We arrived in France so much later than expected that we had very little time to prepare for the baptism. We also discovered, last minute, that another little girl would be baptised during the same ceremony. Oddly, though I was not happy about the last minute surprise, it all worked out well in the end. The other family took care of much of the planning that we didn’t have time left to do. They explained the ceremony in detail to us, made programs with both children’s names on them, took the spotlight off of us a bit, and we were most grateful it worked out as it did.

The ceremony was stiffly formal and traditional. The priest lacked the warmth of the American priests that I have known, and I felt that he took himself too seriously. I still cannot decide entirely  how I felt about him; he was polite enough I suppose, and I had no particular objection to his theological interpretations – I found him intelligent and thoughtful. But I think his own personality was a big stumbling block – with him leading, the church seemed imposing and cold. Because if a priest has the burden of reflecting the love and compassion of God to his parishioners, I’m not sure he succeeds well. Of course, there may be different cultural expectations that define the role of the priest – though I was told, after the ceremony, that this one was remarkably conservative. 

In the end though, the priest himself is of little consequence, it is the act of baptism that counts, the symbolic representation of God’s grace freely given, humbly received, never deserved.  And the grace is still there, because the ritual is larger than the priest, the church, the cultural limitaions that define us and divide us so superficially.  That is what moves me still in these sorts of rituels – that we are, in a flash of a moment, a part of something profound.  And so for that I’m glad we did the baptism here in France, just to see that the same truth holds.  And I hope the family appreciated the ceremony too, even without holding any particular religious convictions or sentiments.

Afterward we had a great celebration, in the French tradition, with champagne and a lengthy multicourse meal.  And we smiled and talked together until well into the evening.  The very next morning, we set out on the long drive from Compiegne to Quiberon, and arrived by boat on Belle-Ile, just in time for a late dinner.

Our weekends have gotten much more organized, as we learn how to manage time with two children. This morning we went to the farmer’s market, and then the library. Here’s what we did when we returned, after a lunch of raw goat’s milk cheese and lovely pink heirloom tomatoes.

Johanna hasn’t had a good nap all week. I decided that this probably meant she was ready to give up the morning nap. I think, because she is now sleeping all night – 12 hours – she has less need of a morning nap. She is enjoying a long afternoon nap as I type, so perhaps I am correct. The sleeping all night, incidentally, started a couple of weeks ago when we moved her out of our bedroom. I put it off moving her for so long because I wasn’t ready to give up the night closeness. I loved sleeping with her, though we woke each other frequently. But I also love solid sleep. So, no regrets.

The Butterfly Bush, originally uploaded by sammy461.

There are two large butterfly bushes in our garden. Often, in the afternoon, I go out with the kids to watch the butterflies. Today, I counted fifteen butterflies and moths on the bushes. The orange monarchs have come and gone, but we have many yellow ones like this one, as well as some the most unusual shades of blue. Butterflies are so otherworldly, in their beauty and frailty, that seeing so many like this does feel like a small miracle.

Have you ever felt that a butterfly came just for you? So often, with the butterflies, I have that prick of awe, of connectedness. Apparently, I am not alone in the feeling. According to the Wikipedia entry on butterflies: “One Japanese superstition says that if a butterfly enters your guestroom and perches behind the bamboo screen, the person whom you most love is coming to see you.  However, large numbers of butterflies are viewed as bad omens. When Taira no Masakado was secretly preparing for his famous revolt, there appeared in Kyoto so vast a swarm of butterflies that the people were frightened — thinking the apparition to be a portent of coming evil.”

I took Johanna out with me to photograph the butterflies, but I couldn’t resist taking her picture as well! I do find her irresistible.

I sewed up this little sun hat for her. Incidentally, I think the sewing is going to stick. I find there is so much pleasure in sewing lovely, useful, and well-made items.

…I do recommend anyone try actually making this dessert. I got a bit too ambitious with Cedric’s birthday cake this year, which resulted in a spectacular flop. Thankfully, Cedric handled the ruined cake gracefully; he and Lou finished it off together. As for me – I tried not to sulk too much, since it was Cedric’s birthday. But hours of my life will never be recovered.

French cuisine is just so pretentious!

Tasting grass is a universal childhood experience, I imagine. No, it doesn’t taste good; and it tickles the back of the mouth!

Lou’s school offers an optional summer program for the youngest kids; while we did keep Lou home in June, he will probably be attending for the rest of the summer. The great thing about the summer program is that the summer teachers have outings planned for nearly every day. Today, the kids visited to the art museum.

