In the company of me, myself, and I

[This is an old post from mid June, but I couldn't get the images to upload before so I was waiting on publishing it]

DATELINE: 12.07.09 PARIS, FRANCE

Going places alone is one of my great challenges in life. I don't mean picking up and moving to another country alone - sure! That one was easy! No, I mean going out alone - like going to concerts, going to exhibits, going to events and activities. For some reason driving across the US alone? No problem. Moving to France alone? No problem (though to be honest I had quite a safety net here). A concert? A club? A show? That freaks me out.

To say it freaks me out is actually not quite accurate. Somehow it just makes me feel exceptionally shy, and anxious. I can think only because it makes me feel a bit lonely. But what is really interesting is that this only holds true *before* I have arrived there and am doing, all by myself, that which I wanted to go do.

Today there was a music festival, a really small one, down in Parc André Cintroën along the south western part of the Seine in Paris. All morning I was trying to get anyone and everyone I know here in Paris to join me there. All those who would have joined me are either simply out of town right now, or have already left France. And so I kicked myself in the arse, got myself out the door, and went alone. And would you know it, I had a great time all by myself.

It's a funny realization that I come by every time this happens. I often do have a great time when I go and do things alone. Getting myself past the "oh it's so lonely" feeling and resolving to go even in the absence of a companion is so hard, and yet, once I'm there I am sometimes very grateful that no one has come with me. Today I wandered through the stands, I listened to the bands, I lounged in the grass and wrote post cards (yes, 16 days before I leave France I am finally sending out cards). I even made a new friend (though I had no interest in anything more than the little 5 minutes conversation we had). When he struck up the conversation with me, though, I felt like somehow he was interfering (if I actually was interested in his company I might have felt otherwise). It was as though I had resolved to go to this alone, found myself enjoying it alone, and then didn't want to change that by joining up with anyone else.

I realized that had someone come with me, I would have been worried that they didn't like the music. I'd have been worried that I was somehow holding up what they wanted to do when I stopped to take 20 photos of kids playing in the fountain. I'd have been too concerned with whether they were enjoying the day to enjoy the day myself.

That this realization has come to me before many times over, and still it is hard for me to get myself to go do things alone is something that baffles me. I think I need to have a little recording that will play every time I think of bailing out of something I want to do just because there is no one to come with me. It will be me reminding myself that in fact when I go it alone, I am never actually alone, and I always have a great time with myself.

Here's some pics and video from today:

Just a crazy and beautiful cloud on my way home. It's about 10pm at this time.

Mini DJs

The Poop Report

DATELINE: 07.06.09 PARIS, FRANCE

Exclusive exposé, tonight on... THE POOP REPORT!

As we have learned previously, poop goes in the potty. This, we took for granted. This, we took as fact. However, tonight in a shocking candid moment with Alex, age 2, we will learn that in fact, we have been fooled.

Exclusive story, tonight at 11.

Actually, make that at 11:45..or Midnight.. or 1 am. 

I've been feeling for quite some time that easily 1/2 my job as a babysitter is to report on the status of each childs bowel movements. At the end of each session, as I perform what I've come to think of as "the hand-off" to the parent, I give them a little oral report on how their child had been during our time together. Were they fussy? Did they eat? Did they sleep? How much? How long? How many diapers? And the most fun of all: Were there poopy diapers? How did it look? Was there a lot of it? Did it seem painful? Did it cause any irritation? 

The parents will also give me a similar run-down, involving info as to whether or not their child has pooped yet that day, when handing their kid off to me.  I've taken to referring to this as The Poop Report.

When changing diapers I am always reminded of an old bit from Robin Williams' stand-up routine. When talking about becoming a father for the first time and changing his infant son's diapers, he exclaims: "Jesus christ! Did that shit go to Cleveland before it reached his diaper?!" I have wondered this on way, way too many occasions. Except I think it went to 3-Mile Island, not Cleveland. 

I've remarked on being shocked by the varying vibrant colors of dog-poop I have seen planted strategically in the dead center of the sidewalks in Paris. These diapers make that look like child's play (oh, all puns intended). I have seen diapers that suggest this child has been drinking gallon jugs of food coloring, that made me wonder if that kid perhaps is more precocious than she seems and managed to open a can of spinach and dump it into her diaper while I wasn't looking, or if this other kid is perhaps radioactive. 

Alex, my adorable 2yr old little pal, will resist diaper changes at all cost and insist that he has only "peepee" in his diaper even while it is bursting at the seems with chunky rank poo. Sophie, who is not yet 2yrs old but is larger than the average 5yr old, will run around with 5lbs of poop weighing her diapers down. Her parents apply packing tape to the waistband of her diapers - they say to prevent her from pulling them off, but I think it might also be to keep them from falling off due to unusually heavy loads (sidenote: if your kid is the size of a 5yr old at age 2 and seems to be expressing interest in potty-training, please for the love of god, teach the child to use a potty and stop making her run around in 5lb of her own feces). Ellenor, age 6mo, produces the most brightly colored poops - bright green, bright orange, purple... you name it, she's expelled it. At one point I was wondering if we might get a "Napoleon" style, like a 3 flavor box of ice cream.

Today, I had to change Sophie's diaper twice. It was traumatic. I nearly wretched. They were within only a few hours of each other and were totally distinct. The second had bits of undigested food. With the first, we were playing when she suddenly squatted and scrunched up her face. When asked, "Sophie are you pooping?", she would either deny it or simply change the subject. Moments later, you could smell it from three rooms away.  If I were this child and I was running around caked in my own feces, I'd be pulling my diapers off too.

