Does anybody else out there hate good-byes? Maybe it's because I moved fairly often as a child that I've developed an aversion to the whole awkward ritual--the half-kept promises of writing, the unfilled invitations to come and visit, the formulaic last phrases. While well-intended, these good-byes are often laced with over-promises that can seem insincere--all of which bothers me because it runs so contrary to how much I truly will miss these people.
As much as I'd like to pretend that we will be back here and see friends and acquaintances again, the truth is that life moves fast and changes constantly. The only thing certain is its unpredictability. Even if we do make it back to Lyon, the lives of those we've come to know and love will have changed. I guess the secret is accepting that this change is okay.
This week has been filled with so many lasts...
the last time hanging up the laundry to dry
the last time firing up the oven with a lighter
the last time playing piano for the Villeurbanne paroisse
the last time watching Brooklyn and her Daddy walk to school together from out my front window
As hard as all of these lasts may be, it helps to remember that they will soon be followed by many firsts.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Keep on the Sunny Side
Well, it's begun--the infamous move. Today a couple friends came and claimed the stove, washing machine, and a couch. Afterward, we moved out our table and chairs, Brooklyn's bed (except the mattress), the kid's table, and lots of boxes full of household items, toys, clothes, etc. I'm worn out from simply gathering and boxing, so I can only imagine how Jason feels after handling the bulk of the heavy lifting!
It was interesting to watch the kids react to the chaotic situation. For a few minutes Brooklyn ran around the apartment saying, "Oh no! Oh no! What are we going to do? Why are they taking all of our stuff?" Then, in a truly Polyanna moment, a huge smile spread across her face and she said, "That's okay. Now we have more room to play house."
May we all learn to keep on the sunny side of life.
It was interesting to watch the kids react to the chaotic situation. For a few minutes Brooklyn ran around the apartment saying, "Oh no! Oh no! What are we going to do? Why are they taking all of our stuff?" Then, in a truly Polyanna moment, a huge smile spread across her face and she said, "That's okay. Now we have more room to play house."
May we all learn to keep on the sunny side of life.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Extraordinarily Ordinary
Ever since arriving in Lyon in September, I've wanted to post these pictures of commonplace items that are so standard and ordinary that we take them for granted. It's not until we encounter a culture that interprets them differently that they suddenly become original, fun, and extraordinary.
While our family has been in France long enough that most of the originality has worn off for us, we hope you enjoy the pictures anyway.
Boxes
In France, we discovered that milk comes in boxes. Even the drawing of the cow is square!
As you can see, Brooklyn loves this milk, as do we. Pasteurized at high-temperature yet still tasty, it has a shelf-life of several months and doesn't hog up all the room in the fridge.
While milk may be square, cereal doesn't have to be. It had never occurred to me that there was more than one way to close a cereal box!
Textures
Our apartment has quite the unusual assortment of wall textures. We'll call this one "bubbles."
Our remaining walls are actually covered in fabric. While this isn't very typical, it's interesting nonetheless, albeit nearly impossible to clean. A French friend suggested that the fabric's likely covering up something really terrible underneath. :)
Circles
This circular electric outlet produces twice the juice. A recent visitor recently forgot to switch her blow dryer from 110V to 220V--talk about hot air!
Any guesses as to this pretty little circle? It's the toilet flusher! Just remember to pull up instead of push down.
And last but not least, my favorite circle--fromage! This brie makes me chuckle because it's labeled as "petit." Makes you wonder what a big brie would look like...
While our family has been in France long enough that most of the originality has worn off for us, we hope you enjoy the pictures anyway.
Boxes
In France, we discovered that milk comes in boxes. Even the drawing of the cow is square!
As you can see, Brooklyn loves this milk, as do we. Pasteurized at high-temperature yet still tasty, it has a shelf-life of several months and doesn't hog up all the room in the fridge.
While milk may be square, cereal doesn't have to be. It had never occurred to me that there was more than one way to close a cereal box!
Textures
Our apartment has quite the unusual assortment of wall textures. We'll call this one "bubbles."
Our remaining walls are actually covered in fabric. While this isn't very typical, it's interesting nonetheless, albeit nearly impossible to clean. A French friend suggested that the fabric's likely covering up something really terrible underneath. :)
Circles
This circular electric outlet produces twice the juice. A recent visitor recently forgot to switch her blow dryer from 110V to 220V--talk about hot air!
Any guesses as to this pretty little circle? It's the toilet flusher! Just remember to pull up instead of push down.
And last but not least, my favorite circle--fromage! This brie makes me chuckle because it's labeled as "petit." Makes you wonder what a big brie would look like...
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Wow.
