A taste of the future

Doing nothing on holidays is easy...Doing nothing at home is scary!!

Yesterday we got a taste of what life could look like when we retire (or at least when the kids leave the house). And it wasn't pretty...

We spent a few days in France last week-end, and left the kids with my parents, where they will stay until mid-August. I was so excited at the idea for the past few months that I couldn't stop thinking about it. May and June were dragging, homework was killing me and all I wanted was peace and silence in the house.

Well, we definitely have silence now. So much so it was scary for the first few days. Habits still kick in when I hear some kids shouting outside and I wonder for half a second if they are mine, then suddenly come back to reality. They are in France, having a great time, and I'm here, wondering what to do with all this free time.

The first few days back were easy. It was mid-week, we were both working and the routine didn't change too much. Except I slept half an hour more every morning and didn't have to take care of anyone else but me. Pure bliss...

Then, Saturday came along. We hadn't planned anything (and on second thoughts we should have), so after lunch we were kind of lost. What are we doing today? Where are we going? We had no clue whatsoever. 

I started wondering what were we doing before we had kids? Why were we complaining about being so busy all the time? Then my husband reminded me we used to go out a lot, eat in nice restaurants, meeting friends who also didn't have kids. It was a different life altogether. Plus we had a lot more money to afford it all.

In the end, we went for a  20 minute walk on the beach and when we came back, we were so bored we decided to make a list of our favourite movies. We wrote them on little pieces of paper and picked two each at random. Basically we spent nearly the entire day watching movies. Oh dear...!

If this is what retirement will be like, I don't think I'll be able to cope! On the other hand, my eldest told me he didn't want to grow up and would live with us forever, so maybe we won't have to face the prospect of being bored after all...

As for today, we've decided to go on an adventure. We're taking the car and we'll just see where it takes us...because there is no way I'm staying home to watch "The wolf of Wall street" for the umpteenth time.

 

 

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Memories of Bastille Day

A good few years ago in the French embassy for Bastille Day

 

Back in Brittany, the 14th of July falls around the same time as a traditional festival taking place in my town, so we usually celebrate our local culture more than the French revolution, and this means I have celebrated Bastille Day a lot more in Ireland than in France. 

The French Embassy used to send invitations to all French residents for the yearly party. Sometimes it was in the afternoon, sometimes in the evening, but as the Ambassador changed nearly every year, the event was always different.

One thing didn't change though. There was always plenty of alcohol and French food; well, if you arrived early of course. Put a bunch of French people around wine, Camembert and baguettes and you're in for a fight...

The great thing about the Embassy party was the atmosphere. It was never the same from year to year and that was made it truly unique.

About 10 or 11 years ago, the Ambassador decided it would be a great idea to have a "Rave party" in the garden of the French residence. After all, it was one of his last days, and all I can say is that he left in style!  The atmosphere was electric, everybody was dancing to the beats of the DJ, and I have never seen so many people attending the event since. That's probably because the party went on for a good part of the night and the neighbouring embassies inevitably complained about the noise. I think it was the last year they put on a party in the evening. I wonder why...

But my fondest memory of all is the 14th of July 2007.

We had friends who worked in the consulate so  after the "official" reception we were also invited to a barbecue at one of the gendarmes house on the grounds of the French residence.

Some military from the French Navy were also invited to the reception and we got to talk quite a lot because they were from Brittany (of course!). Once all the guests were gone, we decided to make our way to the barbecue, but at the same moment, the Ambassador's wife came out.

I'm not gonna lie in saying she was a bit drunk, but anyway, she invited us inside the residence and offered a round of Champagne. Then, she sat at the piano and started playing, accompanied by all the Navy military singing French folkloric songs. After a 20 minutes "private concert", we were gently shown the door, but I will never forget that surreal experience!

Sometimes celebrating your national day outside of your birth country is far more eventful than doing it at home... What do you think?

Share your stories :-)

 

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Existential questions

Sometimes I think too much. Way too much...

After so many years living here, there are still some puzzling questions about the Irish way of life going through my mind now and again. Not important ones, like trying to understand the ins and outs of the Irish tax system, but rather small cultural differences that I still don't have an answer for (and Wikipedia neither in some cases).

Here's a list of mind-boggling enigmas that maybe some of you could help me with...

Why are pillows square in France but rectangular in Ireland?

Seriously, I can't even bring pillow cases back from France because they don't fit! I know it's not the end of the world, but don't you think that's a little weird? Where does it come from and who decided of the standard shape of a pillow?