So this evening, after such a wonderously poop filled afternoon, I was taking care of Alex. One may argue that Alex is in denial of his participation in this particular bodily function or he may be confused by the different terms applied in English and French. In any case, whenever I go to take off his diaper to put him into his bath, when he smells to high heavens of a poopy diaper, or when I ask if he has a dirty diaper, he insists that it is only "pee-pee." Even when I pull a diaper off and it is overflowing with "caca", he still says, "No. Pee-pee." 

Tonight I am giving him his bath. He is playing with his boats and the bubbles and generally enjoying himself. I am feeling thankful that he has stopped fighting tooth-and-nail to avoid taking his bath. I am thinking how it's been such a good evening and how easily everything has gone. 

Alex is sitting sort of in a squat playing with his boats. Suddenly he looks at me and says, "Uh oh." I say, "Uh oh? What's 'uh oh' for buddy? Why do you say 'uh oh.'?" He stands up suddenly and turns around as if something has bit him in the rear, and I see what the "uh oh" was for. I have counted my chickens before they have hatched, and Alex has pooped in his bath. Twice. 

I pull him out as fast as I can and plop him on his little potty, hoping to avoid further contamination. While he sits there insisting that it is only pee-pee, I go through the process of fishing all the little bits out of the bath, draining the bath, and sanitizing the tub, before refilling it and starting bath time all over again.

I guess poop does not always go in the potty 

(thinking back now, I remember from my childhood years a little boy of 4 or 5 who shall remain nameless, who pooped out of a second story window of a house... it wasn't his fault - older boys, also to remain nameless, dared him to do it.).

Three Thoughts for Wednesday

DATELINE: 01.07.09 PARIS, FRANCE

I have three thoughts that I would like to share with you tonight, which occurred in precisely the following order:

I love love love my neighborhood Fromagier. They have great cheese. Good prices. And are always such a pleasure to visit. I also love having a little bit of cash that I feel I can allow myself to spend 8€ on cheeses.

The film crew is back. With a vengeance. This evening they were filming a scene at Cafe Turgot. Like all good french films there are a lot of scenes in this movie outside of cafes. Of course, that is assuming that all the times I have seen the film crew in my neighborhood it has been for the same film. I have got to figure out what the title of the film they are shooting is.

God Damned Stupid Fucking Pigeon!! Fucking pigeon shit on me! At the bar a few doors down where they lend me a wet rag with which to wash my arm (thankfully it was mostly on my arm) the attractive young bartender tells me that it means I am going to win money. Yeah? Well I'll be waiting, but... Make it snappy!

What Are These...?

DATELINE: 29.06.09 PARIS, FRANCE

I may have mentioned before how much I adore the children that I take care of here. They are really such distinct personalities, often quite a handful, but truly in the end a lot of fun. It's interesting to be seeing the different stages of development and discovery they are each at.

A few nights ago I was taking care of Ellenor, the roughly 6mo old girl that I usually watch during the days, and her older brother, Julien. Julien is exactly 4 years old, is very precocious, very talkative and energetic, completely obsessed with anything related to pirates, and totally adorable. I only watch him on occasion. This was one such occasion.

At some point in the evening after feeding Julien and Ellenor dinner I was changing Ellenor's diaper. Julien was looking on.

Completely out of thin air he says to me, "Do you have a baby in your belly?"
"No, I don't. Why do you ask?"
"Because your belly is not flat."
(I'm thinking, "watch yourself, kid.") I reply, "Oh no, Julien. My shirt is not flat, but my tummy is, I promise."
"No it's not. My tummy is flat. You have nipples."
What could I do but laugh. "Ahh, I see. Yes, in fact this is true. I have breasts, and breasts have nipples."
"Why?"
"Well, when little girls like your sister Ellenor grow up to be big girls like your mommy and I, they have breasts."
"Why?"
"For feeding babies."
"But you don't have a baby in your belly."
(sharp kid.) "We have them even when we don't have babies in our bellies."
"Why?"
"So that they are ready for when we do have babies in our bellies."
"ooohhhh. So you might have a baby in your belly?"
"Not yet, kiddo."

We then promptly returned to far more important matters: Pirates.

This evening I was watching my little friend Alex, age 2 years. Alex is really precocious for a 2 year old. He is verbal on a level more like a 4yr old, very independent, sly, and well aware that he is cute as hell. When he is trying to get out of something he doesn't want to do or get out of being in trouble for having done something he shouldn't have done, he likes to go around the living room pointing out all of the portraits of himself and mama & pappa. He always goes first to the photo of himself and exclaims, "That's me!" He then replicates the huge grin he is wearing in the photo.

Tonight he is trying to get out of eating his dinner. He has, as of late, had decreasing interest in eating dinner until mama & papa are home. But feeding him his dinner is part of my job, so I have to at least try. So he is trying to weasel out of it, slide off his chair, and return to playing. I'm standing next to his chair to prevent him from exiting. He is running through all manner of distractions and excuses for getting down out of his chair, but they don't work as well as they used to. I too am a quick learner.

At this point he looks up at me and asks, "What are these?"
I look down to see where he is pointing. He is pointing at my breasts.
Before I can respond he asks, "Bubbies?"
He is now halfway out of his chair.
I cannot help but laugh.
"Yes." I reply, "Now eat your dinner."

But I am too late. He has slid off his chair while I was distracted by his question.

Dammit!, you're good at this game, kid.