Superior French Parenting

An excerpt from Pamela Druckerman's book entitled "Bringing up Bebe: One American Woman Discovers the Wisdom of French Parenting was published in the Wall Street Journal last week under the provocative title "Why French Parents are Superior" and it immediately popped up on FB being shared by several of my expat friends.

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970204740904577196931457473816.html?mod=WSJ_hps_RIGHTTopCarousel_1

As an expat mother in a francophone culture (I am careful not to say French because France and Belgium are very different) this article made me think.    Over the last week I have had a chance to process a few thoughts and come to terms with a few things.

The article sites (and basis its premise on) an interesting study comparing "similarly situated" American and French mothers and who considered parenting "more unpleasant."  The answer was the American parents.  To this, I ask, how "similarly situated?"  It is easy enough to say it is so, but really, how similarly situated could they be?  Because even if you are looking at working mothers in the same income bracket, there are inherent cultural differences that make them not so "similarly situated."

Here in Belgium, working mothers make up a good percentage of the workforce.  Here, the work culture is very different.  They work less hours, take longer lunches and have more vacation.  Family comes before the job and there is a better work-life balance.  I would hazard a guess that working mothers here in Europe have less job-related stress than in the U.S.

But let's compare stay-at-home moms.  I know more about that anyway.  Here,  (and again I mean Belgium, I don't know about France) children begin school at age 2.5.  There is structured, early childhood education.  Children learn routines, they learn to listen to a teacher, they learn to take direction from other adults and follow rules outside of home.  They learn independence.  But so do their mothers.

It is much easier to be a stay-at-home mom here in Belgium.  I remember my early days as a mother in Minnesota, being shut up in the house with two very little children.  My husband traveled a lot, or worked late hours.  Any activity we did, required me to organize it.  My life was my children because it had to be.  I was frazzled and worn out.  I was overjoyed when AJ started preschool at age 3, and that was two mornings a week for a couple of hours.  Just enough time for me to run a few errands with just one baby.  Here, having Miss B go to school at age three opens up new worlds for me.  I have time to volunteer, I have time to pursue my own interests, and even more important, she loves it too.  We have a better balance and I am a better mother for it.

Now let's talk about housework.  The only moms that I know in the U.S. that have cleaning ladies are the ones that work.  Cleaning ladies are really expensive.  Here, everyone has help (well, everyone except me that is, but I have control issues).  And it's not just a cleaning lady, but more of a housekeeper.  It is affordable and tax deductible.  Housekeepers do more than just clean the house.  They help with laundry, ironing and special house projects.  Having someone to help around the house on a regular basis, in my opinion, would also relieve a lot of stress on those American mothers.

I argue that French and American mothers could never be considered similarly situated.  And that makes comparing their parenting styles like comparing apples to oranges.  For those working French moms, take away their housekeepers and give them a cleaning lady.  Add an extra ten hours into their work week.  For the stay-at-home moms, take away their housekeepers.  Keep their children home until age 5, with maybe just a couple of mornings of preschool thrown in for a break.  Give them an extra month of kids home on summer vacation.  Then report back to me about how pleasant they think parenting is and I'll listen.

But maybe a better idea is not to take anything away from anyone.  Maybe a better idea is to acknowledge that there is a better way to balance work and home, and well...parenting.  Maybe that's something in which the french are superior.

A Belgian Winter

After the longest cold spell since the winter of 1941, our frigid temperatures have turned into a Belgian winter.  The cold here is always described as different than the cold in Minnesota.  A 0 degree Celsius temperature reading here (32 degrees F) is not the same as a Minnesota 32 degrees F.  I haven't been able to figure out a good way to explain it.

Now I have a way to describe it.  On Monday, we woke to the freezing cold temperatures we had been enduring for more than a week.  I went about my day and by afternoon the temperatures were on the rise.  I sat in my kitchen next to the heater and as the temperature outside rose, I got colder and colder.  A chill came over me.  A chill that I hadn't felt in a couple of weeks.  No, I wasn't getting the fever that's going around.  My body was readjusting to the Belgian winter.  The dampness set in.  It is a completely different kind of cold.  Bone-chilling.  Even though the temperatures outside have risen, it just feels cold all the time and the sun is gone.

It makes me sad to see all of the dead pansies and crocuses everywhere.  It's sort of like Old Man Winter (whom we haven't seen at all this year) saying "Ha.  You thought spring was almost here but I am having the last laugh."

