The Naughty Step
It’s half-past 8 in the evening; the parents are out enjoying their childless evening and back at the house its absolute chaos. Children 1 and 2 are point-blank refusing to get into their beds, let alone go to sleep; meanwhile Child number 3 has just woken up from a nap and is demanding her supper in the only way she can: with the loudest yell she can muster. I’m still covered in remnants of dinner (who thought that mashed potato was a good idea?) and I’m trying to think of something to do to get them to listen to me. It’s remarkably difficult to tell someone off in a different language and unfortunately my first-year French course hasn’t taught me anything about disciplining naughty French children. All my threats of “do you want me to get angry?” have been met with a resounding “mais oui!”, I suddenly remember what I used to hate as a child: the threat of the naughty step.
Placing child number 3 back in her cot, where she definitely can’t fall over, eat off the floor or pull my shorts down, I announce loudly that I’m going to count to five and at five, whoever is not in bed and quiet will be going au coin (I don’t know the translation of ‘the naughty step’, so ‘in the corner’ will have to do). Triumphantly I look down on two confused faces as the girls try to work out whether or not I’m serious and whether or not au coin is a better deal than au lit. As I reach 5, praying they’ll give in and just go to bed, child number 1 decides it’s all a merry joke and continues counting, whilst her number 2 stands at her side, giggling. The naughty step it is, then.
5 minutes later: as I expected (or rather, was wishing with all my heart), the prodigal daughter returns, looking very sad and sorry for herself. She gives me an apology, a roughly muttered “pardon Liz” and then promises to lie down and be quiet. Peace at last!
Finally, I’ve done it. I’ve succeeded in making 3 children behave and I did it all in French. I march victoriously up the stairs (the bedrooms are all downstairs), looking forward to a long-awaited silence and inwardly smiling at my success.
It’s only when I reach the top of the stairs that I can hear the girls laughing at my stupidity. Of course they aren’t going to sleep. It’s time to think of something else.
Feeding time at the zoo
Two days ago, we all bundled into the car and drove to the zoo, one of the biggest in Europe. As we watched the animals being fed, I couldn’t help but be reminded of mealtimes with the children; just as loud, messy, and unexpected.
Mealtimes are indeed interesting occasions here. The children have 4 meals, the one extra being ‘le goûter’, eaten in the middle of the afternoon. This is eaten anywhere and everywhere, from in the classroom to on the beach. The other meals, however, are eaten à table. This doesn’t bode well for three active children who are hungry but would much rather be doing something else.
Getting them all to sit at the table is a task in itself. With the exception of the 11-month-old, who can easily be picked up and strapped into her highchair (therefore incapable of escaping), they require chasing and persuading to leave their colouring and sit up. Before they mount their chairs, a vigorous programme begins to strip them of the bizarre things they bring with them; one time child number 2 brought her blanket “because it was hungry too”.
Once sat down, we begin our meal. Thankfully, all 3 children are excellent eaters and will happily gobble down goat’s cheese, pickled anchovies and spinach with gusto. It doesn’t really matter what you put in front of them, they’ll most likely eat it. Now seated and beginning the meal, they are also very enthusiastic, to the point that it begins to pose problems. As soon as she hears the sound of cutlery on china, or the joyful ping! of the microwave, child number 3 begins to bounce up and down with excitement in her chair and if you don’t get that food in her mouth within 5 seconds flat, there’s trouble. The same goes for dessert; if she sees her petit suisse whilst still finishing off her main course, you can forget the main and throw it away before she does; she can often be found later on with bits of food in her hair and ears from the spoonful of food she swatted away.
Like child number 3, the others become distressed when they learn that the meal is over, there is nothing more for them to eat and they have to leave the table. Tears and tantrums ensue when one appears to have slightly more than the other, or eats too quickly and therefore runs out first. Quite the gourmande myself, the child inside me resents having to give them some of my own food when they finish before me and are still hungry. It’s mine and I want it. Deal.
Food hygiene is also a novelty for the girls; one day this week we made cakes and when they were brought out to eat, child number 2 proudly showed us which of the cakes she had made by repeatedly plunging her finger into each one.
As for the zoo, I’m sure I didn’t imagine the parents’ sighs when child number 2 replied to the question “so what was your favourite animal in the (very expensive and extremely varied) zoo?”; smiling sweetly she pointed across the road towards a pond by the car park… “I like the ducks!”