Today has been a rough day. Actually, this week has been a rough week. Our double stroller finally gave up the ghost, meaning that I’m often stuck carrying two children, one in my belly and another on my shoulders. Talia’s hit an independent streak that involves un-potty-training herself and an extraordinary number of temper tantrums. The cultural differences that I once found endearing (such as the well-meaning old lady on the bus who insists on telling you all the things you should change in the rearing of your children) have recently become annoying. While I should be cherishing the remaining moments, I’ve instead found myself secretly wishing that I could fast forward time and miraculously be “home” again.
The truth is that most of my worries and fears have been deeply rooted in our move. Just the thought of trying to move ourselves, the kids, eight suitcases, and carry-ons is nearly enough to put me into pre-term labor. Somehow, we have to mobilize ourselves (and our loot) onto the TGV (high-speed train) to Paris, then to a hotel for the night, and finally back to the airport the next morning. While it would have been much more convenient to fly directly out of Lyon, we’re hoping that the $1500 savings is worth the inconvenience.
Naturally, we are leaving most of our belongings behind (no room for the front-loading washer, no matter how much we love it!), but that in and of itself adds to the organizational stress. Every single object that we own requires a decision—do we schlep it all the way back to the States, or arrange for its adoption into a new home? One way or another, our place has to be completely empty by our check-out time next Wednesday at noon, but we don’t have the luxury of throwing it all in a moving van (and I’m morally opposed to sending it all to the landfill instead.)
Fortunaly, this evening I stumbled upon the words that I really needed to hear from while studying Isaiah: "sois tranquille, ne crains rien, et que ton coeur ne s'alarme pas.” Translation into Kara-ese: Calm down, stop worrying, and let your heart be still. One way or another, it’s all going to work out all right.
Already, miracles are happening. Someone from our local congregation is lending us their van so we can move out most of the big stuff on Saturday. A friend is feeding us on Sunday since we will no longer have a stove. On Tuesday evening, other friends have offered to help move out the remaining items. Even more, our bishop (the leader of our local congregation) has offered us a place to stay on Tuesday night so we won’t have to camp out on the hard floor. On Wednesday afternoon, he and his brother have arranged to take us all to the train station and stick around to help load all of the baggage onto the TGV.
Wow.
I am positively overwhelmed by this kindness and support. Somehow our year in France has gone full circle, beginning and ending with enormous acts of generosity that we will never be able to repay.
Ever since we have known each other, Jason has wanted to get a truck, primarily so that he could help other people move. Ever since we have known each other, I have balked at Jason’s dream for exactly the same reason. After all, I want to see my husband on Saturdays! Thanks to this experience, however, I can feel my hard heart softening. Maybe I’ll just have to become the designated driver who sneaks an occasional hubby handhold--stick shift, safety belts, bucket seats, and all.
The truth is that most of my worries and fears have been deeply rooted in our move. Just the thought of trying to move ourselves, the kids, eight suitcases, and carry-ons is nearly enough to put me into pre-term labor. Somehow, we have to mobilize ourselves (and our loot) onto the TGV (high-speed train) to Paris, then to a hotel for the night, and finally back to the airport the next morning. While it would have been much more convenient to fly directly out of Lyon, we’re hoping that the $1500 savings is worth the inconvenience.
Naturally, we are leaving most of our belongings behind (no room for the front-loading washer, no matter how much we love it!), but that in and of itself adds to the organizational stress. Every single object that we own requires a decision—do we schlep it all the way back to the States, or arrange for its adoption into a new home? One way or another, our place has to be completely empty by our check-out time next Wednesday at noon, but we don’t have the luxury of throwing it all in a moving van (and I’m morally opposed to sending it all to the landfill instead.)
Fortunaly, this evening I stumbled upon the words that I really needed to hear from while studying Isaiah: "sois tranquille, ne crains rien, et que ton coeur ne s'alarme pas.” Translation into Kara-ese: Calm down, stop worrying, and let your heart be still. One way or another, it’s all going to work out all right.
Already, miracles are happening. Someone from our local congregation is lending us their van so we can move out most of the big stuff on Saturday. A friend is feeding us on Sunday since we will no longer have a stove. On Tuesday evening, other friends have offered to help move out the remaining items. Even more, our bishop (the leader of our local congregation) has offered us a place to stay on Tuesday night so we won’t have to camp out on the hard floor. On Wednesday afternoon, he and his brother have arranged to take us all to the train station and stick around to help load all of the baggage onto the TGV.
Wow.
I am positively overwhelmed by this kindness and support. Somehow our year in France has gone full circle, beginning and ending with enormous acts of generosity that we will never be able to repay.
