Author: Robin Chartier

the next step

I wish I could share with you the text message thread that one of my sisters started after my last blog post. If you think I’m funny, they clearly come from the same gene pool. One sister said I should write a book about our childhood and then proceeded to cast famous actresses for each of us for the starring roles since my book was sure to be a smash hit and Warner Bros would pick it up and make it into a movie. She was very generous and cast this Robin as me:

though this one is a bit more accurate:
Stay tuned. The more I talk about it, the more likely it is that I will write something someday. 

When I was Calvin’s age, I was consumed with stress about my future. Where would I go to college? Were my grades good enough to get into the best colleges? What was I going to be when I grew up? How would I know what I was supposed to do with my life?

You would think as a parent that this phase of life would bring the same stresses. Maybe even more so because this being who I’m responsible for is going to go out and fly or fall based on how well I prepared him for life. But a few weeks ago, as Calvin was preparing his class schedule for his Junior year, I realized that I’m not worried about him at all.

I’m the mom that told him to take a less strenuous schedule (who needs two math classes at the same time?!) and encouraged him to look at junior college or even a gap year for service or ministry. I don’t want him to be consumed by the same fears that I had at his age and I could see him headed in that direction. The idea that every decision at this age means the difference between success and failure is a myth. There are a lot of different paths to a successful adulthood, especially when you aren’t measuring in dollars.

Josh and I are kind of in the same spot in our lives. Two years from now, as our oldest hits college age, Josh will hit retirement age. We’re not sure what he’s going to do “when he grows up.” We know he will be “graduating” from the Marine Corps, but we don’t know where we’ll go, what job he will do, or what our lives will look like as normal people instead of active duty. It would be easy to be worried or stressed or feel the pressure to make the Right Decisions, but in the same way, I think there are several paths to a successful phase 2 of life. I want Josh to be able to do something he loves, something that gives him more freedom, a sense of purpose, and we won’t be measuring success in dollars this time either. I’m hoping that 20 years of experience has given us wisdom and perspective to approach this transition with peace.

On Writing

This evening I’m sitting at a table in an outdoor cafe, surrounded by Middle Eastern men with burning cigarettes. It all feels very Covert Affairs. Like I’m a handler, waiting for my contact to show.
But my real purpose is much less exciting. The two older boys attend youth group on this side of the island and since this coffee shop is right around the corner from where they meet and it has a small playground, it makes sense to stay out this way. I’ll do anything I can to save myself some extra driving. 
So I sip my cappuccino with a side of smoke and listen as words that I don’t understand roll off the tongues of those around me. I pull out my notebook and read over my stories of Paris, deciding this evening I will write in the present instead of about the past. Meanwhile, my two blondies play with a group of dark haired little boys. They are different every week, but the game is always the same: chase. 

After three weeks Camille is finally comfortable enough to join in the game, shrieking along with the rest of them, rather than scaling the plastic playhouse and sitting on the roof where none of the littler boys can reach her. I think about how different her life is at age 5 from any of her brothers. I wonder if any of it will be relevant a decade from now. I wonder where we’ll be a decade from now. 
As I’m finishing up, Caleb comes over and asks, “Do you always write everywhere you go?” I give him the writer’s response: I write down what I see, what I think about things, and things I don’t want to forget. Whatever comes to mind.  He goes on to ask, “Mom, have you ever thought, you know, when Camille goes to school…” 
And I think, “Wow, my son is going to speak God’s calling to me and confirm that I should write a book. This is going to be a story I tell when people ask me how I became a writer.” Until he finishes with, “…of getting a job?”
Bubble burst.

Flying Solo

Josh is gone for a month. I know there are people who never say when their husband is gone for safety reasons, but I don’t worry about my personal safety here in Bahrain. First of all, I have a dog, which scares off 90% of the people he comes in contact with and second? The most dangerous thing I do every day is drive and that’s the same whether he’s here or not. So, if you’re wondering why I haven’t written lately, that’s why.

Anyway, he’s off playing games in the desert and I’m home playing war-games of my own.

This princess was on a roll last night. She was overtired and in a terrible mood and didn’t want to go to bed, stay in her room, or have anything to do with me. She kept throwing her blankets and pillows at me (which I calmly took and removed from the room). I came back in to check on her and she had thrown her mattress off the bed and onto the floor. Possibly to try and spite me? It was a classic Robin meltdown from the early 90s era. That would be me at 20, btw. Not cute.
Earlier that evening I had said if she refused to brush her hair and she wouldn’t let me brush her hair, then I would have to take her to get her hair cut so it wouldn’t be so tangled. In the middle of her bedtime tantrum, she got a pair of scissors and started cutting her hair because, “[mommy] said we were going to cut it so FINE! I’m doing it myself!” Said with all the rage and attitude of someone a decade older and no wiser. 
She’s going to give herself the Hicks girl “elevens” if she keeps frowning like that.

