The Cabbage and the Flea

Not much has changed lately, hence the lack of updates. Our house has a more finished look on it now, we have a bathroom and an extra room… thought there still are small things to take care of. And we’ll be on holidays in one week from now!

So, what subject could this blog have, what else happened lately in my life? Well, my intention is to come back to the joys of parenting. Words cannot, really cannot, describe the happiness that a child can bring. Sometimes. Our little boy is very sweet, he loves us very much and he likes to show it. He really fills our lives with joy and this shows in my mood, in my way of thinking. I am serene, I am smiling, I am enjoying life. To put it simply, I am happy.

Anyway, enough about happiness, let’s get back to the subject of this post. The cabbage and the flea. Well, to be honest, it could have been as well the pumpkin and the honey. No, no, I’m not crazy. Nor am I trying exotic culinary recipes while scratching an alley cat. I am just thinking of a chat we had with our son, short discussion that has simply melted us. At home, we usually talk to him in Romanian, which he understands, though he often prefers to answer in French. And some French expressions are just funny when translated in another language. Like for example calling someone you love a cute name, like pumpkin or honey in English. Well, in French it can be a cabbage and or a flea. Don’t ask why. Bottom line, we don’t really use cute names in Romanian, so we seldom call him anything but his name.

So imagine our surprise when one evening, at home:

HIM (enters and sees his mother, so he runs and hugs her): How are you, my flea? (ca va, ma puce? in French)
HER: Awwwwww! How did you call me?
HIM: My flea. You are my flea.
HER (hugging and kissing him): I love you very much!
ME (wanting to be loved too): And me, Daniel, what am I?
HIM: My cabbage (mon chou, in French)
ME: Awwwwww! I love you, my cabbage!
HIM: No! I’m not your cabbage! It’s you, your cabbage!

Now… it might seem strange. We enjoyed him calling us cute names.. in French. It’s only when we started translating them in other languages that it became to sound strange. But it still made us smile. And after all, why shouldn’t I be happy? I mean, I’m my own vegetable.

Home Sweet Home

Today is the last day of June and I’ve started thinking of this particular month. In short, I miss my HOME.

The month started with some friends visiting for a few days – it was great to see them again and we had a great time. Guys, if you read this, please don’t get the wrong message: I really enjoyed having you here. But, when you have guests, your house is no longer your home anymore – you are sharing it. They left and the next day I flew to India for one week. I got back and the next day we went visiting some friends for a few days. Then I came back and thought to myself: finally home, finally just me, my wife and my boy, we’ll spend some good time together.

Well, as mentioned in my previous post, it wasn’t really like that. After a few days of headaches and high fever, I had my “adventure” and got myself a visit to the ER. When everything was fine, the very first day when I returned to work (so no more illness)… the workers came to break several walls and redo our bathroom and create new room upstairs. Now, ten days later, our house is still full of dust, we have a hole in the back wall (for a future window) and we shower in a very strange manner, among piles of materials. We cannot use the front yard because of a mountain of rubble, there are wires coming out of many walls and all kinds of boxes and furniture are stacked in all available corners.

I’m sure the workers will finish their job sometimes next week. And I’m sure a couple of weeks later we’ll finish cleaning and redecorating. But, right now, all I can think of is that I want my HOME back. I want to get back into routine. It’s surprising (for me) how important that is, how .. “unrooted” I feel because I simply cannot relax and call myself at home.

So my plan is that, the next time you’ll hear from me, it will be a post in which I will be relaxed. I’m planning of telling you how everything has been finished, that I come back from the office and enjoy being at home. And, especially, that I have plenty of things to finish around the house (like putting up new furniture, wooden floors, painting walls), but I am doing NOTHING but drinking something cold (i.e., beer) after coming back from the beach and preparing a barbecue.

What? I can dream, can’t I?

Wishful thinking

Two months since my last post. Two months with quite a few events in them. We’ve been to holidays one week – nothing special. My boy celebrated his two-year anniversary – he had the chicken pox as a present. Beautiful weather outside, sunny, but not very hot yet – so we went to the beach and had barbecues. Friends came over for a weekend – we went over to others too. Normal life.

And I’ve spent the entire last week in India, for work. I have actually worked all the time there, so besides the restaurants and shopping one evening, I can’t say I’ve seen much. Still, it was great to interact face to face with those with whom I’m working daily since two years now. Anyway, the funny story, subject of this post, begins now.

Two days after I came back from India, so exactly one week ago, I woke up with a really nasty headache. And during the day, despite the usual headache pills, it continued, sometimes joined by trembling from fever. It lasted two days, then I was suddenly perfectly fine. Two days after, it started again. So this time I went to see a doctor. Who thought it’s probably just a normal virus, like a flu one. But who panicked when I told her it started two days after my return from India and she started listing all kinds of things I could have gotten there. So she sent me to have blood tests for lots of things, right then, urgently, immediately, we cannot risk it, you get the idea.

So I went. While going to the lab, I was thinking it would be “fun” if I had something exotic. Not life-threatening, but something out of the ordinary, not a flu. To feel like an adventure, not just the “stay in bed and rest, it will pass”. Well, the wishful thinking sometimes works, but not exactly like in our minds.

