It's hard to be different

 Two things I LOVE about French people:

1.        They are oh so kind! Sometimes I think French people get a bad rap (especially Parisians). People say they are rude or mean, but I have found French people to be extremely kind.

2.       They know how/take time to beautify.

Last Tuesday we got our first real taste of rain. We picked up Gideon and got soaking wet running over to the zoo to seek refuge (and lunch) ironically in the “rainforest” house. Benjin met us there which unfortunately meant he got soaked too. Realizing we were ill equipped; I began the hunt for some raingear for the boys.

Wednesday I took the boys to one of the few thrift stores that was children focused. I got there and all the clothes were ADORABLE and classic French style, but they were also crazy expensive. I just couldn’t bring myself to pay 45 euros for a used kid’s rain jacket. So, we said, salut and headed over to a fun park to run around and get wiggles out. Then we went to the Marche at Nation for some produce. I LOVE the Marche. It is a long line with covered booths on both sides where venders sell produce, cheese, fish, meats, bread, flowers, etc. The sights and smells are heavenly. It is one of those places where the French habit of taking time to beautify is put on display. When you purchase a head of lettuce, they don’t just chuck you one and bid you “au revoir”. They carefully cradle it and delicately wrap it in brown paper as if it were a precious bouquet. Suddenly, my basic leafy greens have been elevated to a classy ornamental decoration I hesitate to eat. It is like that at all the booths: the displays are impeccable, the colors vibrant, the smells intoxicating. I LOVE the Marche!

But after a long morning dragging the boys all around, they are now tiered and ready to be home. So I trudge along as fast as I can pushing my stroller loaded with boys, with bags of produce threatening to cut off the blood supply to my wrists. Just then, a vendor stops me to tell me that my baby is missing his shoe. Not again!! Pierce is the king of chucking his shoes. Now it could be anywhere in the market. I say a little prayer and rush back frantically looking and hoping my boys can hang on. Miraculously, we find it and start the trek home. MERCI, kind vendor!! Just before getting home we stop at a boulangerie to get a baguette for our lunch. We order our bread for dinner and lunch and then try to pay for it but, I forget that none of the small shops take American Express. So, my card gets denied. My other cards don’t work abroad, so I search frantically for cash, but I have spent almost all of it at the marche. I would just tell her never mind, but I had already told her I wanted Tranche (sliced), so I cannot simply forgo the now chopped up loaf. As I am frantically trying to scrounge through my bags with a line of customers behind me, the kind gentleman next to me says, “what do you need?” And pays for my bread. I was oh so grateful! Thanks kind bread purchaser! 

Thursday Pierce and I finally found some matching rain jackets and boots --- and I’ve determined that baby rainboots are just about the cutest thing ever (especially when they are matching!) Then Thursday night I got to go to the parent meeting at the school where Gideon’s teacher met with all the parents and explained to us the basic curriculum, fieldtrips, rules, etc. It was kinda fun and kinda scarry, but I think Gideon secretly liked the idea that mommy was also nervous to go to school.

Saturday, we rode the metro to Gare de Lyon (the train station) and hopped on a train to Fontainbleau (where I used to live when I was Pierce’s age). Gideon LOVED being at the train station and getting on a real train (like Thomas the train engine!) Then after a very squishy bus ride, we made it to the chateaux where they were letting everyone in for free. (every September they have a big culture weekend all over France and maybe all over Europe) where tons of museums are free. So, we got to see lots of Napoleon’s old dishes and clothes as well as lavish bedrooms, throne rooms, ballrooms, etc. We got to watch a 3-musketeer sword fight reenactment and a classic French car show. We had a blast!

We made our way back to Paris and then hit up the aquarium/immigration museum (which is right next to Gideon’s school). We got to see an albino alligator and read the stories of tons of different people who had moved to France for one reason or another over the years. I was amazed by the fact that I have never really identified as an immigrant before. But, reading the immigrant stories and seeing their pictures, it felt so good to remember I am not alone. Other moms have had to negotiate school systems in a foreign tongue. Other moms have had to figure out what to do when their kid’s too scared to go to the bathroom at school. Other moms have felt lonely. Other moms have felt embarrassed.

That night we took the metro all the way to Concord so that we could go to IKEA to get some veggie dogs (one of our favorite places to get dinner back in the states). Sadly, they were out of all their food except ice cream. So, we ordered 3 ice creams and left).

I just started reading a book by Michelle Obama and in the introduction she says, “Being different conditions you toward cautiousness even as it demands that you be BOLD.” That line speaks to me. There are so many times where my being different makes me want to hold back, hide, stay home. There is so much that I love about France and the French people, but it is hard to be different. As much as I LOVE the impeccably decorated pastries and lovingly wrapped lettuce, sometimes I just want to be able to buy an IKEA veggie dog or mix up a box of mac and cheese. I love hearing the beautiful French language, but often I just want to be able to start a conversation that I know I can confidently finish.

It's hard to be different. And I have realized this week that often I equate boldness with loudness. But the story of immigration is often the story of moms, dads and kids being bold enough to keep being different. It’s a quiet boldness. Gideon told me today that sometimes when his teacher asks everyone to line up “deux par deux” no one wants to hold his hand. It is hard to be different. It’s hard to be the kid who can’t speak. But he also came running to me today saying, “Mommy! I made a friend!! I made a silly face and she actually laughed!”

Love and laughs from, 

La famille Facer