A parting shot. 
After about 90 minutes of “unpleasantness,” girlie finally gave up and accepted that she wasn’t getting back the stuff she threw at me (until morning) and that I wasn’t going to let her leave her room, so she helped drag the mattress back on the bed frame and went to sleep under the one remaining blanket. On nights like these, I think I’d rather be up against ISIS. 
PS: She woke up happy and contrite and had a great day so whatever bug was up her butt, it’s gone for now. No need to worry about us. And tonight she got ready for bed, tucked herself in, and fell asleep while I was on the phone with Josh. Customer service has clearly subbed out my broken baby for a working model. Amen. 

experimenting with a transfer

I end up going to the grocery store almost every day here. In America I tried to go to the store as infrequently as possible, but in Oman I love walking up to Al Fair. I usually take the stroller and buy what we can comfortably carry home, but sometimes I get a little ambitious in my shopping and Camille ends up surrounded by piles of food that I then pack into our reusable bags and wedge them in around her — and usually I have to sling a few over my shoulder too. Good thing the walk home isn’t too far.

Today was a mountain of food day and my little eater managed to bite a hole in the bag of carrots and start gnawing on one while I was busy picking out onions. So I gave it to her. Then, while I was getting (very expensive) turkey for the boys’ lunches, she snaked one of the small yogurts and poked a small hole in the foil lid. When I saw that she was sucking the yogurt out through the top I thought, “How clever! My girly is a genius!” and I let her continue. Since I am not a genius, I failed to anticipate the small hole would eventually become a giant crevasse as curious fingers explored the foil and the yogurt. By the time I saw the mess, it was too late to salvage it.

I got a few curious looks as I walked home, but people look at us everywhere we go, so I’m pretty used to it. It was hard to tell if the one group of ladies we passed was horrified by the toddler with a carrot (choking hazard), the huge mess down her face and front, or the fact that she was squished in between bags of potatoes and eggs.

Right before we got out the hose to wash everything down. Cheers!

Day 2?

Really? All this and I’m still only on Day 2? I guess it shows how much more we can fit in when we’re traveling as a group of 2 instead of 6!

As we left the Orsay people were opening umbrellas and sprinkles were falling from the sky. We decided to walk across the street and along the Seine in the misty grey air. Rain makes me so happy. We found ourselves at the end of the Champs-Elysees and decided to walk up it toward the Arc de triomphe. Before coming to Paris last year, the Champs-Elysees was legendary from all the times I had seen it on the final day of the Tour de France, but I was a bit disappointed to discover that it was just a big, busy, modern shopping street with a cool monument at the end. Oh well. It does have some high end shops, like Louis Vuitton and Tiffany. Josh and I popped in to this over the top version of . . .

Abercrombie and Fitch. Yes, seriously. Gold trimmed gates and doors, looking like a palace, but inside are the same clothes, loud music, and pictures of half naked male models. They even have a live Abercrombie model as a greeter.

To go along with the ornate decor, they classed it up and turned the half naked guys into paintings instead of photographs. 

The store was huge (4 stories?) and attracted every pre-teen for miles. I heard loads of giggling through the cloud of cologne. It really is that dark inside. I’m not sure how anyone can even see the clothes. 

We are obviously too old for this. And too cheap. 
A line to get inside the Nike store? Crazy. Inside were 3 floors of athletic wear, wall to wall people, and it was as warm as a California summer day. It was damp and chilly outside, but the employees were all wearing tank tops. It was a sweatbox in there. 
We stopped for lunch at the top of the street and rested our feet, drank some wine and sparkling water, and ate gourmet hamburgers. Another great meal. After warming up, we headed across the street to the Arc de triomphe. Well, we actually headed around the circle since the Arc sits in the center of a huge, busy roundabout so we had to travel the perimeter until we reached one of the stairways that led to the underground tunnel access. 

After a million stairs up, round and round a small circular staircase, we finally made it to the top. The view of the city is beautiful, even on a wet day. It was the perfect amount of rain — enough for us desert dwellers to enjoy it, but not enough to make us wet. We were both able to wear our regular jackets and didn’t need raincoats. It was fun to stand at the top with the cold drops sprinkling our faces. 

Josh still hasn’t been to the Eiffel Tower. I’m letting him catch glimpses of it from all over the city before we go view it up close. 

After our time at the top we headed inside to one of my favorite gift shops. I’m not a shopper, but the museum gift shops in Paris always have fun and unique things that you can’t find elsewhere, especially the one inside the Arc. After picking up a few things for the kids (and a metro map dishcloth for me) we took the metro back to our neighborhood to pick up some food for our apartment. 

At the cheese shop. I had picked up a few bottles of sparkling water at the corner grocery next door while Josh picked out some cheeses. Then we went a few doors down to the charcuterie to get jambon (french version of prosciutto) and then to the bakery to get a baguette.  

And a few other pastry treats as well — why not try them all?

Then we went home, crashed into a nap, and woke up and talked to the kids. I love them, but 5 minutes on FaceTime was enough for me to remember why I needed this vacation. Especially when Camille started demanding that she get to hold the phone and then went off sulking because she had to share the screen. She’s an all or nothing kind of creature. We’re working on that. 
Later that evening we ventured out as far as the restaurant downstairs from our apartment where I had a fabulous cassoulet (white beans with sausage and bacon), the perfect comfort food, and Josh ate duck breast. He ordered duck several times on this trip after our dinner with the chef because he wanted to see how it differed from restaurant to restaurant. I ordered a glass of Sanceere, a white wine that comes from a particular region of France. It was my favorite from the night before so I ordered it everywhere we went for the rest of the trip. It’s clean and crisp tasting with very little aftertaste. Every version I tried was a little different, but they all maintained the qualities that I liked from my first tasting. Expanding our minds and our palates.