Today we've had fits of rain.  It will rain in a solid downpour for ten minutes.  Then it stops and the sun might even come out for a minute or two - just long enough to tease you.  Then it starts to sleet or rain again.  It's Wednesday, so the boys have soccer practice.  It had been cancelled for a few weeks during the subzero temps and frozen field, but now the field is thawed.  I fully expect Monkey to come home with three layers of mud - one for each layer of clothes I made him wear.

I hope spring arrives soon.  We haven't had the pleasure for very long Mr. Winter, but I'll be happy to see you go.

Boots.

When I first arrived in Belgium, I was in awe of the fashion.  I noticed that women always looked pulled together, yet it was effortless.  Even the moms that I knew stayed home, were wearing skirts with boots, or jeans with pumps.  It's not just moms at school.  It's women everywhere of all ages, in the grocery store, running errands or going about daily routines.

I let their fashion sense be contagious.  It's all about the choices.  In the morning, I choose my dark jeans over the old faded ones.  I choose any pair of jeans over (cue the embarrassed whisper: sweat pants.)  I choose an oversized sweater instead of a sweatshirt.  I choose my tall boots over my running shoes.  I throw a scarf around my neck.  I soon realized that it doesn't take that much effort and the clothes are just as comfortable.  Nothing even has to really match.  In fact, it's almost better if it doesn't.  The result is sort of a haphazard effortless fashion.  But personally, I noticed that I felt so much better about myself.  There is a confidence that comes with just taking a minute to be conscious about my appearance.  It is well worth the minute.

But sometimes I wondered.  What would happen if you put Belgian women in the throws of a Minnesota winter?  What would change about their apparel choices if they had to dress for snow and ice?  Does necessity require that fashion be sacrificed?

With this week's cold spell, I had a chance to answer my own question.  Yesterday, I made a point to look at everyone's feet.  There is the usual wide variety of boots, of course.  Suede, faux fur, etc. etc.  Most of them were fashionable, yet practical.  But I saw one kind of boot that I hadn't seen for awhile: hiking boots.  This morning I dug my own pair of hiking boots out of the storage box in the basement.  My report is that they are excellent for slippery cobblestones.  And they still look nice with my dark jeans and sweater.    

A Minnesota Winter

We are in the middle of a deep freeze here in Belgium.  It is Minnesota winter weather, no question about it.  Glorious sunshine during the day, but below freezing temperatures.  The daytime temperatures are sub-zero (but in celsius).  We haven't quite reached daytime temps of sub-zero farenheit, and I pray on behalf of the handful of little kids at school that still aren't wearing hats or mittens, that we don't.  

While the cold makes it harder to get out of the house in the morning, I appreciate that we've got a break from the outdoor football practices and matches.  It was nice yesterday to bring the children home at lunch yesterday and just let them play away the afternoon.

Up until a week ago, we were on track to skip winter altogether.  The bulbs were already starting to grow.  I even saw flowers on the ones growing at school just after the break, it was so strange to see flowers growing in January.  We hadn't had a single snowfall.  We had snow last weekend, and got to use our snow boots, snow pants, snow shovel and sleds at least once for the year.  But I'm pretty sure the little flowers aren't faring so well.  I know that my pansies didn't make it.  

Strangely enough, this weather has made me homesick for Minnesota.  I'm not exactly sure why.  Maybe it's because John is heading there for work this week.  Or maybe it's because we just booked our tickets to come back for a visit during spring break.  Or maybe it's the rare stretch of extended winter sunshine during what is usually a dark and gloomy month.

I have learned to take the weather here in stride.  Often, I deal with the dark and rain by telling myself that at least it's not cold.  But this week, I am dealing with the cold by being thankful for the sunshine.  

The Swan.

The Ugly Duckling was a poignant story from my childhood -- what awkward pre-adolescent doesn't identify with the poor, lost swan, ridiculed and laughed at by the other ducks.  When the ugly duck actually turns out to be the graceful swan, and the envy of all the others...who doesn't hope for that?  It made the swan a mythical creature for me.

Swans are regal, graceful.  We see them a lot here, usually in pairs, off in the distance on a lake (by Minnesota standards though, lakes here are actually more like ponds.)  They float with ease, their necks curved in elegance.  They demand attention.  If I passed by and saw them on a certain lake (pond), I always found myself looking for them again when I passed by the same place.

During the holiday break, Miss B and I took a lot of afternoon walks around the lake (pond) at the Chateau.  She was going through the tough transition of giving up her afternoon nap, I was on a hiatus from running as the result of a hip injury.  A walk was a chance for her to relax in the jogging stroller, a little exercise for me and for both of us, fresh air and a break from the boys and it greatly improved both of our demeanors.  I usually packed a lunch box for her - and it became our stroller picnic.  We always brought our stale bread for the ducks and after we walked around the lake (pond) she would feed the ducks.