No, I don’t have any exotic disease, the tests’ results are perfectly normal, it’s a normal virus and now, a few days later, I’m almost fine. However, the adventure I wanted started when I went out of the lab after having the blood tests. I had fever, I had just watched my blood being taken and I went from air conditioning into hot weather. So, of course, I fainted. I felt it coming, but instead of lying down, I thought of propping myself against a wall. Which didn’t work, so I fell, rolling on the ground. In front of the eyes of a policeman who immediately called the paramedics. They came, put me in the car, turned the siren on and took me to the E.R.!

I tried to explain to the policeman that there’s no need to call for anyone. Then, in the ambulance, that there’s no need to take me to the hospital. Noone wanted to listen. I was bleeding (scratches from the fall), so they didn’t took any chance. In the ambulance, they cut my jeans to look at the scratches on my knee! Of course, at the hospital, after waiting two hours, they just cleaned my scratches, put patches over them and sent me home. No stitches, no radio, nothing – of course!

It was my first trip in an ambulance, my first visit to an ER. And I had an impressive patch on my forehead, to show to my wife and kid. I had my adventure, in the end.

Football, rugby and weekends

Less than a year ago, I was blogging about how I can’t really be passionate when watching football anymore. Nothing has changed, though from time to time, I’m trying. I really  am.
Take for example last Saturday evening, I decided to watch the very advertised Real Madrid – Barcelona. Even in France, the media was full of it, of the need of Madrid to revenge the previous 5-0 loss, of the fact that it’s the first out of the four matches they’ll play against each other in a month, etc. So, I tried. Ten minutes in the game, I was already disgusted by the theatrical performances of the players. Sure, they fall easily, even if just barely touched. I can understand that. But falling and then begging the referee with the eyes? And then, when no fault has been given, raising the arms and eyes to the sky, asking for a divine witnessing of the huge injustice that has just been done? How could God tolerate such an injustice, such an unfair treatment by the referee?

After a while, I couldn’t enjoy on the match anymore. Everytime one player was falling down, my mind was focusing on the cluster of players around the referee. I was in a state of mind that was filtering out the actual football (I assume there was some). So I stopped watching at half-time. I assume it didn’t help that earlier that day I had watched a rugby match. Just one fact out of it: the referee blows the whistle, a fault against one player. A player from the other team mumbles something to the referee, along the lines that it was about time, it’s not the first time the others were doing that. So what does the referee do? He blows the whistle again and “turns the fault”, it’s now against the complaining player’s team. Because he complained. Noone has argued about the decision, even that player’s coach, referring to the incident, was saying that it’s his team’s fault, they should show more discipline.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I still enjoy watching football… but not anything. The same weekend I watched another football match, the one played by my favourite team. I can’t focus on the actual game either, mainly because they don’t play very well, nor do their opponents generally. But it matters a lot less, because there’s a passion behind it. And because it’s a tradition of some sorts for me to watch their matches. Anyway, I now realize it looks like this weekend all I have done was to watch sports at the TV. It’s not true, I have done many things ranging from grocery shopping, removal of a small tree from the garden, cooking one day, having a barbecue with a friend another, fixing things around the house and throwing junk away to finishing a book, playing computer games and figuring out this year’s taxes.

What can I say, I like to be busy during the weekends. And besides all the activities above, there was another: spending time with my son. He’ll soon be 2 years old and this weekend we gave him his present: a small garden house for him. He really enjoys playing in one when going to the park or a toy store, so now he has one in the garden. He helped us setting it up and he was enjoying it, but not more than that… until he realized it is HIS house. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so happy about something. He was yelling and jumping of enthusiasm. He kept repeating it’s his house (sometimes adding us as owners too) and kissing us. Then some more yelling and jumping. Then kissing again. And so on for quite a while. He’s (still) easy to please, my boy.

What’s new

Nothing really. While I still want to blog about interesting thingies that happened lately, nothing really interesting happened lately.

My boy now has 3 soft donkeys (and another one ordered), one big giraffe and one huge parrot in addition to his soft cat. He’s as happy as possible, thought it gets crowded in the bed sometimes, so compromises must be found (in this case, the donkeys are out):

Spring is finally here, trees are in blossom, so one week ago I started working in the garden. I like it, it’s very different from my office job – not only the physical part or the outdoors. But also the fact that I can work and think about something else – it’s just me with my thoughts. And the garden shears. And my boy who wants to help. And my wife who looks at us. Anyway. To speed things up, last Friday I rented a hedge trimmer for the weekend – let my boy try to help me now! Mwahaha! Ahem. Well, it rained the whole weekend, I could do nothing at all outside. And now, the weekend gone, it got sunny again. And no worries, the bad weather will be back on Friday. I’m not kidding, it’s called Spring here. In the South of France, Cote d’Azur, whatever. Sigh.

I guess it’s all the better, as this year the pollen allergies (hay fever) are really bad – after the day in the garden that I mentioned my eyes were stinging like hell. While I’m still ready to go out in the garden if the weather allows it, I can’t help feeling glad that I must stay inside. Especially since while I stay inside there are rugby matches at TV – even though watching France playing lately is bringing tears to my eyes too. But let’s not go there, not now.