Why do French people put sugar cubes in their coffee but Irish people use granulated sugar?

I heard granulated sugar comes from the Victorian times, but I sill can't explain why the French use sugar cubes then... To be honest, I prefer cubes, it's less messy. No risk of     left over instant coffee stuck in the middle of the sugar bag (tea drinkers will understand!)

Why do French people drink UHT milk but Irish people drink fresh milk?

I guess it has to do with the milkman culture in Ireland, but this is one thing I prefer about this country. Milk is a lot tastier here than in France (unless you buy your milk straight from the farmer of course).

Why are there shutters on all French houses but only blinds on Irish ones?

To this day, I still wonder why there are no shutters on Irish houses. And don't tell me about black out blinds. Sure they are useful, but nothing can replace a full shutter that plunges your bedroom into complete darkness...Especially in summer when it's bright until 11pm! Maybe I should open a shutter business...

Why are there strings on French tea bags but not on Irish ones? 

Another great Irish mystery...Don't you think the tea bag would be easier to handle with a string instead of trying to rescue it from the bottom of your cup with a spoon?

So yeah, I'm probably thinking way too much and asking myself too many questions, but isn't it mad to think that even though Ireland and France are so close, there are so many little things we do differently?

 

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Ireland's favourite TV moments from the 90's

I know, I know... I wasn't even around in the 90's. Well, I was a teenager back then, but in France and very far away from Irish TV...

Here's the thing, I received this cool e-mail from Mark at Evoke.ie and just couldn't resist sharing the timeline he created. 

It pretty much covers everything from Italia 90' to the Late Late show and some soaps I've never heard of.

The only experience I have of Irish TV in the nineties is the Eurovision "Riverdance performance". It might be hard to believe, but I actually remember watching it with my parents at the time...And that's when I fell in love with Ireland. 

I suppose non-Irish people will be like me going through this timeline, i.e. having no clue what's going on, but for all Irish people out there, this might get you a bit nostalgic!

Enjoy!

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Chromosome imbalance

When I started this blog, I didn't really know where it would take me. All I wanted was to share my experience of living abroad. I didn't really have any plans, but there was one thing I was sure of. This little piece of online ramblings about expat life was going to be mine. And it might sound selfish, but all I wanted to talk about was me, myself and I.

This is mainly the reason why I rarely write about my children. When I do, it's about expat related subjects like bilingualism, cultural differences regarding the school system or how we try to get them interested in their French and Mauritian roots (with mixed results sometimes...).

A few months ago, I thought I might start writing a bit more about my eldest son's autism, but again, I wasn't sure I wanted to because I felt this blog wasn't the place to do it. Then, a few days ago, I had an appointment with the paediatrician and what I learned from him was a bit hard to swallow. So, it might be the first and last post about this subject, I don't know, but for now, I just have to let some steam off. After all, that's what a blog is for as well...

To make a long story short, my eldest son, who is now 7, was diagnosed last year with autism. We waited about 2 years for the diagnostic, but to be honest, I knew since he was 3 that something wasn't right. He had speech delay that we thought was due to speaking two languages at home, but I soon realised there were other issues. I did what every mother would do when she thinks there's a problem: I went on Google. Everything I found pointed to autism (speech delay, understanding issues, poor eye contact, toe-walking etc). Once he was eventually "in the system" (it took about 2 years...), he got assessed by Enable Ireland and after a long year he was finally diagnosed.

Everybody at the time asked me how I felt, how I was coping with the news and so on, but the truth is, it wasn't a shock. No, I had the shock long before, when I realised myself he had issues. I was on maternity leave at the time and the mix of exhaustion from looking after a baby plus my son's struggles made me miserable. I was crying every night, wondering why... Why him? I did everything right when I was pregnant. I stopped smoking, didn't drink, ate well... My pregnancy went smoothly, absolutely no issues at all. I gave birth naturally, it went fast and there were no complications whatsoever... So what happened?? I blamed myself  for letting him watch too much TV, for not interacting more, for not pushing the language issue further, for not playing enough with him, for not reading enough stories...

He has mild autism and his main difficulties are in social interactions. He's not in his own world as such, but it's very hard for him to maintain a proper conversation with anyone for more than one minute (even with me). His language skills are also below par and I am desperately waiting for some speech therapy at the moment. Except that, he's a happy little child, doing OK in school (thanks to all the help put in place) and the other kids in his class seem to like him, even if he tends to avoid them...