There are mallards here, and these little black and white ducks that are cute, but rather mean.  We are partial to the mallards, Miss B likes them because she can tell which ones are the mommies and which are the daddies.    I like them because they are mallards - Minnesota ducks.  The black and white ones peck at the mallards and steal the bread right out of their beaks.  I know, it's nature and survival of the fittest and all of that, but I don't care for rewarding that kind of behavior, even if they are only ducks, so whenever possible we find duck feeding spots that only have mallards.

One day, there were two swans, right in the middle of all of the ducks.  What an amazing opportunity to see a swan up close, right?  I was happy that we brought bread that day.  At least I was happy until the swan tried to eat my three-year old.  It hissed and made noises that I've never heard a bird make before.  It stomped on all of other ducks in its path to try to get closer to us.  We threw the bread and ran.

I know that "hate" is a really strong word, so I choose it very carefully and use it sparingly.  But I really think that now I hate swans.  I hate that something could look so beautiful and graceful from afar, and up close be so nasty that I feared for my daughter's life just because she happened to be holding a chunk of crusty stale baguette.

It has made me think.  How many times in our lives does something look so beautiful, so desirable and covetable from afar, but up close it turns out to be ugly and nasty?  Watch out for the swan, I say.

There once was a little old lady...

Have you ever noticed those little moments when your life intersects with another person - a stranger - on a regular basis?  The first time I ever noticed it was as a child, when I would stare out the window on the bus or during the morning carpool and I would see the same people every day going about their own daily routines.  In high school, my carpool would drive by a certain bus stop on the way to school, the same three people would be waiting for the same bus when we drove by.  I never knew who they were or where they were going or anything about them at all, but they mattered to me because I saw them every single day in the same place.

When that started to happen here, it made me feel as if we belonged.  We were no longer outsiders looking in, this was our home, our town, our people.  When I leave to pick up the children from school every day, I can tell if I'm early or late based on where the old man walking his dog is on his route.  On Sunday morning, the same husband and wife walk by our house every week at 9h30, with their walking sticks, clearly on their way for their weekly hike at the chateau.  There are two old shetland ponies that live somewhere on the other side of town.  Their owners take them for walks and they just passed by our window for their Sunday walk.

There is one little old lady that I see regularly, that has become a hero of sorts.  She is short, but not too short.  She is not fat, but she's not thin either.  She has glasses and short gray hair that she wears in a perm, but often it is covered with a rain scarf just like my grandma used to have.  I usually see her on the route to or from school, about half way between our house and the school.  She is usually dressed in a skirt, with nylons, black short "sensible" boots and a gray trench coat.  Sometimes I see her walking, pulling her grocery tote along behind her.  I've seen her hitchhiking once or twice, which makes me smile and think of my Great Aunt Rosella who used to hitchhike from Belle Plaine to bingo at Mystic Lake.  But my absolute favorite of all, is when I see her on her white motor scooter.  She wears a matching white helmet that seems to fit just right over her black glasses.  And she honks the little "beep beep" horn at everyone she passes along the way.

That's it, my mind is made up.  When I'm 80, I'm going to get myself the motor scooter that my parents forbid me to have when I was 16, and I'm going to ride around town and "beep beep" the horn at everyone I see.

Holiday Hangover

On Saturday night, we were invited to a neighbors' house for happy hour.  Happy "hour" turned into several hour(s) and at 10 o'clock at night our kids were finally home and tucked into their beds.  I should have expected as much.  After all, we were with an Irishman.  Yesterday, came with evidence that I cannot actually "drink champagne all night" like I originally boasted early on in the Saturday evening outing.   

It turned out to be a good metaphor.  For the last week, my entire family has suffered from holiday hangover.  It was next to impossible to get out of bed in the morning.  No one felt like doing much of anything all day, every day.  It required extra effort to go outside, even if the sun was shining.  We ate what was left of the Christmas cookies.  We went made frequent visits to frite guy.  We recovered, and it took an entire week. 

Today, the kids went back to school.  John left on a trip for work.  We all dragged our feet this morning, but everyone was ready, sort of.  We never reached that point where we made each other so crazy that we looked forward to today.  It was more like it was just time to go back to our regular lives.  And we did.     

It was a pretty awesome vacation doing absolutely nothing.