Well, that’s about it for now – I told you, not much out of ordinary.

This – cat

Today’s story will not be long. But it will be rich. You’ll get my meaning at the end, don’t worry.

Another interesting thing that happened lately is related to my little boy – almost 22 months old. Becoming a parent is a life-changing experience. On one side, you get these feelings of joy, of responsibility, of unconditional love, of pride (I boast with his ability to speak a word as if it was my exploit!). On the other, you have the lack of sleep, the stress, the lack of control on your life (no, I cannot watch a match at TV when I want, if he wants to climb on my head and yell, he will!). As all parents know, the former greatly crush the latter – being a parent is a source of happiness that cannot be described in words.

I remember last summer, a party on the beach where I met with some old friends of mine. One was the parent of a newborn and we spent a lot of time drinking and talking about our children. To the point of annoying another friend, who has not experienced this (yet ). We have tried to explain him how strong are the feelings, how huge is the change, but we just couldn’t – words are sometimes too poor. Well, alcohol doesn’t help with making sense of what one’s saying either.

Anyway, back to the story. All little children have an object they sleep with, they carry with them everywhere. Usually a teddy bear or another fluffy soft toy, sometimes even a blanket or just a bit of tissue. The French name for this is “doudou” – I don’t know the equivalent in another language, so I’ll use it like this. The presence (and the smell!) of the doudou is very reassuring for a child – some can’t go to sleep without it. So imagine our distress when, one week ago, we have discovered that we have managed to lose our boy’s doudou. A long story that can be resumed with the doudou ending up in a backpack in the garbage bins outside the house and when I searched for it, I found only the backpack, empty.

His doudou, a donkey called Trudi, is not manufactured anymore and cannot be found in any shops, online or not. We have managed to find similar ones and bought them – he likes them, but they are not just right (it takes time to acquire the right smell, the right mix of vomit and dust). And I am not yet sure if his new doudou is one of the new donkeys or a soft cat he had from before. In any case, he really loved his Trudi. We felt devastated that first evening, at the simple thought of disappointing him, of having caused him sorrow. If I was not sure I love my boy, the strength of the sadness *I* felt at the thought of the sadness *he will* feel, would have been enough to convince me. I couldn’t picture him having to go to bed, looking for Trudi and not finding him. Would he understand our explanations? Would he settle for just another toy (a soft cat)? Again.. it’s just one of those feelings that words can’t just describe.

So I will not even try to describe what I felt at 2am that first night. He had woken up and when I took it in my arms, he showed me the cat and told me in a matter-of-fact tone: “This – cat. Bye Trudi, bye doudou”. My little not-even-2-years-old was being reasonable.

Back again

I’m back to blogging. Sort of. Maybe, who knows, we’ll see how it ends up this time. Anyway, here’s a post.

Actually, I thought of starting again this blogging thingie, but with a slightly different approach. While before it was more about what I’ve read or seen or thought about, starting now it will be more about what I’ve done. Not every day, don’t worry – even I am thinking my life is kind of boring. However, if something unusual happens to me during one week, I might blog about it.

As one friend of mine told me a couple of months ago, he had never thought of me as the blogger type. He is right, I’m not much of the extroverted kind. So I’m making a conscious effort, I’m pushing myself to do this. Bets are open on how long I will go on before another long break. I’m hoping of blogging regularly for at least 1 month this time. Baby steps, baby steps.

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So, what’s noteworthy lately. My father-in-law is here, for 10 days, mainly as a babysitter as the nanny is on holidays. He is a very nice person, although he has a tendency to cook a lot. You know, it can be bad if you’re spending 10 days being stuffed with very good food. Especially after, as neither my wife or I like to cook during the week. I fool around in the kitchen during weekends, sometimes with nice results. But nothing like my father-in-law, I think he’s really spoiling us and our habits this week.

Anyway, his presence is confusing me. Or, to be more precise, my behaviour (and my wife’s, but I have long learned that I should not be confused by her behaviour anymore – we’re just not from the same planet). Anyway. I have always thought of myself as a hospitable type. I like to invite people over, I like being the host. We are definitely receiving friends more often than going at their place. And yet, with my father-in-law, it’s different. I’m at home, and yet I feel like visiting. Maybe because he cooks a lot. Maybe because I’m polite (or shy?) and want to give him some space. I don’t know exactly, but we’re not really interacting a lot.

I mean, after we dine and the little one is put to bed, the poor guy is spending the rest of the evening, alone on a couch playing backgammon alone on his mobile phone! And my wife and I are reading, staying at the computer, whatever. What kind of host am I? I’m actually feeling bad about it!

And yet… here I am, blogging while he’s on the couch. Though tonight I mentioned my above-mentioned thoughts to my wife and she’s spending time with him. So I’m not feeling too guilty. Plus, it’s for a good cause, I’m starting blogging again. And I’m sure you all prefer reading about me not being a good host than knowing that I am one. After all, life is all about making fun of self and others. And eating a lot.