Lingo bingo
It’s been just over a week since I started au pairing and speaking French has started to become natural. My first word of the day, usually a disgruntled “quoi?” as I am awoken by a little voice outside my room calling “Leeez? Leeez??” (they still can’t say Liz properly) is in French, as is my last. Speaking to friends and family over Skype, I discover that I have to think hard to find the words I need to speak in English, my mother tongue. Being so immersed in the culture is a fantastic experience and I would heartily recommend it to anyone studying a language; never before have my linguistic skills been so tested or improved.
I must admit, however, that there have been a few slips of the tongue. One day, enthusiastically telling the family an anecdote, I accidentally related that it “s’est mis a pleurer” (it started to cry) instead of “pleuvoir” (to rain). Another time, whilst searching in a supermarket for a crème-brulee-style dessert, I asked the shop assistant for the “crème aux yeux” (eye cream) instead of the “crème aux oeufs” (the pudding). For those who don’t speak French, those two things honestly do sound extremely alike.
Not all of these language blunders have been from me; alas, the well-known irritating cartoon kitty character has been transformed by these French children into a catcall (excuse the pun) one might hear in rapungi from a suspicious elderly gentleman: “’ello titty”. It’s probably a blessing the parents don’t speak English.
There are also some phrases that the family uses which strongly remind me of something we would hear on this side of the channel. Things such as “that’s the last time I tell you that”, “what’s the magic word” or “do you want a smack” are often flung about the house, pointing out the similarities of family units, despite being in vastly different cultures. Possibly my least favourite recognisable phrase, heard coming from the smallest room in the house is “j’ai fini”. I’ll leave you to work out what that one means.
Finally, for anyone who has the tiniest bit of doubt as to whether my English is still up to scratch, here’s a conversation I overheard in the car on the way to the beach, between the two older children and their friend:
Friend: (presumably gesturing to me) So who’s that?
Child number 2: That’s Liz. She’s English.
Child number 1: She’s our English girl.
Friend: But she speaks French?
Child number 1: (with an air of authority) Yes. I think it’s normal. In England they have to speak French too.
Friend: I would very much like it if she would say something in English.
Child number 2: I’ll get her to do it. Leeeez? Can you say something in English?
Me: What do you want me to say?
Friend: English things!
Me: (in English) What do you want me to say?
The girls all look at me with mouths wide open, like I’m an alien (which in a manner of speaking, I probably am)
Friend: (turning to child number 1) She really is English!
Mamamamamama
Today marks the end of my stint as an au pair. It’s safe to say that I have mixed feelings about finishing. Sure, it’ll be nice to have my own space again without fear of children entering (being in the shower, in bed or in the bathroom doesn’t stop these girls), and to have a more relaxed vacation, but there’s something to miss about it too.
It’s not always tears, tantrums and terrible trios, much as it may seem. I’ve learnt lots and have been rewarded for my work – not just my pay at the end but in terms of getting along with the girls and learning about their likes, dislikes, fears (the witch in Sleeping Beauty) and what they want to be when they grow up (firewomen).
I’ve been fought over as a playmate, dinner companion and story-teller. The children would begin each day by setting out what they want to do, provided that it was something “avec Liz”.
This being my second year, I didn’t have to endure the experience of heading off into the unknown, at a rendez-vous point I’d forgotten. Last year, I packed my bags and set off to a family I’d never seen or met and they had no idea what they were letting themselves in for either. They welcomed me, told me to treat the house as if it was my own, and always made sure that I was coping, kept informed and enjoying myself. They were just as lovely, if not lovelier this year.
Last year, I was around (not physically present at!) for the birth of child number 3. This year, I was reintroduced to the same girl and was privileged to be there for her 1st birthday; even given the honour of baking her birthday cake. When I first picked her up, she wouldn’t stop crying. Now when she sees me, she raises her arms and cries until I lift her up and give her a cuddle. She greets me with “mamamama” or “papapapa” , a performance previously reserved exclusively for her parents.
After numerous nappy changes (oh, the joys of young children), sending the baby to sleep and juggling carrying one child whilst trying to play with another, the mother joked that I have now got my children’s “diplome”. In a way that feels merited; having never before had experience of looking after very young children, I think I didn’t do half bad. Child number three responded by giggling and clapping her hands. Cute.
