Don't stand so close to me, MJ

Lucien is trying to convince me today is a "special" day at Kindergarten so he gets to go to school naked.  He's pretty adamant about it.  I don't want to think too hard about what kind of person wants to show up in a public place naked because I have to raise that kind of person for a long time yet. 

I realized while riding in an elevator yesterday I've forgotten U.S. elevator standing distance protocol.  In Paris, you were lucky to have that tiny elevator at all, so everyone crammed on with joy, brushing up against each other's body parts and breathing coffee/cigarette breath down each other's necks.  It was a packed, sweaty, writhing mess; Parisian elevators were unfun clothed orgies.

Now when I get on an elevator in the U.S, I'm so used to getting uncomfortably close to my fellow riders, I automatically gravitate to the nearest person and start poking them with my elbows.  Yesterday I got on an elevator and, not realizing it, stood right next to a dude.  He was visibly uncomfortable.  I attempted to ease his elevator anxiety (must be claustrophobia, I thought) by looking up at him and saying "howdy!" That did nothing to alleviate his elevator agony, now completely focused on the small smiley woman standing next to him.  He really hustled off the elevator at his floor.

I realized I'd made an elevator gaff so studied the elevator dynamics closely as I rode the rest of the way to the 24th floor.  Here are the rules -- if you're the first one in the elevator, go stand in a corner.  If you're second, go stand in the other corner.  Third person, pick one of the remaining corners but don't block the buttons unless you're willing to be on button-pressing duty; otherwise someone will brush against you uncomfortably on the way to their button.  Fourth person, go to remaining corner.  Fifth person, stand in the middle as awkwardly as possible.  If any more people than that get on the elevator, the tension becomes palpable.

You should only look at the ceiling, the floor, or your smartphone when riding the elevator.  If there's a dog or small child on the elevator, you should look at them with a bemused expression on your face, even if it's forced.  For the love of God, don't look anyone in the eye.  If you don't obey all these elevator rules, you are a pervert.

OK, I think I got it.  Just give me some time to get used to it again.  I swear I'm not a pervert.  I just lived in Paris for a few years and their ways rubbed off on me, literally, in their elevators.

Other than that, let's see what else is going on... I almost got a parking ticket outside FedEx Kinkos, which was pretty exciting.  The guy only let me off because I came flying across the street with arms waving and put some money in the pay thing.   He shook a pointy finger at me and said, "No one parks for free!  No one parks for free!" and I replied, "Some of us try!  Some of us try!"

Lucien has been selected randomly by Seattle Public Schools to be a participant in a physical fitness survey.  He has to wear a pedometer to count his steps for the next week.  So I was wondering, can pedometers explode?  Because this kid moves in ways this pedometer has likely never seen before.  I don't know how, but The Loosh even manages to run while sitting down. 

He's going to skew the data.  SPS is going to be scratching their heads like, "How come kids are still fat when they're taking a gazillion steps before 9:00 a.m.?"

Good luck out there today everybody,
MJ

Miss you, metro baby

Alex is having a hard time adjusting to life back in the U.S.  Maybe it's because he's not American.  Maybe it's because his work hours got longer when we returned (something no one thought possible).  Maybe it's because he misses wearing huge scarves and pointy-toed shoes without looking like an idiot. 

Or maybe it's because of the bus.

After the near-flawless (if you don't count all the strikes) Paris metro system, the Seattle bus system isn't measuring up.  Seattle's public transportation is a little less glamorous, a little less polished, a little more flannel-filled than in Paris.  But we don't care about that -- the problem is Alex's bus has an attitude problem.  It may get him to work on time today, but if it doesn't feel like it, it sure as hell isn't getting him to work on time tomorrow --

 

We swore we'd be a one-car family when we returned.  That resolution may not last long because I'm worried about Alex's mental health and my children's vocabulary.  Even if I'm in the shower (a rare occurrence these days because....I mean, why?) with lots of water hitting my ears, I can still hear a long string of expletives from the other room and know the bus is running late according to the "just how late IS your bus?" bus tracker online tool. 

So I yell from the bathroom, "ALEX, PLEASE WATCH THE LANGUAGE!  THINK OF THE CHILDREN!" and Lucien pops his head around the corner to say, "He can't help it, Mom.  It's that goddamn motherf*ckin' bus again."

(To those who are going to say Alex should get his butt out of the house earlier, I say "back off, kind sir."  Mornings are the only time Al has with the kids; they are not going to let him leave a second earlier than he absolutely has to and that's the way it should be.) 