Back to the paediatrician office. My son had blood tests done a few months ago, and I didn't think much of it until the other day. I didn't even know the appointment was for the results. Anyway, the doctor told me he had "chromosome imbalance". In other terms, there is a tiny bit of chromosome missing. I don't know which one, and I wasn't even given the report. But the most important information of this appointment was: " If your son ever has children, there's a 50% chance he will pass it on, so we advise him not to have any"

The news were delivered just like that. Without notice. And it hit me like a hammer.

You never really know how life might turn out. Will he be independent? Will he get married? I thought about the future before and in a way, I didn't really expect him to have children , but it seemed so far away that I wanted to focus on the present instead,  and try to help him achieve his potential the best I could.

And now I am faced with the actual truth that he will definitely NOT have children.

The next part was about us, the parents. If we want, we can be tested as well to see which one of us is the carrier of the "wrong" gene. Some people think it would put the blame on one the parents, but I disagree. Let's say I'm the carrier, would I blame myself? No, because it's genetics, and there's nothing I could have done to prevent it. On the other hand, because I don't plan on having any more children, I don't really need to know.

For now, we are on (another) waiting list to meet with a genetics professor in Crumlin children's hospital. It will just be an information meeting but at least we'll have a better understanding of the tests results.

Of course, all of this doesn't change anything. My son will always have autism, and we'll just have to support him the best we can. And he's only 7 so there's a long long way to go...

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The referendum and why I'm not allowed to vote...

 

In case you are living on another planet (or maybe just in another country), tomorrow is the referendum about gay marriage (and also about lowering the age of presidential candidates but no one seem to really care about that one).

Over the last few weeks, I have seen my Facebook feed filling up with articles, pictures, and opinions about the subject. From what I've seen, the majority of my friends are in favour of gay marriage. And so am I, if you want to know. I have tried very hard to avoid TV debates in fear of wanting to break my TV, and my blood just boils when I hear the NO side trying to make the whole thing about children when it's clearly not. It's about marriage, full stop. 

In France, the government legalised gay marriage two years ago and it was met with quite a lot of criticism. Looking from the outside, it seemed that some French people felt they didn't have any say in the process and it led to many protests. One of my gay friends in France even told me he thought it would have been a better idea to hold a referendum at the time. 

I really hope the YES wins tomorrow, but unfortunately there's nothing I can do to help. I am not allowed to vote because I'm not an Irish citizen. In a way, I can understand that the right to vote is something special and is the most important act that shows your integration to a country. On the other hand, I'm not sure I feel "Irish" enough to ask for citizenship, and being European, I almost have the same rights and duties as the natives anyway.

The other barrier to become an Irish citizen is more practical: Money. If you weren't aware, it costs a thousand euros to obtain Irish citizenship. One could argue I could save for a year or so, but then it comes back to the real question: Do I really want to become Irish? In fact, even if I obtain citizenship, will people consider me Irish? Will I even consider myself Irish? I'm not quite sure. 

Right now, I'm dreaming of a rule that would allow residents to vote after 10 years of living in the country. Is that a stupid idea?

Anyway, all I can do is urge people who can vote do to so tomorrow. This is Ireland's chance to show that all citizens can be equal. 

So go and vote YES!

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Homework overload

I wonder why Irish teachers give kids so much homework. Do you know it is prohibited in French primary schools (although it's not implemented everywhere)?  And there's even a study that suggests homework has limited value until secondary school.

I just can't take it anymore. When you think about it, my son gets A LOT of homework. Four pages of exercise each week, two pages of a book to read, words to practice, lines of writing, preparing him for oral language topics... If I do it right everyday (which doesn't always happen, I confess) it takes about 25 minutes. That's quite long after a day at school (and at work for me!). And because Ciaran has special needs, I have to explain differently, and encourage him a lot more (and deal with the tantrum when he just doesn't want to do any work at all...)

This week, one of the exercise was about guessing and then measuring various objects with a pen. WTF? First of all, if I took a "normal" colouring pencil, the box of cereal was more than 1 pen but less than 2, width and length. The textbook was the same size as my cereal box in real life, but not on the page, so what were we supposed to do? Who invented those stupid exercises?

Then there were the crosswords. I'm not too bad at French crosswords, but in English it's always a bit trickier. I know it was Senior Infant level, but Ciaran didn't understand the concept, so it took me a good while to explain it to him. At the end, I was trying to solve them myself:  "The colour of a tree" in 5 letters. I thought "brown", it was actually "green"...And it took me a good 5 minutes to guess "It will help you find the way" in 3 letters.