I couldn’t resist stopping by to see how the trip was playing out. Young children and fine art are, unfortunately, and unlikely pairing. Cedric and I have never had much luck taking Lou to art museums; children are tactile and don’t much enjoy exhibits that are only for looking. However, when I arrived, I was surprised to find the kids so quiet and attentive. Many of them, as kindergartners and and almost-kindergartners, are apparently able to grasp some of the significance and beauty of these works. Lou was very engaged with the explanations from the docents.

When I lived in Paris, I enjoyed visiting museums. I was enrolled in an art history class that frequently met in the various museums. It was through experiencing the true size, color, and beauty of the works that I began to love art. I still do, even if I am only rarely able to visit the museums. This museum is only ten minutes from our house; but somehow I doubt Lou will be in any hurry to visit again. Someday, I’ll walk through the art museums freely and leisurely again, but that will not be anytime soon I’m sure. Such is life for the mother of small ones; for the moment, there are other rewards.

I didn’t have time to write an entry for our last day in Jamaica. That evening was spent packing bags, so that we were ready for an early flight out of Montego Bay. For that last day, we decided to do what we enjoyed most, and hired a couple of guys to take us back to the reefs. This time, without Lou, we were able to take a longer and more relaxed swim. We were followed by a school of Tiger fish – a species of yellow and black striped fish that are either very friendly or very curious. There were moments when I considered that so many fish could devour us completely in small bites.

We also hired Sonia to come back and babysit for the kids. When we returned, we all shared a lunch of coco bread, beef patties, and fruit. Because it began raining hard in the afternoon, Sonia stayed and we shared tea and chocolate. She seemed sad to go after the rain, and becoming choked up, said that she was going to miss us. She asked for pictures of Johanna, at the least, if we couldn’t return again next year. I felt strangely sorry to say goodbye as well. Jamaicans are such beautiful people.

Since we’ve been back, Johanna has come precipitously close to crawling. She is constantly on her belly, pushing herself up on her arms. I do mean constantly – she flips herself over during diaper changes and even when nursing (it was comical at first, but is wearing thin). Unfortunately, she seems to know she’s on to something. Our house is far, far from baby-safe, and so I feel a nagging, ever-present panic. The baby proofing is very much complicated by the older brother, who is known to leave small plastic bits, marbles, and change lying around everywhere. No joke, I do not feel good about this.

I really am not in a mood to write about it, but I will say this: why come to Jamaica for an experience like this? There’s nothing Jamaican at Beaches Negril – you stay within the confines of the resort and take part in canned activities, packed in with hundreds of other Americans apparently not independent minded enough to find a better value for their money. Just go to Disney World – it will cost half as much, and you’ll have a much better artificial experience. At least Disney World does not pretend to be anything else.

Beaches, Negril costs $600 a night – do you know what you can do in Jamaica, on your own, for $600 a day? Well, for starters, you can rent an entire house on the beach for under $200 a day. You can have a babysitter come (and pay her a living wage) for $60 a day. Let’s see – renting a boat to go snorkeling on the reefs – at your own pace and with your own quiet space – will cost $60. A wholesome, authentic Jamaican meal will cost about $35 for the family. Exposure to authentic Jamaican culture? That’s the best part, and it’s totally free.

Further, I personally feel that the resort makes it’s money off the backs of an impoverished workforce – How does $80 for a six day work week sound? Catering to unappreciative American families that stuff themselves with burgers, pizzas, and cakes all day while you can’t afford to offer your own children such treats, except on very rare occasions?

I will note that Cedric disagrees with me on this last point – but all in all, we both agree that it was time and money lost. Things got better when I came back to the cottage with Johanna (I returned after four hours – Cedric stuck it out with Lou, who did enjoy Beaches!), got a banana milkshake from the bar next door, and a massage from a beautiful woman named Leona.

Leona loved Johanna – it was apparent. “I have a way with babies,” she said. “I just love them.”

I have met so many beautiful people here; folks that have really touched me.

I feel so accepted as a mother in Jamaica – I never have to justify the way I parent Johanna. On-demand nursing, “attachment” parenting – it’s all highly regarded here. In the US and France particularly, mothers are expected to keep their babies at a distance – keep them in separate beds, separate rooms, daycare… Here, the mother-child bond is treated as sacred. Here, I feel so much approval and acceptance.