I've suggested Al buy a new bike since his other bike has gone into deep freeze storage with our Paris stuff until we find a house to buy in this town.  He liked that idea.  Fingers crossed his new bike is always on time. 

But this brings me to another point about Alex.  Unfortunately, whenever Alex is pissed off at something not at all related to me, he seems to think it's related to me and I owe him an explanation and a solution.  He suspects I'm part of a grand universal plan to make him miserable.

"I was late to a meeting yesterday because the bus was late," is said with a slightly accusatory tone that means, "I know you are in control of the bus, woman, you are fooling no one." 

"I can't find my keys," is spoken with an undercurrent of "I know you took my keys." 

"Where is my important work file?" is said with a suspicious look that says "You are attempting to destroy all I've worked for by hiding my important documents." 

To my knowledge, I have never been the true cause of any of these problems (she says as she hides her Seattle Metro transponder and her "where to hide Alex's documents so he will never find them" study guide.)  I don't understand my Al sometimes. 

I also don't understand Coco's reaction when she asks for a piece of cheese.  She adores cheese more than anything in this world.  She follows me into the kitchen laughing her head off with cheese anticipation but when I open the refrigerator, she gets so excited she runs directly away from the refrigerator, away from the cheese, as fast as she can.  Then she usually trips over her own feet and falls in the dining room.  Wouldn't it be easier to just take the piece of cheese from mama at the refrigerator, kid?

Man, I really don't get these people.  Thankfully I'm on the same page as Lucien.  When he insists on eating dinner with his pants off because that's the way dinner should be, I'm like, "YES!  EXACTLY!"

Hey, good news.  One of our Presidential candidates has finally mentioned a pressing issue, one very close to my heart -- establishing moon colonies.  Finally, someone's got his finger on the pulse of the important issues affecting everyday Americans. 

Mama's night out tonight with the ladies.  Don't wait up, Al -- going to be a late one because I'm searching for new and exciting places to hide your stuff,
MJ

Kindergarten calculus

We were all sick over the weekend with a "death must be better than this" kind of illness.  Alex decided he was sicker than the rest of us (he wasn't) and slept all day, leaving me to fend for myself with two kids who passed the time by throwing up on me.  and the furniture.  and the floor.

I would occasionally drag myself to the bedroom door and yell at the prone figure on the bed, "WTF, AL?  I'm sick, too, why am I dealing with this alone??"  He'd mumble something like, "Seriously, MJ, I think I have it a lot worse." (he didn't)

It's kind of like the house caught on fire and Alex jumped out the window to save himself while the rest of us stared after him and whimpered "Daddy....?"  He's hanging his head in shame now and singing my praises, declaring me "much stronger" than he is.  Agreed, bed boy.

We're all fine again but the place still reeks of sickness and misery.  I've washed all sheets and towels a million times and Alex is getting upset because I keep spraying him in the face with Febreze.  Here's hoping we get accustomed to U.S. germs very soon.


Anyway, before it all went to hell healthwise (again), we went to the neighborhood post-holiday party.  By "the neighborhood" I mean the neighborhood where we're trying to buy the goddamn house.  Everyone on the street knows so much about us and our now ten-month-long headache, we're even getting invited to the street's parties.  We're de facto neighbors (better than "insane wannabes").

What a great group of people on that street.  Some are still knocking themselves out to do "blog-worthy" things, though.  One friend, Seattle Dad, tried coming out as a proud homosexual man at the buffet table.  Man, I sure hope he wasn't serious -- otherwise the eye roll and the "I still ain't putting you in the blog, dipsh*t" probably weren't very sensitive responses.

Things are going very well for the Loosh in U.S. kindergarten.  I don't have time to get into the differences between his two schools just yet, but am happy to say that being loud does not equal being bad here.  Huzzah!  His teacher likes him, kids like him, smiles all around.

Unfortunately, he's lost his "self manager" badge already (this is apparently a very big deal to the kindergarten set) because he kicked some kid named Finn, but every day at the end of school he promises his teacher he's going to try "super harder" to earn it back the next day.  She ruffles his hair and tells him she knows he will.  He's happy.

But hang on, hang on -- there's homework in kindergarten?  That's insanity.  It's not "draw a pretty kitty cat" kind of homework, either.  One of his math problems was "draw a symmetrical picture that has 2 squares, 2 circles, and 3 triangles."  I read it to him and then we looked at each other with question marks in our eyes.  He slowly asked what "symmetal-cul" meant and I agreed that was a good place to start.