Ever since we have known each other, Jason has wanted to get a truck, primarily so that he could help other people move. Ever since we have known each other, I have balked at Jason’s dream for exactly the same reason. After all, I want to see my husband on Saturdays! Thanks to this experience, however, I can feel my hard heart softening. Maybe I’ll just have to become the designated driver who sneaks an occasional hubby handhold--stick shift, safety belts, bucket seats, and all.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Out of the Mouth of Babes
Since today is Sunday (Happy Father's Day to all the great Dads out there!), I thought I'd share Brooklyn's spiritual insight. Here's a brief excerpt from this week's Family Home Evening lesson.
Jason: How can we get closer to Heavenly Father?
Brooklyn: By dying.
Not quite the answer we expected, but true nonetheless, I suppose. :)
Jason: How can we get closer to Heavenly Father?
Brooklyn: By dying.
Not quite the answer we expected, but true nonetheless, I suppose. :)
Friday, June 19, 2009
Putting away Perfectionism
Several years ago, a friend of mine recommended that I read a book entitled "Sink Reflections" by a woman who goes by FlyLady. While I haven't successfully adopted all of her suggestions (such as: there are dirty dishes in my sink right now and I'm not wearing shoes), I've still done my best to incorporate some of her basic principles in order to more successfully manage our home.
The FlyLady asserts that the primary factor underying messy and chaotic homes is not laziness, but rather perfectionism. We are so concerned about doing things "right" that it becomes overwhelming and even dehabilitating. Instead of just picking up a broom and getting started, we put off the task because we won't have time to do it all. Over and over, she promises that housework done incorrectly still blesses your family.
In general, I feel like I've been able to overcome my perfectionist "stinkin' thinkin" when it comes to housework. Particularly with little kids, I've learned to loosen my control a little bit. After all, what's the point in getting the window absolutely streak-free when little fingers are just going to smear it shortly anyway? It's far better to just work for ten minutes and do what you can.
Two weeks ago, however, I realized that my perfectionist "stinkin' thinkin'" was rearing its ugly head in other parts of my life. For months (literally), I've been planning to design a chart to help our family more consistently achieve our family goals. Because I wanted the chart to be "perfect," this simple task became overwhelming, and I procrastinated doing it. One afternoon, the absurdity of the situation finally dawned on me. While the girls were working on crafts, I grabbed a piece of paper and just did it. No computer, no clip art, not even a ruler--just some brightly colored markers on a scratch piece of paper. All in all, I think it took about two minutes to do.
Amazingly enough, this simple chart is working great. We've been much more consistent about having Family Home Evening, prayer, song, and scripture study, and the girls love marking in the squares. Because it is so simple, the chart is theirs. I don't care if they scribble all over it since it only took two minutes to make!
And so, if there's something in your life that you've been putting off doing because you might not do it right, release yourself from the burden of perfectionism and just do it!
The FlyLady asserts that the primary factor underying messy and chaotic homes is not laziness, but rather perfectionism. We are so concerned about doing things "right" that it becomes overwhelming and even dehabilitating. Instead of just picking up a broom and getting started, we put off the task because we won't have time to do it all. Over and over, she promises that housework done incorrectly still blesses your family.
In general, I feel like I've been able to overcome my perfectionist "stinkin' thinkin" when it comes to housework. Particularly with little kids, I've learned to loosen my control a little bit. After all, what's the point in getting the window absolutely streak-free when little fingers are just going to smear it shortly anyway? It's far better to just work for ten minutes and do what you can.
Two weeks ago, however, I realized that my perfectionist "stinkin' thinkin'" was rearing its ugly head in other parts of my life. For months (literally), I've been planning to design a chart to help our family more consistently achieve our family goals. Because I wanted the chart to be "perfect," this simple task became overwhelming, and I procrastinated doing it. One afternoon, the absurdity of the situation finally dawned on me. While the girls were working on crafts, I grabbed a piece of paper and just did it. No computer, no clip art, not even a ruler--just some brightly colored markers on a scratch piece of paper. All in all, I think it took about two minutes to do.
Amazingly enough, this simple chart is working great. We've been much more consistent about having Family Home Evening, prayer, song, and scripture study, and the girls love marking in the squares. Because it is so simple, the chart is theirs. I don't care if they scribble all over it since it only took two minutes to make!
And so, if there's something in your life that you've been putting off doing because you might not do it right, release yourself from the burden of perfectionism and just do it!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Reject Swim Trunks
Having spent nearly ten months in France, it's become easy to feel like we really understand the country and how things work. On Saturday, however, we had an experience that reminded us how green we really are. In many ways, this beautiful country is just as enigmatic to us as ever--and probably always will be.