Anyway, thank God it's May because I really can't do this for much longer before I lose my mind (until next year!). And when I think about Ethan who will start primary school in less than 2 years, I'm already freaking out.

Maybe I should start a petition about banning homework in Irish primary schools!!

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My former life as a call-centre agent

I've been a bit nostalgic lately, thinking about the first few years of my life in Ireland. That's probably because I've been talking a lot with younger French people who are the age I was when I moved here.

So today I am writing about my call-centre experience. I used to work as a Customer service representative for the French market, in an international Express delivery company (that I will not name!). The job wasn’t hard in itself. I was taking calls from French customers who were enquiring about their deliveries, but what I really underestimated was the amount of moaning and complaining I would get on the other end of the line. The majority of customers were pleasant and understanding, but you had the occasional asshole who would just push your buttons.

There were different types of customers:

Mr. I have a job

“Do you understand that I work, miss? ” when you ask him if we can deliver the following day to his home address, where he originally asked to be delivered to.  

And what do you think I’m doing ? Having a party?

The loner

“I have no family, no friends, no neighbour, no car, and I can't receive my package at work.”

Why in the world did you order something on the Internet? You should just have gone to the supermarket.

The pervert

“Hi, it's Eric"

“Hi”

“What are you wearing ?”

“Sorry??”

“Are you wearing tights?”

“Err... No...”

“I'm looking for men... for my mother”

“OK... Good for you...!"

The pervert was a regular caller. Everybody knew him, and the weirdest thing was he knew most of my colleagues so well he was actually telling me about the call-centre gossip: Who was sleeping with who, which couple broke up over the week-end and all that sort of stuff...

The poor guy obviously had some mental health issues, but in a creepy kind of way, he made the atmosphere a lot lighter, especially when we were under pressure, and things were definitely not the same when he stopped calling.

The really stupid ones

I understand that some people are not familiar with Express delivery companies and when they send a package for the first time, it can lead to seriously unreal conversations.

“I'm looking for a price”

“Can I have the weight and dimensions of the box please?”

“20x30”

“And the third one?”

“The third what?”

“Dimension? Or is it flat?”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“ No" (but I should, considering you don’t know a box is three-dimensional)

“My package was supposed to be delivered before 10:30 am and it’s 11, it’s still not delivered”

“I can see this is to be delivered in  New-York, is that right?”

“Yes, why is it late? Where is it? I paid a small fortune for that”

“It will be delivered before 10:30 in New-York, it’s at the destination depot. There shouldn’t be an issue”

“It’s already 11, don’t you get it???”

“It’s a pre 10:30 delivery LOCAL TIME”. It’s 4am in New-York!

“But people are waiting for this. I will never use your company again… you’re useless”

I could write a whole book just about the different types of customers and calls we were receiving. I spent three years  constantly on the phone, and trust me, it definitely built my confidence and taught me how not to take shit from other people.

Aside from the fact that I was talking to mainly angry customers (they were not going to ring just to let us know we did a great job), the good thing was I could go home and forget about it because there was very little chance I would talk to the same person again. Only that in itself was a great aspect of the job, because it meant all the stress accumulated over the day could just be let go in the evening. The other good thing about the job was the atmosphere. I have to say, during 4 years in that company, it never felt like a “real” job. It was more like going to college (or sometimes primary school). Because we were regularly confronted to stressful situations, we had to let it loose between calls. And I was one of the most serious.

Working with a bunch of French people was also a challenge. The majority of my colleagues were nice (and I kept in touch with many of them), but I will never understand the ones that didn’t try to integrate in the country and meet Irish people.

Ninety per cent of my co-workers had been recruited directly from France, so when they started, they didn’t know anybody. In fact, they ended up working and living with French people, and also going out amongst themselves. On top of that, they were complaining about Irish people (and Ireland in general).

After a year, most of the group I started with was still in the company and we had a small get together to share our experience and where we were at, after a year in Ireland.

The majority of them noticed their English didn’t improve (No…Really?) and that it was really hard making friends with Irish people. Maybe if they weren’t sticking all together they would have met locals? 

Then it was my turn. 

“So, how do you feel after a year?”

“Well, I met a really nice guy, my English has definitely improved, and I have a good mix of  foreign and Irish friends”

“Oh Yeah...But you, it's not the same, you know..."

I still don’t know what they meant. Maybe I made an effort, and that was the difference between them and me.

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