I've come to the conclusion there is no such thing as "reverse culture shock."  This is the culture in which I've lived my entire life -- three measly years somewhere else isn't going to shake it out of me.  Maybe if you lived outside your culture for twenty years it would be different, but what we're experiencing now is nothing like real culture shock, the kind where you get smacked around and your head dunked in the toilet by totally new things.  This is more a slow, "ohhh yeeeeah... I remember that now."

So no need for the dramatic term -- there's no "shock," just "getting-to-know-you-again, culture, and by the way, you look lovely today."  It's like putting on your favorite pair of jeans straight out of the dryer.  At first it's "What the hell's happening here?" but soon enough it's "These jeans are nice and roomy.  So comfy."

Hope I can write again soon, but I may be too busy helping Lucien understand particle physics.
(Kindergarten's not for the weak, people),
MJ

Colorado wiener bean

One great thing about living in temporary executive housing is you have housecleaning service.  The less-great part is you never know when the housecleaner is going to show up at your apartment and let herself in with her own key.  See where this is going?   

Our housecleaner showed up while I was in the shower, Lucien was watching TV completely naked, and Coco was walking around in the nastiest diaper that's ever existed in the history of sh*tting.

I was peacefully shampooing when Lucien ran into the bathroom and announced, "Somebody's here, mommy!  Somebody came in the apartment!"  After a few hysterical "Somebody's here?  Somebody's HERE?" I wrapped myself in a towel, shampoo still on my head, and ran out of the bathroom armed with a toilet brush.  I planned to germ the intruder to death. 

I scared the housecleaner more than she scared me.  After a few aggressive waves of the toilet brush, she got the message and promised to call next time.  Just in case she doesn't, the children will now be dressed in their Sunday best at all times and I will shower in my clothing.

We received our air shipment from France.  It was all clothes and toys.  I could have nixed the toys and packed more clothes because the kids only had eyes for the boxes.

The moving guys left without unpacking anything.  The head mover guy handed me a survey to fill out right in front of him that contained questions like, "Were your items unpacked to your satisfaction?" and "Were all boxes and other debris removed from your residence?"  I looked at the guy and said flatly, "You guys didn't do any of that" and he responded just as flatly, "Yeah, I know."  I circled a bunch of  "no"s and "not satisfied"s in front of his face and we moved on with our lives.

Box village.  These are their "houses."  They also both have "garages" and "offices."  A nice assortment of places to hide if we ever get caught unaware by the housecleaning service again.

Seattle used to feel like a big city.  Seattle no longer feels like a big city.  After living in central Paris, Seattle feels like a quaint village full of friendly little munchkin townfolk.  The drivers are so cute -- when I try to merge into another lane, they don't resist or try to push me off the road.  When I cross the street, nobody tries to run me over -- in fact, sometimes the drivers even stop and wave me across!  At first I gave those people the finger because I assumed it was a trap.

My sense of city has changed.  I bundled the kids up for a "long" walk to Pike Place Market and was perplexed when we arrived there in fifteen minutes.  I took a cab home from a night out with The Seattle Ladies and my jaw dropped when the fare was only seven bucks.  My recent ride to the airport was over before it began; I said to the driver, "We're already here?  My kids haven't even had a chance to get carsick and throw up all over the place yet!"

 Seattle, you're so tiny I just want to dunk you in my coffee

city seems a little sleepy when it takes five police cars to pull over one very drunk (or possibly just very bad at walking) driver.  

We took that (brief) ride to the airport because the kids and I flew to Colorado yesterday.  I thought the solo trip with the kids would be a disaster and I would have material to fill one hundred blog posts.  I was wrong.  The entire thing, from start to finish, was flawless.  Everyone was helpful, kids were perfect.  I'm totally bummed about it, too.

 Thanks for nothing, guys

Now that I'm in Colorado with my family (Alex will be joining us closer to Christmas) all is right with the world.  The only bad thing I can say about Colorado is the air is so dry you get lots of electrical shocks.  It makes for a lonely life when you're always yelling at people to keep their hands to themselves because you're afraid of the pain.

Coco is obsessed with the Christmas tree and has made it her mission to destroy everything on it.  She is particularly aggressive with the Canadian Mountie ornament, which is upsetting since she's half Canadian.

Coco!  Stop that!  Avert your eyes, Al.

Last night my mom made wiener bean casserole.  The following words were actually uttered in this house when the dinner announcement was made -- "Yeah! Wiener bean!"

