight with RyanAir, the discount airline here which is similar to Southwest [but actually even cheaper] to get out to Barcelona. The only problem really with RyanAir is that in order to maintain such low costs, they fly in and out of small town airports, usually an hour or so out of the town you are trying to go to - oh, and they usually fly at odd times of the day where your arrival will put you into town at 2am. Instead, I chose to take the early flight, which had me arrive where I could still enjoy my first day in Barcelona, but that required me to get up at 4:30am to take the very first RER from my house at 5:08am, to connect to the metro, to get on the bus out to the airport for my flight. [That's right - 4 transportation methods.]
So, other than being incredibly sleepy, arrival was great. For accommodation I decided to do something which I had only recently heard of and was a bit skeptical of: Couch Surfing. CouchSurfing.com is an online community, basically of hippies, that allows travelers to find other travelers with an open-door free-couch mentality. I found two hostesses that were willing to have me as a temporary roommate, and in addition to meeting some quirky new friends, my Excel spreadsheet budget looks much nicer without the potential hostel expenses. This definitely added to the uniqueness of the experience in Barcelona – my first hostess, Elvira, is a native Barcelonan who has been hosting couch surfers nearly every week for the past two years, and had rave reviews. She was a wealth of information that was a great supplement to the guidebook that didn’t leave my purse, and was great for practicing my increasingly rusty Spanish with! My second hostess, Silvia, is a Slovakian English teacher who moved to Barcelona about the time that I moved to Paris, and was truly great. I met up with her Monday morning, and after dropping off my stuff we headed to the beach with a small picnic and had some good conversation. Silvia was raised in an Eastern Orthodox Christian household, which unfortunately I don’t know much about, except what she told me: that it is quite pretentious, stuffy, and showy. And not much about God’s love of people, or our love for people; consequently, Silvia relates more to principles and values of various religions, and has chosen a vague spiritual path for now. I am praying that she will find the fulfillment and profound joy that I have in knowing the grace that God has given me, and hope to maintain a friendship and good conversation with her.
My planning for this trip didn’t extend far; I figured I could lump attractions together by geographic proximity or relational correspondence, and for the most part that worked. I have never had an experience that was such a perfect blend of education, attractions, and relaxation. Living in Costa Rica, there were definitely touristy attractions to go see and do, but as soon as you got to the beach that is basically all there was to do. Which was wonderful; I have absolutely no complaints. Paris, with the exception of cafes, is really all about the going and doing and seeing. Barcelona has a fabulous blend of the two, in that it is a city founded by the Romans before Christ, and so is steeped in history. But, as it is a beach town, and a Latin culture, it is imperative to being a cultural tourist to take in the sights and the city and the people from a bench, or a beach blanket.
I started Saturday with heading to Las Ramblas, five connected streets that ramble on a path from Placa Catalunya down to the dock and Port of Barcelona. I checked out the market, walked on, had a bite, walked on, watched street performers, walked on, and found a sunny spot on some grass at the end by the boats to people-watch and read. After a bit I headed up to the architectural stunners by Antonio Gaudi, and saw his Casas in the north of Barcelona. They sit side-by-side, and form the Block of Discord, because of the clashing styles of the architecture. One evokes that ugly southwestern style rug that everyone’s aunt probably had at one point in time, with the stair-step configuration and sunset-like colors. The other, Casa Botllo, has a wavy façade and is covered in a rich mosaic of colored tiles and glasswork. Very impressive. Down a block or two is the Pedrera, the most famous of the casas built by Gaudi. It is wavy in stature too, and has incredible ironwork on each of its many balconies, windows and doorframes.
I also checked out the Museum of Contemporary Art. I thought I liked contemporary art. Apparently not, but the building was a cool structure, and the teenage hipster skater crowd seemed to agree. Great tapas polished off the evening.
Palm Sunday, I rang in Holy Week with a televised mass outside of the Sagrada Familia temple, the church the Gaudi began work in 1882 that is still under construction. There was a lot of palm-frond waving, but it was neat to see such crowds of believers gathered to celebrate. I ducked in a side entrance to a chapel where I stumbled across a much more intimate gathering, and enjoyed finishing up 2 Samuel[nothing much to do with Holy Week, but what I happened to be reading at the time]. When I finished with my two masses, I discovered that they had finally opened up the ticket counters for tourists to enter the temple, and thus I only waited in line long enough to polish off the sandwich I had packed and then I was in…
…To the most incredible architectural display I have seen. I have been blessed with opportunities for travel and exploration, and thus have seen some great displays of intricate architecture. But never before have I seen something so innovative and so intricate. I will have to go back in 2026 upon the estimated time of completion to see what it will look like without scaffolds, cranes and sheet plastic.