Yesterday the weather was beautiful but hot--a perfect day for swimming. Much to our daughters' delight, we promised them a trip to the pool. I'd done some research and discovered a place that had just opened on the banks of the Rhone, overlooking the city center. A couple bus rides and a metro later, we discovered a gorgeous pool with crystal clear water--but nobody in it. A passerby saw our confused faces, took pity on us, and informed us that the workers were on strike. While I'm not sure what they were striking for, I wish those responsible could have seen the crestfallen faces of my daughters. It was truly heart-wrenching!
Fortunately, in researching the perfect pool, I had learned of another pool quite a distance away. And so, two more metro rides and one bus later, we found ourselves at a fun aquatic center, Aquavert. Congratulating ourselves on our resourcefulness, we led two ecstatic little girls into the changing rooms to get suited up. While things went fairly smoothly for the women, Jason was unfortunately not as lucky. A couple of lifeguards stopped him on his way into the pool area and told him that his bermuda-style swim trunks were not permitted--they claimed it was a matter of hygiene. They positively would not let him in the pool! What was he supposed to do? Go without? Apparently, only skin-tight speedo-style briefs or super-short bikers are permissible. Jason ended up having to purchase a new swimsuit from a vending machine. Luckily, we just happened to have a lot of loose change!
I confess that I was absolutely livid about the whole incident initially. I could have spouted off quite a few choice remarks centering around a bunch of really stupid rules. With a little bit of time, however, we started to relax and enjoy ourselves in the beautiful facility. By the time we left, the reject swim-trunk incident was starting to become rather funny. After all, I never imagined to see Jason dressed as such, and we'll have a nice souvenir to take home!
Surprisingly enough, while the swimming pool entry-protocol was extremely stringent, many other rules seemed surprisingly lax. For example, there were two big water slides without any sort of lifeguard patrolling at the top. They had no problem with Jason going down the slides with both Brooklyn and Talia. While I didn't test my theory, I'm quite sure that they would have let me on as well, pregnant and all--something that would certainly never "slide" in the States.
While I haven't tested my theory, it seems that when it comes to a matter of public health (such as lengthy swim trunks polluting the water...), the French are extremely careful, but if it's a matter of personal safety, the rules are lax. Break your own neck if you must, but don't contaminate the rest of us in the process!
Yesterday the weather was beautiful but hot--a perfect day for swimming. Much to our daughters' delight, we promised them a trip to the pool. I'd done some research and discovered a place that had just opened on the banks of the Rhone, overlooking the city center. A couple bus rides and a metro later, we discovered a gorgeous pool with crystal clear water--but nobody in it. A passerby saw our confused faces, took pity on us, and informed us that the workers were on strike. While I'm not sure what they were striking for, I wish those responsible could have seen the crestfallen faces of my daughters. It was truly heart-wrenching!
Fortunately, in researching the perfect pool, I had learned of another pool quite a distance away. And so, two more metro rides and one bus later, we found ourselves at a fun aquatic center, Aquavert. Congratulating ourselves on our resourcefulness, we led two ecstatic little girls into the changing rooms to get suited up. While things went fairly smoothly for the women, Jason was unfortunately not as lucky. A couple of lifeguards stopped him on his way into the pool area and told him that his bermuda-style swim trunks were not permitted--they claimed it was a matter of hygiene. They positively would not let him in the pool! What was he supposed to do? Go without? Apparently, only skin-tight speedo-style briefs or super-short bikers are permissible. Jason ended up having to purchase a new swimsuit from a vending machine. Luckily, we just happened to have a lot of loose change!
I confess that I was absolutely livid about the whole incident initially. I could have spouted off quite a few choice remarks centering around a bunch of really stupid rules. With a little bit of time, however, we started to relax and enjoy ourselves in the beautiful facility. By the time we left, the reject swim-trunk incident was starting to become rather funny. After all, I never imagined to see Jason dressed as such, and we'll have a nice souvenir to take home!
Surprisingly enough, while the swimming pool entry-protocol was extremely stringent, many other rules seemed surprisingly lax. For example, there were two big water slides without any sort of lifeguard patrolling at the top. They had no problem with Jason going down the slides with both Brooklyn and Talia. While I didn't test my theory, I'm quite sure that they would have let me on as well, pregnant and all--something that would certainly never "slide" in the States.
While I haven't tested my theory, it seems that when it comes to a matter of public health (such as lengthy swim trunks polluting the water...), the French are extremely careful, but if it's a matter of personal safety, the rules are lax. Break your own neck if you must, but don't contaminate the rest of us in the process!
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