If you grew up in Ohio, maybe you understand us.  If you didn't grow up in Ohio, maybe you're confused and disgusted by us --

We ain't in France anymore, folks.

Love,
the toilet brush ninja
MJ

Well here we all are in a different place

Well hello there.  I am the blogger formerly known as An American Mom in Paris.  I am now a blogger called Seattle Moxie.  I hope that clears up all the questions nobody had.

I'm back in Seattle, posse, and I'm confused as hell.  Not only am I lost in the city, but also, surprisingly, French is still my go-to language.  Greeting people in English feels unnatural so I've coined a new salutation -- "Bonj-ello!" 

I also had a lengthy internal debate while riding in an elevator with a man about whether to say "hello" or "hi" to him.  I finally made my decision and yelled "HELLO" at the back of his head as he got off on the second floor.  He looked startled but gave me a cautious wave.  I've seen him a couple times since and he gives me lots of space.

Once the greeting has been decided upon and spoken, however, I can't shut the hell up.  I am using all the words I know just because I can.  Sometimes my tongue trips over itself because I'm in such a hurry to share all the words I know that you know, too!

I love that these guys are still playing downtown

To say I'm striking up conversations with everybody is not an exaggeration.  I walked the kids down to Westlake Center Tuesday to ride the holiday carousel and visit Santa and eat bagfuls of mini-donuts from the mini-donut stand.  I talked to people on street corners while waiting for traffic lights, people in Starbucks, downtown bicycle cops and one nice lady who stopped me to tell me SHE LOVED MY COAT.  I made her talk to me for hours and she was like, "Jesus, I'm sorry I mentioned your stupid coat."

I bought my first Real Change newspaper and struck up a conversation with the homeless man selling them.  Good guy, good heart -- he has two kids you know, both in the military.

I didn't realize how starved I was for conversation with complete strangers.  There's something incredible about smiling at a stranger on the street, sharing a few pleasant words, wishing them a good day and being on your way.  It's not that it never happened in Paris because of course it did, especially if I had kids in tow.  The difference is now I don't walk away from the interaction hitting myself in the forehead, thinking, "I just conjugated that verb like an asshole."

Miles, man, I don't know what to tell you.  Maybe try running forever.  Good news is they seem unsure how to spell your name.

The kids and I went to Top Pot donuts a few days ago (we may not have croissants but Top Pot donuts are a fine consolation prize).  While standing at the counter, Coco tugged on the festive holiday garland on the display case and pulled it halfway off.  I apologized profusely to the smiley young man behind the counter.  He did not seem to mind; instead he leaned over the counter and said, "It's OK, I have to resist pulling on it all day long, too!"  Then with great flourish, he pulled the garland the rest of the way off.  Coco laughed.  Lucien laughed.  Everyone in line laughed.  What the hell?  Was he judging me?

I asked smiley young Top Pot man if he had any orange juice for the kids.  He looked stricken and said, "Oh gosh, ma'am, I'm so sorry but we only have tangerine juice.  I'm so, so sorry; is that OK?"  I just stared at him.  What kind of sick game was this freak playing?  I agreed tangerine juice was a fine substitution for orange juice and he looked relieved.  Jerk.

We haven't seen too many friends yet, thanks to the jetlag that's had us in bed every night by 8:00 p.m. and a miserable clingy sickness on the part of Coco, but those we have seen have confirmed what we always suspected -- our Seattle friends are batshit crazy.

We went to a two-year old's birthday party and our friend Santa showed up to hand out toys.  Lucien's head nearly exploded when Santa handed him a dinosaur.  Things took a strange turn, however, when Santa started bending adults over his knee and spanking them in an aggressive manner.

It's like they can't help themselves; they're parents and "role models" or whatever but still... still...  things get said and sound effects made.  It was probably inappropriate for a two-year old's birthday party, and likely more than one child is now terrified of "that creepy guy in red."

I've finally been inside the goddamn house.  It's a total mess.  I love it.  I have not yet met the supermodel who lives next door but saw him from a distance -- in his downtime, it appears the supermodel prefers to look like a homeless lumberjack.

I have so many things to say.  So, so many.  It's tough with both kids hanging around me all day, which will be the case until after the holidays, but I'm committed to the blog, more so than to anything else in my life which is probably not good?

Thanks again for making the jump with me from Paris to Seattle.  I hope I don't let you down, but if I do, I hope I do so fantastically,
MJ