After five hours at La Sagrada Familia, I decided I should probably head on, so I went to the Picasso Museum and the Museum of Design. Both were notably awesome. After the beach with Silvia on Monday, I went to Park Guell, designed again by Gaudi, and enjoyed some cool views of Barcelona as well as some nice time with green space and not quite as many tourists. [Still a lot.] I saw the gothic cathedral of Barcelona and then went back to share a great dinner with Silvia. My last day in Barcelona, Tuesday, I went to the Museum of Catalan Music, as it has fabulous tile work, mosaic stained glass fixtures, and a stunning auditorium. The History of Barcelona museum is probably the greatest history museum I have ever seen. The museum is built into and on top of the original Roman city of Barcilo from before Christ, and allows you to tour the ruins of a wine production center, a garment production factory, several homes, and even the outer defensive wall, which you can see above ground as it makes up parts of the museum’s walls.
Then I headed to the beach and enjoyed calamari and sangria with seafood paella. A very perfect Spanish meal to round off my time in the sun before coming back to windy, rainy, cold Paris. But, it’s become home.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
A Horrendous Metro Experience.
Disclaimer: this post does not follow chronological order. Sorry if that messes with your head.
On my way back from Barcelona two nights ago, I finally make it to the metro that will take me blissfully to my own bed. Upon boarding, and one stop into my train ride however, I find myself turning up the volume on my iPod speakers to full blast in an effort to drown out the disorderly and belligerent older drunken man on the train, sitting one row up and diagonally from me. Two stops later, but unfortunately for me still two stops away from my house, this man begins to yell louder - at me. I do not exaggerate here.
No one in France speaks much louder than an 'inside voice'; even when on the metro rumbling through a tunnel and screeching to a deafening halt. Thus, pitifully, every head in the metro car turns to stare at this man and I. He berates me in French for the next hellish minutes about what a princess I am, and how I should be doing more for him and his people. Then he proceeds to get in my face asking for money. And when another man comes aboard to sell sudoku books and magazines for his living [someone I usually contribute to helping out], the drunken man yells at me to buy books from this man.
You can imagine how red my face was at this point. Amanda Snyder can testify that for some reason, I now blush frequently. This blush is a result of humiliation as well as rage. Why out of the 30-some odd people in our train car decide that I am a princess? Especially when the girl four rows down is sporting designer everything?
I am forced to conclude that this is a God-sent experience. The whole time this man is yelling at me, I pray fervently - what should I do? What should I say? Where should I look - do I give this man eye contact and hopefully some assurance of dignity? Do I do nothing at all so as not to incite further blame? Do I know enough French to be a witness in this situation? Do I seek out the strapping young man to come to my rescue? [Oh wait, chivalry is dead in Paris...]
I went with the do-nothing-because-I-am-scared option. It ended uneventfully; someone else gave him some coins, and he exited the train before my stop.
On my way back from Barcelona two nights ago, I finally make it to the metro that will take me blissfully to my own bed. Upon boarding, and one stop into my train ride however, I find myself turning up the volume on my iPod speakers to full blast in an effort to drown out the disorderly and belligerent older drunken man on the train, sitting one row up and diagonally from me. Two stops later, but unfortunately for me still two stops away from my house, this man begins to yell louder - at me. I do not exaggerate here.
No one in France speaks much louder than an 'inside voice'; even when on the metro rumbling through a tunnel and screeching to a deafening halt. Thus, pitifully, every head in the metro car turns to stare at this man and I. He berates me in French for the next hellish minutes about what a princess I am, and how I should be doing more for him and his people. Then he proceeds to get in my face asking for money. And when another man comes aboard to sell sudoku books and magazines for his living [someone I usually contribute to helping out], the drunken man yells at me to buy books from this man.
You can imagine how red my face was at this point. Amanda Snyder can testify that for some reason, I now blush frequently. This blush is a result of humiliation as well as rage. Why out of the 30-some odd people in our train car decide that I am a princess? Especially when the girl four rows down is sporting designer everything?
I am forced to conclude that this is a God-sent experience. The whole time this man is yelling at me, I pray fervently - what should I do? What should I say? Where should I look - do I give this man eye contact and hopefully some assurance of dignity? Do I do nothing at all so as not to incite further blame? Do I know enough French to be a witness in this situation? Do I seek out the strapping young man to come to my rescue? [Oh wait, chivalry is dead in Paris...]
I went with the do-nothing-because-I-am-scared option. It ended uneventfully; someone else gave him some coins, and he exited the train before my stop.
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