It's been over two weeks since I last wrote. After our fabulous trip to the beach (during which I got sunburnt exlusively on my feet), I began working with the M family. The M family have a four-yr-old son who we shall call Stevie, and a nine-yr-old daughter who we shall call Lilian. Their mother, who's recovering from a serious illness, has admitted to letting them run a bit wild during that time, and was apparently relieved when I wouldn't let them run rings around me. I've had to be a bit strict occasionally, but I rarely have to punish anyone, and they're generally quite nice.
What is REALLY nice is the job itself. The house has a swimming pool. A HEATED swimming pool, with a filter, not one of those blow-up ones with dead leaves and insects floating in it. A real pool. And we're going through a canicule.
I'm going to go off on a tangent here and comment on the difference between a canicule and a heat wave. Technically, "canicule" is just the French term for "heat wave". But to me, there's so much more to it than that. During a heat wave, everyone gets out in their garden, slaps on the suncream and lies for hours out in the unusual heat. In a really severe heat wave, people splash around in fountains. In a canicule, people stay indoors with their shutters closed (for where there are canicules, there are houses with shutters) and whatever air conditioning they can dig out of their closet on full blast, and they don't venture outside until six o'clock at least. In a canicule, old people die. That is the difference. A heat wave, to a French person, is normal summer temperature. An English person would literally melt in a canicule.
Anyway, back to my latest babysitting job. I spent this afternoon alternately splashing around in their pool with Lilian and picking hazelnuts off their hazelnut tree and cracking them open with a small rock, to eat them. Fresh hazelnuts are ten times better than the pale, dead copies you get in the shop.
But the best day (perhaps not for me, but for anyone I tell about it) was when we went to Walibi. Walibi is an amusement park near Chambéry, about an hour or so from Grenoble by the motorway. I had trouble sleeping the night before because I'd forgotten to ask if I'd have to drive and how much the entry was. The next day I found out: a) I didn't have to drive, and b) they insisted on paying my entry fee. And later on, c) my babysitting agency encouraged me to let them pay the entry fee.
Despite the idyllic, PAID holiday I'm having right now, I do miss my usual charges. I'll be seeing in a couple of weeks, and I'm glad, because although they're a lot more hyper, they're also a lot more used to discipline than the ones I'm minding now... and after having cared for them for three months, I kinda got attached (NB - I first wrote "attacked", wonder if that's some sort of freudian slip).
But I will miss the M family. And their mother, who's like all the good aspects of my mum and Nans' mum mixed together in one really laid back, generous woman. She's gotten me into mystery novels, and since my reading influences my writing, I might be adding a detective into one of my stories sooner or later.
What is REALLY nice is the job itself. The house has a swimming pool. A HEATED swimming pool, with a filter, not one of those blow-up ones with dead leaves and insects floating in it. A real pool. And we're going through a canicule.
I'm going to go off on a tangent here and comment on the difference between a canicule and a heat wave. Technically, "canicule" is just the French term for "heat wave". But to me, there's so much more to it than that. During a heat wave, everyone gets out in their garden, slaps on the suncream and lies for hours out in the unusual heat. In a really severe heat wave, people splash around in fountains. In a canicule, people stay indoors with their shutters closed (for where there are canicules, there are houses with shutters) and whatever air conditioning they can dig out of their closet on full blast, and they don't venture outside until six o'clock at least. In a canicule, old people die. That is the difference. A heat wave, to a French person, is normal summer temperature. An English person would literally melt in a canicule.
Anyway, back to my latest babysitting job. I spent this afternoon alternately splashing around in their pool with Lilian and picking hazelnuts off their hazelnut tree and cracking them open with a small rock, to eat them. Fresh hazelnuts are ten times better than the pale, dead copies you get in the shop.
But the best day (perhaps not for me, but for anyone I tell about it) was when we went to Walibi. Walibi is an amusement park near Chambéry, about an hour or so from Grenoble by the motorway. I had trouble sleeping the night before because I'd forgotten to ask if I'd have to drive and how much the entry was. The next day I found out: a) I didn't have to drive, and b) they insisted on paying my entry fee. And later on, c) my babysitting agency encouraged me to let them pay the entry fee.
Despite the idyllic, PAID holiday I'm having right now, I do miss my usual charges. I'll be seeing in a couple of weeks, and I'm glad, because although they're a lot more hyper, they're also a lot more used to discipline than the ones I'm minding now... and after having cared for them for three months, I kinda got attached (NB - I first wrote "attacked", wonder if that's some sort of freudian slip).
But I will miss the M family. And their mother, who's like all the good aspects of my mum and Nans' mum mixed together in one really laid back, generous woman. She's gotten me into mystery novels, and since my reading influences my writing, I might be adding a detective into one of my stories sooner or later.
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